Work Text:
It started less than three days ago; with a kiss on the edge of the Quidditch pitch.
Being good at sports, even Quidditch, doesn't suit Sirius's dilettante demeanor. But he is, and James had looked so sad when his best Chaser graduated in his first year as Captain (how dare she, so rude) so Sirius had ended up playing despite himself. Then they won. Against Slytherin. Dear Cousin Narcissa had nearly taken James off his broom in the final race for the snitch and everyone was riding high on the near miss as much as the win.
Then Moony had been there at Sirius's side, like always, smelling like fun and summer and a little bit like chocolate. Chocolate kills dogs but Sirius loves the stuff. Maybe that's a sign. There had been so many hugs, so many pats on the back. Laughing and touching. They were all crowded so close and Remus was there. Right there. Indefinable and achingly desirable. So Sirius had kissed him. Impulse had seen him well enough for the last sixteen years, so why not now. It made sense at the time. The kiss had been bloody brilliant. The whole night had.
Peter paid James a Galleon immediately after it happened. Sirius had been so pleased that Remus had kissed him back that he hadn't bothered being mad about it. People bet on Sirius Black's love life all the time, anyway. Why shouldn't James get in on the action? Usually the people betting were all wrong, but still.
Sirius had kissed Remus again instead of worrying about it. The second time had been bloody brilliant too, actually.
In fact, every single time since the first time has been amazing. Most of the snogging after the first incident has been more private. Stolen moments between classes when their mates happen to have given them more than ten seconds alone. They haven't really talked about it yet. The snogging is far too distracting.
Remus smells so good. His hands tangle in Sirius's clothes and hair each time, like he has to hang on. As if Sirius is something unattainable and precious, something that might fly away when that's anything but true. Remus might be forever tied to the moon, but to Sirius he is all sun, no matter what they call him. So bright he's blinding, and impossible not to orbit.
That first kiss had been on Thursday afternoon, right after the game. Friday spun past in a blur of anticipatory distraction. Now it's either very late on Saturday or very early Sunday, Sirius lost track of the exact time back when the Chaneque Tequila came out.
So, now it's been just over two days, almost three if you count creatively. There have been twenty-one kisses since the first, twenty-two if you count the peck on the cheek Remus gave him at breakfast that may or may not have been a joke. Not that Sirius is counting. Much. There haven't been any more since they arrived at the not-so-secret Hufflepuff house party several hours ago. Sirius is starting to lose the ability to think about anything else.
Luckily, through cunning which would make his Slytherin ancestors proud, Sirius now finds himself locked in a cupboard with a very amenable, and very kissable, werewolf. Seven minutes in heaven -- it is a ridiculous party game. Sirius suggesting it is perfectly in keeping no matter how ridiculous, however, and somehow the usually reserved Remus had been persuaded to play, James had jinxed the selection process and here they are. The door is warded and silenced, they have exactly seven minutes and Sirius thinks he can more than double the current kissing total if Remus lets him.
Remus does more than let him.
Remus pounces on him, more feline or vulpine than lupine. Remus grabs Sirius by the back of the neck and drags Sirius's lips to his. Remus presses their bodies hard together and locks them into an aggressively blissful kiss. Sirius whimpers, all canine, and folds under an onslaught of affection and lust. When Remus rolls his hips just right, pulls Sirius's own hips closer, Sirius can feel how much Remus really wants him back, at least right now. He's hard, just as turned on by the frantic pleasure of kissing as Sirius is. Maybe, just maybe, as hot and bothered by the idea of who he's kissing as he is by the kiss itself. Sirius wants to know but doesn't want to ask.
Sirius stumbles back and hits the wall when Remus pushes him, lightly but enough to catch him off guard.
"Wha-" Sirius starts to speak but then words desert him as Remus tumbles to his knees with awkward grace.
This is all rather unexpected. Now it's happening he's not sure why he didn't plan for it, but he'd assumed that it would be his job to take the lead. He assumed, wrongly, that at some point he, Sirius, would have to talk him, Moony, into moving things any further than lips and tongue, kisses and friction. As usual Sirius assumed incorrectly and Remus surprises him. Remus surprising him is almost as inevitable as that first kiss, almost as inevitable as the way Remus looking at him makes him burn with inarticulate desire. Almost and always inevitable.
Remus looks up at Sirius from under his copper gold lashes, almost shy. A sly smile tugs at the corners of Remus's mouth and catches at Sirius heart in ways he's not ready to think about.
"I've only tried this a couple of times," Remus admits.
When? With whom? And why didn't Sirius know about it?
Sirius blinks down at him, the closest he can manage to an acknowledgment of this unfathomable revelation.
"So you'll have to tell me if I'm doing anything wrong, okay?" Remus's voice is an enticing whisper, and Sirius can already feel Remus's breath through the thin cotton of his untucked school shirt. "And we've only got seven minutes, so, you know. Don't hold back."
How would Sirius know if Remus was doing anything wrong?
If he's more honest with himself than he likes to be, then he's not even sure what's about to happen. He has a basic idea, obviously, but it's very basic. He fights back a minor flood of panic. His fumbling fling with Everon Flint hadn't got further than snogging behind the broom sheds before the sod had decided he was straighter than originally thought. Even if Sirius had got the nerve up to go further than vague groping with Marlene Mckinnon or Gleniffer Parkinson, he isn't sure how that would help him now either. He's not sure anything could help him now. Remus looks so intent, so focused. So bloody keen. It leaves Sirius breathless and shivering.
"Okay," Sirius says, strained and loud over the beating of his heart.
Remus bites his lower lip in concentration and Sirius wants to taste it too. Then he's not thinking about anything much other than ' fuck, fuck, fuck,' because Remus is undoing Sirius's belt with deft hands and enthusiastic speed. Remus doesn't waste time. He treats getting to know Sirius’s prick like a Charms experiment, with an eager determination that leaves no room for failure. Sirius gasps for oxygen and grips the wall behind him. He closes his eyes, can't quite bear to be the subject of Remus's attentive inspection. Not that Remus is looking at his face . Sirius tries very hard to remember how the breathe.
Sirius feels and hears his trousers hit the floor with one sharp tug from Remus. His belt buckle makes a sharp clink as it collides with the stone. Sirius feels the silk fabric of his underpants move next, soft against his tender skin, and then the cold air hits his cock and he whimpers again, because this is it. This is the closest another person, another wizard at that, has ever been to touching him and it's not any wizard, it's Remus. Merlin, he did not think this through. If this goes wrong he won't ever recover. He can't disappoint Remus. Sirius has let down every single person who has ever wanted anything from him, and the only one he can't let himself do that to is Remus. He can't break this. He mustn't ruin this. Just this one thing, he has to get this one thing right.
"Hmph," Remus makes the exact same snorting snuffle sound that he normally reserves for complicated arithmancy. It is ridiculous, and as hot as hell.
Sirius's eyes snap open. Remus is biting his lip still, it's turning white at the edge from the pressure and his scars twist noticeably when he makes that face. Sirius loves it. Moony does it while he studies, and he has no idea how sexy it is. He has no idea what flashes of those scars do to Sirius late at night. Sirius knows it's fucked up. He knows Remus hates the scars and so should he. But he can't; they're so much a part of Moony, of who he is and will be, that it's all Sirius can do to avoid licking them half the time. His prick perks right back up at the sight and even gives an embarrassing quiver.
"Something wrong?" Sirius finds himself asking, faux sauve and shaking under it.
Remus looks up at him and grants him a full summer-sun smile which takes what little breath Sirius had left.
"Not at all," he says, then: "May I?"
Those might be the most erotic words Sirius has ever heard; Sirius nods, swallowing his fear. Then he gasps, as Remus finally, finally, wraps one cool-fingered hand around the shaft of his cock. It's a lot more tentative than Sirius would be with himself, but overwhelming nonetheless. Sirius closes his eyes as tightly as he can. He's going to come in seconds if he keeps looking. His fantasies have always been amorphous and unnamable, and the reality is so specific, so real, so agonisingly good that he can't really hold onto it. Sirius's fingers dig into cold stone, his back arches, his toes curl and then- oh Merlin.
Remus licks him. Licks his actual cock with his actual tongue. A hot, damp, spit slick tongue, in a warm wide stripe of aching affection. Don't come. Don't come. Don't come, Sirius begs himself. Remus sucks him in, warm and wet and so damn perfect. Sirius whimpers, whines even, something raw and needy in the back of his throat and he doesn't fucking care because it feels so good. Priceless and endless and absolutely the best thing he's ever felt. He can feel the tension thrilling through him, he knows what it means and he wants to stop it, he does, but it's so very insistent. His body begs for release while his mind begs to hold on just a few moments longer. A conflicting rush of desperation and pleasure pulses through every inch of him.
"Please," he says through the blinding rush, not even sure who he's speaking to, Remus or himself. Not sure what he's asking for, just knows that he needs it now and forever and please, oh please-
Remus pulls off a moment too late, or too soon depending on how you look at it. Sirius comes with a shuddering, broken cry and his spunk splashes over Remus’s gorgeously scarred face.
Sirius gives up on standing and slides down the wall to his knees; he ends up sprawled in Remus’s lap and then he licks Remus's face. That might be more Padfoot than Sirius, but right now he doesn't care. He licks his own spunk off Remus’s smile. Tastes himself on Remus’s skin. It's an incredibly intimate, possessive thing that coils through him and feels a lot like triumph. Remus ruins it by laughing and wiping the rest on the lapels of Sirius’s school robes.
"Hey," Sirius says, but only half-hearted in his reprisal. Remus kisses him silent. Fuck, it's good.
When the kiss ends Remus draws his wand and casts a glittering, wordless Tempus in the air next to them. Three minutes left. Sirius is pretty sure that's a bad sign, considering how long it took them to get to the good stuff, but Remus is smirking and raising a very suggestive eyebrow so he's not really finding anything to feel bad about. Of course, Sirius has got no bloody idea what to do next. With Remus sprawled confidently beneath him, Sirius lets instinct guide him and starts kissing Remus again, slower and more thoroughly than he has before. He wants to memorise this warm-all-over feeling. He wants to map every move, every arch and slide of tongue and every tilt of Remus's chin. He wants to know this like he knows his own touch. He wants to remember the way this feels for the rest of his life, he wants to bundle it up close and keep it deep inside, something precious and real to draw on for every Patronus he'll ever cast from this moment forward.
Then Remus moves under him, shifts his hips and the rough cotton of Remus's school trousers scratches the sensitive flesh of Sirius’s naked thighs. Sirius feels the solid curve of Remus's still-hard cock through the fabric and suddenly it's all he can think about. He's wondered before, who wouldn't, if what they say about werewolves is true. Even half of it. Whispered rumours. Merlin and Godric, he wants to know. He wants to know in the most physical, visceral way possible.
He's scrambling with the clasp of Remus’s trousers, despite an awkward angle, before he can think himself out of it. Remus places his hands on the floor behind him, props himself up and lays himself out under Sirius’s shaking thighs and impatient hands. Their eyes meet and there's a curious fire in Remus’s hazel gaze, a frighteningly intelligent assessment of whatever he finds in Sirius at that moment.
"Sirius?"
Something in Remus’s voice causes Sirius to pause, even though he's so very close to answering all those itching questions. Answering them with his hands and tongue and knowing Remus's body the way he needs to. Remus is still hard, he can feel it even if their hips have stopped rolling--they're still so close it burns. Their magics combine and thrum between them, and Sirius isn't sure if that's normal, but it's amazing. It takes everything he has to resist the thrilling sparks running up his spine.
"Yeah?" Sirius answers, his voice surprisingly rough. Deep and dark in ways he seldom hears it.
"I've wanted you for years, and…" Remus looks away when he speaks, breathes deep before he continues. "I think… some of the ways I want you… I don't think they're entirely... human… " the last word is almost a whisper but Remus forces himself to meet Sirius's eye again.
Oh… Oh, wow.
"Um," says Sirius.
When Remus looks at him there's something vulnerable there. Something Sirius may never really be able to handle, but it's Remus so he has to try.
"Right," Sirius says, gamely through an anxious rush of anticipation. "Can we try those in a bed rather than a cupboard, then?"
Remus surges up to kiss him. This is nothing like the last languorous kiss. It is teeth and desire and need. It is frantic, rutting against each other like the animals inside them. Hot and hard and greedy. It's so good it hurts. It's the kind of kiss that strips back everything else, rips away the world and implodes into nothing but itself, nothing but each other. Two bodies entwined and meeting in uncontrolled desire. It's a primal promise of more to come, and Sirius can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of Remus.
The door bursts open, and it feels like nowhere near seven minutes yet close to eternity.
"Oh Merlin's balls, Padfoot!" James shouts loud enough for half the castle to hear. He covers his eyes in shock but manfully blocks the door with his entire self to keep the rest of the party from peering in at them. "Pants, man. Pants!"
Remus laughs into Sirius's throat. He can feel it as well as hear it, a deep resonant chuckle that he can never resist joining. Even more so when it thrums through his chest because they're pressed so close together.
"Bed?" Remus whispers, for Sirius's ears only. Fuck. Sirius still isn't sure what he's offered to even do in bed. "Pants, then bed," Remus amends. Smart fellow, that Remus.
"Right," says Sirius. Pants first, panic later. Good plan.