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Morning light came through the curtains in a flat wash, carrying the coolness of early hours before the day warmed up. Remus woke gradually behind you–first the adjustment of his chest against your back as he surfaced, then the weight of his hips settling in to the cradle of your ass, the shirt you’d stolen from him the night before bunched high on your waist, his shorts twisted low on his.
You were stirring too, your body shifting to seek his body heat. His arm stayed tucked beneath your head, pillowing you, while his other hand traced idle circles on the curve of your hip.
He was hard against you. You could feel the rigid heat through the thin fabric of his shorts, morning wood. He kept his thumb moving, slow, petting you like he had all day.
“Mmn,” he said, rough, sleep-thick. “Time?”
“Early,” you mumbled, cheek against the pillow. You arched slightly, a stretch that pushed your rear against the solid outline of him, and he exhaled sharp against your neck, hand tightening on your hip.
His hand slid up, rough palm dragging over your stomach, pulling you back to be spooned by his body. Then it drifted lower, fingers slipping beneath the elastic of your underwear, just resting, warm against the soft hair, feeling the heat of you waking up.
“Okay?” he asked, quiet against your hair.
You pushed your hips into his hand, nodding, your own hand coming up to cover his where it rested on your stomach, threading fingers together. “Slow,” you mumbled.
“Yeah,” he breathed, mouth open against your shoulder blade. “I’ve got you.”
He kept you on your sides. The angle was easier and less demanding. He pulled your underwear down, the elastic catching on your ankle before you kicked one leg free, leaving the other tangled with the sheets. He pushed his own shorts lower, the waistband snapping against his thighs, before kicking them off. He was now bare against you, hot and solid, the length of him resting against the cleft of your ass, not entering yet.
His hand moved between your legs from the front, fingers finding your clit with the same idle patience he always had, rubbing gentle figure eightes, coaxing a soft sound out of you. You were starting to get slick, body ready before your mind had fully arrived, and he worked you open slowly, two fingers sinking in with no resistance, feeling the subtle pulse and clench of you waking up around him.
“Hey,” he whispered, turning your chin with his other hand so he could see your face. His eyes were open now, pupils blown wide in the dim light.
“Hi,” you whispered back, smiling, lazy. You reached back, hand finding his hip, pulling him closer. “Come here.”
He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, slick covered fingers finding home in gripping your thigh. He then lined himself up, the blunt head pressing against your entrance, and pushed in slowly. The slow steady pressure burned so perfectly you could swear you almost stopped breathing, your hand flying back to grip his wrist, nails digging in. He didn’t stop until he was seated deep, his pelvis flush against your ass, his pubic bone pressing into the swell of you. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, exhaling sharply against your skin.
He was big like this, the angle making him feel bigger, filling you up until you felt the throb of him in your lower belly. He stayed there for a moment, buried to the root, his hand splayed wide across your thigh, holding you against him, feeling you flutter around him, adjust to the intrusion.
“You’re alright?” he gasped, though he was checking himself as much as you, the control it took to hold still evident in the tremor of his arm.
“Move,” you breathed. “Please, moony”
He did. He pulled back just an inch, the slide wet and tight, then rocked forward again, grinding deep. A slow tide back and forth, his hips rolling against your ass while he stayed sheathed inside. His hand stayed moved back between your legs, fingers spreading your lips, pressing against your clit so that every small rock pushed you into his palm, the weight of his hips driving the rhythm.
“Good?” he asked, voice ragged against your ear, though he could feel it, the way you were clenching around him in waves, the way your breath had gone shallow against the pillow.
“Mh hm,” you hummed, “right there.”
He kept the rhythm steady, basking in the feeling of his hips being against yours, the slide of his cock inside you, thick and solid, dragging against your fluttering wall with every thrust. His hand worked you from the front, two fingers now sliding up and down your slit, spreading wetness, circling your clit with a maddeningly gentle pressure that drove you crazy.
You turned your head, seeking his mouth, and he met you in a messy and open kiss, tongue sliding against yours as he rocked harder, the sound of skin on skin wet now, obscene in the otherwise quiet room. He adjusted his angle, tilting his hips, and you gasped into his mouth because he was hitting your g spot now, pressing firm and steady against it with every slow grind.
“Good?” he whispered, breaking the kiss to watch your face, his eyes blown out, focused entirely on you.
You nodded, whining softly, hand gripping his arm to ground yourself. He was sweating now, you could feel it against your back, his hair damp at the temples where it brushed against the back of your neck.
He sped up marginally, his hips working in short, rolling thrusts that stayed deep, never pulling out far, just grinding and pressing and dragging. The hand between your legs moved faster too, fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, the pressure perfect and insistent.
You were close, the pleasure building slow and heavy in your pelvis. You clenched around him, involuntary, and he groaned, the sound vibrating into your back, his thrusts faltering as he fought to keep the rhythm.
“Come on,” he breathed against your neck, teeth grazing the tendon there. “I’ve got you.”
It rolled through you like a wave, your body locking up, back arching against his chest, mouth open as you pulsed around him. He kept his hand moving, drawing it out, stroking you through it, his cock still rocking, dragging against your fluttering walls, extending the pleasure as you rode the high, pushing back against his hand.
He followed you over, the grip of your orgasm too much. He buried himself deep one last time, grinding hard against your ass, and went still, his whole body tensing, his hand leaving your clit to grip your hip instead, holding you flush against him as he spilled inside you.
For a long time, neither of you moved. He stayed inside you, softening but not pulling out, keeping you connected, his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair. The sunlight felt like it got brighter, turning from pale to proper yellow. A bird chirped outside.
He shifted finally, pulling out, the slide wet and obscene. He didn’t let you go. He reached down, found the bunched fabric of his abandoned t-shirt on the bed, and used it to wipe you both down with the same gentle, unhurried care, tossing it aside afterward. Then he pulled you back into him, fitting himself around you again, his leg hooking over yours, his hand returning to your stomach, splayed wide.
“We should get up,” he murmured, voice still thick, but he didn’t move. He pulled the blanket up over your shoulders instead, tucking it around you both, his mouth finding the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there.
“Five more minutes,” you mumbled.
He hummed, the sound vibrating into your spine. “Five more minutes,” he agreed.