fic: Filthy/Gorgeous (Sirius/Remus)
Title: Filthy/Gorgeous
Author: victoria p. [victoria @ unfitforsociety.net]
Summary: "He shoves Remus into the alcove formed by the speaker, hands already working at his belt, and Remus leans in and kisses him, hard and hungry."
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Archive: Achromatic.
Feedback: Yeah, baby
Notes: All xylodemon’s fault. Title from Scissor Sisters. Written for the hp_literotica 500 watchers celebration. Based on my last post...
Word count: 720
Date: September 23, 2005
~*~
Filthy/Gorgeous
The Muggle club is hot and smoky, full of men and women and men who look like women and women who may actually be men. Sirius doesn’t feel out of place in his eyeliner and dog collar, though he turns just as many heads here, and that makes him smile dangerously, because he likes the sense of power it gives him.
He dances, pressed up against strangers who’d like to get to know him better, and he drinks, sharp, fizzy Muggle drinks in tall thin glasses that are whisked away as soon as he puts them down.
He loses track of Remus for a bit, caught up in the press and sway of bodies, hands, mouths, all trying to catch and hold him. When he escapes their clutches, laughing wildly, he finds Remus backed up against a speaker by a girl with the Union Jack wrapped around her hips as a skirt and a pair of big black boots.
Remus is wearing his skeptically amused face, the one that means he doesn’t believe someone is chatting him up, though it happens every time they go out.
Sirius slides in beside Remus, twining an arm around his waist, and nips at his ear possessively. The girl curls her lip in a disappointed snarl and stomps away. Sirius laughs again, lips pressed to Remus’s ear, and whispers, “I want to fuck you right now.”
Remus’s eyes challenge him with that same cool skepticism. He says, “Do you really?”
Sirius loves when Remus is like this, daring eyes and willing mouth and skinny fuck-me hips cocked like a gun waiting to go off.
“Come on.” He shoves Remus into the alcove formed by the speaker, hands already working at his belt, and Remus leans in and kisses him, hard and hungry.
The strobe lights flash red and white and "Tragedy" blares in the background, heavy bass thumping in contrast to the treble voices singing. Sirius can’t get Remus’s jeans open fast enough, not when Remus’s hands are mimicking his, shoving his jeans down far enough so they can rub against each other with nothing but a slick sheen of sweat in between.
Sirius can see them when he looks up at the mirrored ceiling -- he is all damp too-long fringe pushed off his sweaty forehead, and smudged eyeliner and red, swollen lips, and Remus is pale and thin, brown hair mussed and brown eyes alight with heat and mischief. They both taste of peppermint schnapps and seduction from some unknown blue concoction they drank earlier, bought by persons unknown and delivered by a waitress wearing a bustier and a black leather skirt, a safety pin through her nose. His hands roam over Remus's shoulders and collarbones, chipped black paint on the clipped fingernails, and then up under his shirt to tease at hard, flat nipples. Remus's thin, denim-clad leg is hooked around Sirius’s thigh as they thrust against each other, his head tipped back against the black-carpet-lined walls, exposing the pale, slim column of his throat rising from the collar of his soft, worn New York Dolls tee shirt, rough with stubble and slick with sweat against Sirius's tongue. Remus has one long-fingered hand clenched in Sirius's hair, bone-white on night-black in the flashing light; the other strokes over the studded leather collar around Sirius's throat, which makes him shiver with the need to possess, and be possessed, before snaking down and gripping his hip hard enough to leave a red mark on Sirius's skin that Sirius vaguely hopes will never fade away.
They shudder and gasp as they move, and breathe with soft private sounds no one can hear above the Gibbs brothers' falsetto shriek, silent desperate prayers of yes and fuck and please, and then, Sirius, *god*. Sirius laughs a low wicked laugh as Remus comes and he follows, mouth pressed to Remus's jaw, tongue tracing out promises he will never speak, unable to even breathe as he shakes with the hot, wild pulse of orgasm.
They slump together, an oasis of quiet in the cacophony, calm in the furious press of bodies and flashes of light. Remus wraps his arms around Sirius and Sirius allows himself to be caught and held for a little while, because he knows Remus will always let him go when he needs to be free.
end
***
Feedback is delish.
Author: victoria p. [victoria @ unfitforsociety.net]
Summary: "He shoves Remus into the alcove formed by the speaker, hands already working at his belt, and Remus leans in and kisses him, hard and hungry."
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Archive: Achromatic.
Feedback: Yeah, baby
Notes: All xylodemon’s fault. Title from Scissor Sisters. Written for the hp_literotica 500 watchers celebration. Based on my last post...
Word count: 720
Date: September 23, 2005
~*~
Filthy/Gorgeous
The Muggle club is hot and smoky, full of men and women and men who look like women and women who may actually be men. Sirius doesn’t feel out of place in his eyeliner and dog collar, though he turns just as many heads here, and that makes him smile dangerously, because he likes the sense of power it gives him.
He dances, pressed up against strangers who’d like to get to know him better, and he drinks, sharp, fizzy Muggle drinks in tall thin glasses that are whisked away as soon as he puts them down.
He loses track of Remus for a bit, caught up in the press and sway of bodies, hands, mouths, all trying to catch and hold him. When he escapes their clutches, laughing wildly, he finds Remus backed up against a speaker by a girl with the Union Jack wrapped around her hips as a skirt and a pair of big black boots.
Remus is wearing his skeptically amused face, the one that means he doesn’t believe someone is chatting him up, though it happens every time they go out.
Sirius slides in beside Remus, twining an arm around his waist, and nips at his ear possessively. The girl curls her lip in a disappointed snarl and stomps away. Sirius laughs again, lips pressed to Remus’s ear, and whispers, “I want to fuck you right now.”
Remus’s eyes challenge him with that same cool skepticism. He says, “Do you really?”
Sirius loves when Remus is like this, daring eyes and willing mouth and skinny fuck-me hips cocked like a gun waiting to go off.
“Come on.” He shoves Remus into the alcove formed by the speaker, hands already working at his belt, and Remus leans in and kisses him, hard and hungry.
The strobe lights flash red and white and "Tragedy" blares in the background, heavy bass thumping in contrast to the treble voices singing. Sirius can’t get Remus’s jeans open fast enough, not when Remus’s hands are mimicking his, shoving his jeans down far enough so they can rub against each other with nothing but a slick sheen of sweat in between.
Sirius can see them when he looks up at the mirrored ceiling -- he is all damp too-long fringe pushed off his sweaty forehead, and smudged eyeliner and red, swollen lips, and Remus is pale and thin, brown hair mussed and brown eyes alight with heat and mischief. They both taste of peppermint schnapps and seduction from some unknown blue concoction they drank earlier, bought by persons unknown and delivered by a waitress wearing a bustier and a black leather skirt, a safety pin through her nose. His hands roam over Remus's shoulders and collarbones, chipped black paint on the clipped fingernails, and then up under his shirt to tease at hard, flat nipples. Remus's thin, denim-clad leg is hooked around Sirius’s thigh as they thrust against each other, his head tipped back against the black-carpet-lined walls, exposing the pale, slim column of his throat rising from the collar of his soft, worn New York Dolls tee shirt, rough with stubble and slick with sweat against Sirius's tongue. Remus has one long-fingered hand clenched in Sirius's hair, bone-white on night-black in the flashing light; the other strokes over the studded leather collar around Sirius's throat, which makes him shiver with the need to possess, and be possessed, before snaking down and gripping his hip hard enough to leave a red mark on Sirius's skin that Sirius vaguely hopes will never fade away.
They shudder and gasp as they move, and breathe with soft private sounds no one can hear above the Gibbs brothers' falsetto shriek, silent desperate prayers of yes and fuck and please, and then, Sirius, *god*. Sirius laughs a low wicked laugh as Remus comes and he follows, mouth pressed to Remus's jaw, tongue tracing out promises he will never speak, unable to even breathe as he shakes with the hot, wild pulse of orgasm.
They slump together, an oasis of quiet in the cacophony, calm in the furious press of bodies and flashes of light. Remus wraps his arms around Sirius and Sirius allows himself to be caught and held for a little while, because he knows Remus will always let him go when he needs to be free.
end
***
Feedback is delish.