fic: One bowl of kisses (HP; Sirius/Remus)
Okay, a bunch of people requested Sirius/Remus kisses when I offered kisslets, so I kind of tied them together into one loose story.
So this is for angel423 (requested by northernsky_), invisigoth_17 (requested by spikeyboots), luzdeestrellas (requested by lyras), kashmir_ki_kali (requested by melayneseahawk), underlucius (requested by gehayi), and fleshdress (requested by wildestranger)
One bowl of kisses
HP; Sirius/Remus; 1,085 words
Remus kisses him, a tender thing, all soft breath and chapped lips.
~*~
One bowl of kisses
It's a bit of a joke really, fancying your best mate. You're not even his best mate, so the idea that he would want you to be his boyfriend -- which makes you sound like a thirteen-year-old girl, as if this whole thing isn't embarrassing enough -- is ludicrous, and you back away as he comes towards you, unholy light of mischief in his eyes.
"C'mon, Moony, give us a kiss," he says, fish-mouthed, and you must be mad, because nobody looks attractive when they're doing that, but Sirius does, and oh, God, you're never going to live this down, even inside your own damn head.
He's too quick for you, and -- be honest -- you don't really want to get away, you want him to kiss you, plant a big wet smacking kiss on your mouth so you can at least pretend he wants you, in some other world where you're not a werewolf and he's not Sirius Black and it's okay to be queer.
His mouth covers yours and you pretend to struggle but you really don't, and it's wet and warm and kind of weird, and you both stop breathing for a second, and then he's really kissing you, no more joking around, arms around you, hands in your hair, bodies pressed together tightly, and for a second you think, oh, God, no, don't-- but you can't stop it -- can he feel it? -- and then he shifts and, oh, God, oh, God, you can feel it, feel him, and he whispers, "Moony, Moony, it's all right," and somehow, suddenly, it is.
*
"It's okay," Sirius murmurs, mouth wet and hot against Remus's skin, his lips, and Remus leans into the kiss, frantic, frightened -- are we really doing this? -- and Sirius whispers, "Shh, shh," into his mouth, little curls of breath and tongue that tickle his palate, send shivers, hot and cold at the same time -- and how is that even possible? -- down his spine. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, awkward, flapping things, settles them on Sirius's shoulders, afraid if he clutches, Sirius will want to be free, and afraid if he doesn't, Sirius will think he doesn't want him, and he does, oh, he does.
"Sirius," he manages when Sirius moves his mouth away, and there is a light like the stars in Sirius's eyes -- and how did I never notice that? -- hot and cold at the same time, and lingering long after the kiss has faded into memory, and always there to guide him home.
*
When Sirius comes home, he wakes Remus with kisses, fluttering eyelashes and nuzzling noses, and lips sliding over stubbled skin, soft and smelling of sleep.
Remus stirs, opens his eyes. "Sirius?" He reaches up, cups Sirius's cheek, and Sirius rubs his cheek into the warm palm of his hand before turning to press a kiss there.
"Hey. I thought you weren't back until--"
"Yeah." Sirius doesn't want to talk about it, what he's seen, what he's learned. What he still doesn't know and can't bear to think about.
Remus lowers his gaze for a moment (Hiding, Sirius wonders, or just how well he knows me?) and when he looks up, there is nothing but heat and love in his eyes.
He draws Sirius down into a kiss, warm and tasting of sleep, lazy slide of tongue against tongue trading breath and spit and voiceless secrets too big for words to ever hold.
"Missed you," he murmurs when Remus pulls away, wondering if Remus missed him, too.
"Mmm." Remus pulls him into another kiss, more awake now, a kiss that makes some demands and promises some satisfaction, and the world drops away as Sirius lets himself get lost.
*
He knows he's a mess, smelling of hippogriff and dog and dirt, but Remus doesn't seem to mind.
"Missed you," Remus says, fingers brushing gently over Sirius's cheek, light as fairy's wings, warm as sunlight. Sirius closes his eyes, raises his face to the touch, and Remus kisses him, a tender thing, all soft breath and chapped lips.
First breath, first touch, first kiss -- Sirius can't quite handle it -- the heat of Remus's mouth, the sudden rush of sensation blooming under his skin.
He pulls away with a choking gasp, and Remus wraps his arms -- strong for all his thinness -- around him, holds him in a gentle, reassuring embrace.
*
The house is full of shadowed alcoves, odd corners where there shouldn't be any, corridors that dead-end in locked doors for which no one has found the keys.
"No wonder the lot of you are mad," Remus mutters before Sirius shuts him up with what's meant to be a brief kiss, but they're both greedy now, needy now, and a brief brush of lips quickly becomes more. Remus's lips part, his tongue gliding against the roof of Sirius's mouth, and Sirius lets loose a low moan that Remus answers with a growl of his own. The kiss is slick, hot, practiced, the echo of a thousand kisses past, the promise of a thousand kisses more.
They are all skin and bones these days, angles and planes and broken places that somehow slot together, healing over into something stronger than the thing they had before, broken too easily by fear and doubt and silence.
"Mad for you," Sirius whispers. Though there's no need for words, Remus likes them and Sirius likes saying them, all the things they didn't say before, spilling out now in endless conversations about Harry and the Order and the war, about everything and nothing, in the space between lip and tongue and gasping breath.
*
Sirius tastes of burnt coffee and stale cigarettes, smells of wet dog and damp wool, but none of that matters when he presses Remus against the door -- long, lean body slowly relaxing, tension uncoiling with a near-silent sigh, elegant fingers weaving through Remus's hair, a living tapestry of skin and flesh and breath -- and kisses him.
Remus breathes him in, fervently thankful for his presence, his return from -- wherever he was. Sirius's jacket buttons, carved with anchors, leave red marks on Remus's skin, and Sirius's fingers, tangled in Remus's shaggy hair, tug insistently, sending a shiver of pain across Remus's scalp, down his spine, but Remus doesn't mind. He revels in the marks, the pain, the proof that Sirius is here with him, safe and whole and desperate to be kissed.
"I'm home," Sirius says, laughing against Remus's mouth, and the best answer -- the only answer -- Remus can give him is another kiss.
~*~
2.28.06
Title and cut-tag text from "Mystery" by D.H. Lawrence.
~*~
Feedback is hugged and kissed and called George...
*
So this is for angel423 (requested by northernsky_), invisigoth_17 (requested by spikeyboots), luzdeestrellas (requested by lyras), kashmir_ki_kali (requested by melayneseahawk), underlucius (requested by gehayi), and fleshdress (requested by wildestranger)
One bowl of kisses
HP; Sirius/Remus; 1,085 words
Remus kisses him, a tender thing, all soft breath and chapped lips.
~*~
One bowl of kisses
It's a bit of a joke really, fancying your best mate. You're not even his best mate, so the idea that he would want you to be his boyfriend -- which makes you sound like a thirteen-year-old girl, as if this whole thing isn't embarrassing enough -- is ludicrous, and you back away as he comes towards you, unholy light of mischief in his eyes.
"C'mon, Moony, give us a kiss," he says, fish-mouthed, and you must be mad, because nobody looks attractive when they're doing that, but Sirius does, and oh, God, you're never going to live this down, even inside your own damn head.
He's too quick for you, and -- be honest -- you don't really want to get away, you want him to kiss you, plant a big wet smacking kiss on your mouth so you can at least pretend he wants you, in some other world where you're not a werewolf and he's not Sirius Black and it's okay to be queer.
His mouth covers yours and you pretend to struggle but you really don't, and it's wet and warm and kind of weird, and you both stop breathing for a second, and then he's really kissing you, no more joking around, arms around you, hands in your hair, bodies pressed together tightly, and for a second you think, oh, God, no, don't-- but you can't stop it -- can he feel it? -- and then he shifts and, oh, God, oh, God, you can feel it, feel him, and he whispers, "Moony, Moony, it's all right," and somehow, suddenly, it is.
*
"It's okay," Sirius murmurs, mouth wet and hot against Remus's skin, his lips, and Remus leans into the kiss, frantic, frightened -- are we really doing this? -- and Sirius whispers, "Shh, shh," into his mouth, little curls of breath and tongue that tickle his palate, send shivers, hot and cold at the same time -- and how is that even possible? -- down his spine. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, awkward, flapping things, settles them on Sirius's shoulders, afraid if he clutches, Sirius will want to be free, and afraid if he doesn't, Sirius will think he doesn't want him, and he does, oh, he does.
"Sirius," he manages when Sirius moves his mouth away, and there is a light like the stars in Sirius's eyes -- and how did I never notice that? -- hot and cold at the same time, and lingering long after the kiss has faded into memory, and always there to guide him home.
*
When Sirius comes home, he wakes Remus with kisses, fluttering eyelashes and nuzzling noses, and lips sliding over stubbled skin, soft and smelling of sleep.
Remus stirs, opens his eyes. "Sirius?" He reaches up, cups Sirius's cheek, and Sirius rubs his cheek into the warm palm of his hand before turning to press a kiss there.
"Hey. I thought you weren't back until--"
"Yeah." Sirius doesn't want to talk about it, what he's seen, what he's learned. What he still doesn't know and can't bear to think about.
Remus lowers his gaze for a moment (Hiding, Sirius wonders, or just how well he knows me?) and when he looks up, there is nothing but heat and love in his eyes.
He draws Sirius down into a kiss, warm and tasting of sleep, lazy slide of tongue against tongue trading breath and spit and voiceless secrets too big for words to ever hold.
"Missed you," he murmurs when Remus pulls away, wondering if Remus missed him, too.
"Mmm." Remus pulls him into another kiss, more awake now, a kiss that makes some demands and promises some satisfaction, and the world drops away as Sirius lets himself get lost.
*
He knows he's a mess, smelling of hippogriff and dog and dirt, but Remus doesn't seem to mind.
"Missed you," Remus says, fingers brushing gently over Sirius's cheek, light as fairy's wings, warm as sunlight. Sirius closes his eyes, raises his face to the touch, and Remus kisses him, a tender thing, all soft breath and chapped lips.
First breath, first touch, first kiss -- Sirius can't quite handle it -- the heat of Remus's mouth, the sudden rush of sensation blooming under his skin.
He pulls away with a choking gasp, and Remus wraps his arms -- strong for all his thinness -- around him, holds him in a gentle, reassuring embrace.
*
The house is full of shadowed alcoves, odd corners where there shouldn't be any, corridors that dead-end in locked doors for which no one has found the keys.
"No wonder the lot of you are mad," Remus mutters before Sirius shuts him up with what's meant to be a brief kiss, but they're both greedy now, needy now, and a brief brush of lips quickly becomes more. Remus's lips part, his tongue gliding against the roof of Sirius's mouth, and Sirius lets loose a low moan that Remus answers with a growl of his own. The kiss is slick, hot, practiced, the echo of a thousand kisses past, the promise of a thousand kisses more.
They are all skin and bones these days, angles and planes and broken places that somehow slot together, healing over into something stronger than the thing they had before, broken too easily by fear and doubt and silence.
"Mad for you," Sirius whispers. Though there's no need for words, Remus likes them and Sirius likes saying them, all the things they didn't say before, spilling out now in endless conversations about Harry and the Order and the war, about everything and nothing, in the space between lip and tongue and gasping breath.
*
Sirius tastes of burnt coffee and stale cigarettes, smells of wet dog and damp wool, but none of that matters when he presses Remus against the door -- long, lean body slowly relaxing, tension uncoiling with a near-silent sigh, elegant fingers weaving through Remus's hair, a living tapestry of skin and flesh and breath -- and kisses him.
Remus breathes him in, fervently thankful for his presence, his return from -- wherever he was. Sirius's jacket buttons, carved with anchors, leave red marks on Remus's skin, and Sirius's fingers, tangled in Remus's shaggy hair, tug insistently, sending a shiver of pain across Remus's scalp, down his spine, but Remus doesn't mind. He revels in the marks, the pain, the proof that Sirius is here with him, safe and whole and desperate to be kissed.
"I'm home," Sirius says, laughing against Remus's mouth, and the best answer -- the only answer -- Remus can give him is another kiss.
~*~
2.28.06
Title and cut-tag text from "Mystery" by D.H. Lawrence.
~*~
Feedback is hugged and kissed and called George...
*