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The living room of their student flat looks exactly how you’d expect a student flat to look. In front of the telly, there is an Ikea sofa with a vindictive spring that keeps reappearing, no matter how many times they tuck it back to its place. Across from the sofa, a rescued armchair stands lonely, which Lily swears she’ll reupholster every week. There are several paper pumpkins blu-tacked to the wall at drunken angles, and a coffee table that bears the stain of many drinks left behind or spilt. Someone (Lily) has strung orange pumpkin fairy lights along the bookcase. Someone else (James) has taped a skeleton to the wall so lopsided it looks like it’s trying to escape.
Sirius has already colonised half the sofa, boots on the table, wearing his signature black T-shirt with black jeans, his rings catching the pumpkin-light. He is trying to look incredibly nonchalant, like he just happens to be there, but he’s not really fooling anyone. In fact, he’s been planning this all day—rehearsing it, even, in his head. Sit on the sofa, not the chair. Leave the cushion beside him free. Don’t sprawl too much; sprawl just enough. Look cool. You are cool, so act like it. If Remus comes in late, he’ll have no choice but to sit there. If Remus doesn’t… well. Sirius might just cry himself to sleep. That would be the first step towards a rejection he’s not sure he could handle, frankly.
He tells himself it’s casual, the way his pulse jumps every time he hears a creak of the door. Just a movie night, mates taking the piss out of horror movies. Only he’s been in knots for weeks now, and tonight feels like the night he’ll finally untangle those knots. He’s almost certain Remus likes him back—the looks, the lingering touches, the way he laughs at Sirius’s worst jokes like they’re a secret code only he understands. Or maybe he’s imagining all of it. Maybe he’s about to humiliate himself. Either way, he’s made it his mission: sit next to Remus, brush knees, make him laugh, and, if the stars align, kiss him.
“House rules,” he announces suddenly, breaking the silence, while James fusses with the DVDs. “No spoilers, no pausing for Peter’s emergency wee breaks, and if anyone screams, they owe me a pint.”
“You screamed at the kettle this morning,” Lily points out, tossing packets of crisps and fun-size Dairy Milk onto the table.
“That was a tactical yelp,” Sirius replies, but his attention is already at the door.
Because finally, finally, it opens. Remus comes in late, wind-flushed from the cold, curls ruffled, wearing a wool jumper under a battered denim jacket, holding onto his precious tutoring essays tucked under his arm like he might actually start grading between murders. Sirius feels the stupid lurch in his stomach before he can stop it. All that rehearsing in his head—sit here, leave the cushion free, casual, casual—and now here he is, standing in the doorway like Sirius conjured him.
“Moony! Thought you wouldn’t make it. Seat’s warm,” Sirius says, patting the space beside him, praying it sounds offhand. Casual. Nonchalant.
Remus hesitates, just for a second, but Sirius feels it like an earthquake. His whole body goes stiff, rehearsing rejection in fast-forward: maybe he’ll sit in the armchair instead, maybe he’ll wedge in with Peter, maybe Sirius has made it too obvious. Maybe he’s not nonchalant at all. Fuck. His pulse is hammering under his smirk that’s getting less and less honest by the second.
Then Remus crosses the room and sits. The sofa dips; their knees touch. Sirius swears he can feel the heat of him through the denim—he wants to just snuggle up to him so bad that he has to force himself to behave. He keeps his eyes fixed on the telly, doesn’t dare look directly at Remus, but every nerve ending in his leg is on fire. He tells himself to move, to shift away like it means nothing, but he doesn’t. He can’t.
“See?” he manages, voice steady only because he’s spent weeks practising this scenario. “Told you.”
Remus gives him the faintest sideways glance, expression unreadable. “Hey, Pads.”
Sirius swallows, then wills himself to grin at James’s ridiculous bow with the DVDs like nothing monumental just happened. Like Remus is not actually pressed up against him.
“Tonight’s programme: The Evil Dead to loosen you philistines up, Halloween to teach you taste, and The Ring because Lily insists we’re cowards.”
“Because you are,” Lily says, dimming the lamp until only the pumpkins glow in the room.
James hits play on the first movie. The Evil Dead doesn’t so much start as it happens to them, the cabin appearing onscreen, the Deadites looking like cheap rubber masks from a joke shop. Within minutes, they’re all laughing; Remus hides behind his hands when the stop-motion meltdown happens. Sirius solemnly orders him to “respect cinema,” then screams when a Deadite lunges through a doorway, and without thinking, he grabs Remus’s knee in his panic. He decides to be brave and leaves it there afterwards, letting his thumb draw lazy circles. Remus doesn’t flinch or pull away; if anything, he leans in.
By the time the chainsaw revs, Peter is dozing off, Lily is critiquing the prosthetics, and James has launched into a ten-minute-long lecture on how the whole film is an allegory about fragile masculinity. Sirius doesn’t care about any of that. The bowl of popcorn has migrated to him and Remus and stayed there, and their hands occasionally brush when both of them reach in at the same time. He wants to toss the bowl to the floor and just climb on Remus’s lap to kiss him senseless, but that might feel a tad inappropriate and premature at that moment.
Halloween cleans the room. When the Carpenter score slices through the quiet, Sirius feels Remus tense beside him—he senses every breath, every involuntary twitch. Halfway in, when the wardrobe door creaks and shadow hardens into shape behind Laurie, Remus startles for real and his hand shoots out to grab Sirius’s wrist. Sirius goes very still, pulse thudding under Remus’s fingers.
“Cold?” Sirius whispers, though he’s barely able to, as his own throat is tight. He tries to make it sound casual, nonchalant, he reminds himself, but it comes out softer, almost like a secret.
“I’m fine,” Remus lies, and Sirius knows it. The dingy window in the living room doesn’t close properly; the draught prowls around their ankles like a cat, and Remus’s shoulders are hunched in that jumper like he’s getting ready to combat the Arctic winds. His hand stays curled around Sirius’s wrist a fraction too long before he pulls back, and Sirius feels the absence right away.
When the credits roll, James stretches theatrically.
“We are not wasting any more of our Friday night on teenagers ignoring common sense,” Lily declares, and James doesn’t dare disagree with her. Between the two of them, they manage to coax a comatose Peter upright and herd him towards the stairs to his room. Their voices fade, doors click shut, and suddenly the flat is hushed, leaving Remus and Sirius alone with just the telly’s flicker as Sirius starts the next movie.
The Ring feels like a dare. The cursed videotape is a collage crawling under their skin: a ladder, a woman brushing her hair, clean-cut fingers wriggling in a box, a stone well. When the phone rings onscreen, their neighbour suddenly decides that’s the best time to slam their door. Sirius laughs too loudly, not wanting to seem like he is scared shitless, wishing to remain nonchalant, but he’s pretty sure the sound he just made was a giveaway of his current state of mind.
“Not scared,” he declares. His voice tips just high enough to betray him.
“Obviously,” Remus answers dryly, but there’s a tremor underneath. Sirius hears it; Sirius always hears it. He doesn’t tease.
At some point, they shift even closer without realising: shoulders pressed under a shared blanket, popcorn bucket already abandoned on the floor. The telly washes them in blue-grey; the pumpkins burn soft amber in Sirius’s eyes. He swallows, heart skittering. This is it. This has to be it.
Sirius can’t take it any longer; he has to shoot his shot. If not now, when? He thinks back again to all those months—hell, even years—they’ve spent circling each other. In hindsight, it all feels inevitable. He turns just a bit and licks his lower lip as his gaze flicks to Remus’s mouth. Looks delicious.
He leans in a little closer to Remus’s ear, nonchalantly, trying not to make it too obvious. “Y’know… Scary films aren’t half as bad if you’ve got someone to hold onto.”
Remus huffs, but the tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth gives him away. “You volunteering?”
“If you’d like.” Sirius tries for a smirk, but it trembles. His heart is too loud, too obvious. So very not casual.
Remus tilts his head, considering the offer. His voice drops too, softer than Sirius has ever heard it. “And if I do?”
“Then you’d better mean it.”
They turn at the same time, and their mouths collide somewhere in the middle, warm and clumsy, teeth almost knocking before it smooths out into something just right. Sirius’s fingers tangle in Remus’s soft curls; Remus hauls him closer by the shirt, fist clenched tight in the fabric. They accidentally knock the popcorn bowl over with their feet as they’re scattering to scoot closer to each other. But Sirius couldn’t care less about the popcorn right now.
The film hisses with static. Sirius makes a shameless moan against Remus’s mouth that he doesn’t really mean to make (in fact, he means it very much), and moves to straddle him, his thigh sliding between his legs until Remus gasps into the kiss.
“Bedroom,” Remus says, breathless, startling himself as much as Sirius. “Before I—”
Sirius pulls back a fraction, pupils blown, lips red. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” The word has been waiting years to be spoken.
Sirius grins and tugs him up by the wrist.
They don’t make it to the stairs.
The blanket tangles around their ankles, Sirius stumbles into Remus with a laugh, and instead of untangling, he uses the momentum to shove Remus back down onto the sofa. He straddles him successfully now, knees on either side of his thighs, hair falling around both their faces like a curtain as he leans in for another kiss.
The telly keeps flickering as The Ring continues playing in the background. All Sirius can see and sense is Remus, finally his: the arch of his swollen, well-kissed mouth, the sharp taste of chocolate and salt. And Sirius, ever the insatiable fiend, simply can’t get enough. He licks into Remus’s mouth—not carefully anymore, but in a filthy way, almost as if trying to assert his dominance.
Yes, yes, yes, his brain keeps going in circles. You’re mine. Mine.
Remus’s hands are on his waist before he can even articulate his inner possessive thoughts, tugging him closer, slipping under his T-shirt. His touch is burning Sirius’s skin, and he wants more. So he rolls his hips down, carefully at first, then lower and lower until their cocks grind together through layers of denim. The friction is brutal. Sirius gasps into Remus’s mouth, making a sound he didn’t even know he was capable of making, and grinds again, harder, dragging it out like he wants to feel every inch. He does.
“Fuck,” Remus manages to get out one word, head falling back against the cushions. His throat arches, exposing his Adam’s apple, and Sirius’s mouth is there immediately, peppering the line of his jaw with little kisses, then transforming those into open-mouthed ones, licking into the hinge until Remus shudders. “You’re—”
“A menace?” Sirius interrupts, breath ragged, lips shiny as he pulls back just enough to look at what’s in front of him. Remus’s hair is wild, his cheeks blotched red—even more so as he grabs his wrist, drags it down between them, and presses it firmly against the thick bulge in Sirius’s jeans. Even through them, it feels incredible. His whole body jolts when Remus squeezes. “And you love it.”
Remus grips harder, thumb dragging along the seam. Sirius’s eyes roll back for a second, his lip caught between his teeth, and a moan escapes him. He tries to bite it down, fails, and what comes out is a pathetic begging sound. “Please. I want you.”
Remus doesn’t give him mercy. His free hand fists Sirius’s hair, dragging him back into another kiss as his other hand works at his fly. Sirius fumbles at the same time, breath breaking against Remus’s mouth, both of them swearing when buttons pop and zips rasp.
Remus slides his hand under the loosened waistband, straight to Sirius’s cock. He is so fucking hard, achingly so—straining against thin cotton, wet at the tip. He thinks he’s never been more turned on in his life. The first touch makes him groan helplessly, forehead sagging against Remus’s shoulder.
“Moony,” he gasps, voice muffled against knit wool. His entire body vibrates with sheer pleasure.
He doesn’t wait long before he retaliates fast, shoving his hand into Remus’s jeans. His palm finds him thick and hot (Jesus, he is big, like, BIG-big, Sirius thinks to himself), fingers curling instinctively. When he wraps fully around him, skin to skin, they both freeze. The air leaves them at once, like they’ve touched fire.
Then Remus thrusts into it, and Sirius makes a strangled sound, already stroking, learning the weight and the pace that makes Remus’s head tip back and his mouth fall open. He uses his thumb shamelessly, smearing slick over the head, pumping slow and tight.
“Fuck—”
Sirius’s cock twitches in Remus’s grip, leaking through his damp boxers. Remus shoves the fabric aside, grips him bare, and Sirius cries out, hips jerking into the touch, thighs trembling as he fucks into the fist of delicate, long fingers around him.
Onscreen, the cursed phone rings again. Sirius lifts his head, sweat and saliva on his lips, eyes glassy. “If that creepy bitch crawls out right now,” he pants, trying to grin, “she’s getting one hell of a show.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Remus snarls, dragging him into another bruising kiss, teeth clashing.
Their hands move in tandem, cocks sliding wet in their fists, making an obscene background score for the film. Every stroke makes Sirius moan into Remus’s mouth, and the sofa creaks in protest as their movements become more and more frantic. The blanket slips to the floor; Sirius’s hair sticks to his neck with sweat; then he breaks away long enough to rest his forehead against Remus’s, gasping his name like a sacred prayer.
“Moony—fuck—I want you so much…”
He knows that he has to stop, or else he will come then and there in their living room, in a very… not very, nonchalant way.
Remus seems to agree and kisses him more softly this time. “Not like this,” he murmurs. “I want more than this.”
For a second, Sirius just stares at the beautiful man below him. Then he nods frantically—he’ll agree to anything coming from Remus’s mouth right now. “Yes,” he breathes. “God, yes. Whatever you want.”
But Sirius already has a better idea.
He looks around quickly to take the scene in: blanket’s gone to the floor, trousers clumsily tugged down their thighs, their cocks heavy and leaking in each other’s hands. Sirius pulls back, just enough so he can look Remus in the eye. “Wait.” He slides down off Remus’s lap, knees hitting the rug. “Want to taste you first.”
Remus’s mouth falls open. “Sirius—”
But Sirius is already pushing his jeans and pants lower, more determined than ever. He tugs until Remus is bare from the waist down, sprawled against the sofa cushions, his beautiful cock straining against his stomach, slightly curving to the left, the telly’s flickering light casting its shadow on his thighs. On a second glance, actually, he is fucking huge.
“Christ, Moony. Look at you.”
Remus swallows hard, his hand gripping the sofa’s armrest as Sirius leans in, warm breath ghosting over him. The first contact is a soft, hardly-there kiss to the head—then an excruciating drag of tongue underneath.
“Padfoot,” Remus gasps as his cock impossibly fills even more.
Sirius hums, pleased, and finally takes him into his mouth. The stretch of his lips around him makes Remus swear out loud. Sirius hollows his cheeks, slides down as far as he can manage, though this is proving to be a bit of a difficult task, given how large Remus’s cock really is. He then pulls back with a wet suck, tongue flicking at the slit. He repeats it, again and again, more and more greedily with each movement, learning fast how to accommodate Remus in his mouth.
Sirius can’t get enough of him—he tastes sweet and salty on his tongue, and feels so thick on his lips. His knees already ache against the rug, but he doesn’t care. His hands grip Remus’s thighs tight enough to bruise later, and steady enough to hold him in place. His chin is wet, spit sliding down as he bobs down, throat tightening each time he takes more of Remus in. He can feel the mess he’s making, his mouth obscenely stretched and sloppy, but the thought only makes him moan around Remus, desperate to show how far he’s willing to go.
“Christ—Sirius—” Remus’s voice breaks. His fingers find Sirius’s hair; he needs something to hold on to. Sirius groans at the pull, and the vibration shoots straight through Remus’s cock.
Sirius finds a rhythm—slow, wet pulls, twisting his tongue at the base, then sucking hard on the way back up. Every pass drags a noise out of Remus he can’t swallow. Sirius looks up through his lashes once, eyes dark and shining, and Remus nearly loses it on the spot.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Remus rasps, hips jerking despite himself.
Sirius smirks around him, determined to give Remus the best damn blowjob of his life, and sinks even deeper. His gag reflex kicks in, but he takes Remus’s cock to the hilt, messy and glorious, drool sliding further down his chin, travelling the length of his neck. He pulls off with a loud pop, stroking Remus with his hand while he catches his breath. “You taste even better than I thought.”
Remus lets out a strangled laugh, dragging him back up for a kiss, tasting himself on Sirius’s tongue.
“Bedroom,” Remus says against his mouth, firm this time.
“Now,” Sirius agrees instantly, grinning like a man possessed.
They leave the telly to it, the cursed well gaping in the background, and stumble up the narrow staircase like drunks returning from a night in the pub. Sirius keeps kissing him between steps, knocking shoulders, tugging at his jumper. They laugh into each other’s mouths, panting, their hands never letting go.
By the time they reach Sirius’s room, neither of them cares about dignity. The door bangs open against the wall, clothes littering the floor from mornings past, mugs with shrivelled up teabags gathering dust. Sirius kicks a path clear with his boot and pulls Remus inside, slamming the door with his back before pinning him to it.
The kiss that follows is slower than before, deeper, Sirius’s hands cupping his jaw, thumbs brushing the corners of his mouth like he wants to memorise him. Remus’s palms roam over his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart, sliding down to grip his hips and pull them flush. Sirius grinds shamelessly, cock hard against him, gasping into the kiss.
“Clothes off,” Sirius mutters, already tugging at Remus’s jumper. His fingers fumble with urgency.
Remus chuckles and peels it over his head. His hair is mussed, cheeks flushed. Sirius actually stops—stares like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Bloody hell,” he breathes.
“You’re staring again.”
“Of course I’m staring.” Sirius dives forward, kissing down his throat, mouthing at the hollow until Remus groans, one hand threading through his hair. Sirius’s hands skate over his ribs, scratching his nipples lightly with his nails, then lingering at his waistband. He doesn’t even know why they bothered to put their pants back on; it’s not like the others saw them coming up.
Remus retaliates, tugging Sirius’s shirt up, dragging it off him in one quick motion. His chest is pale in the dim light that seeps under the door, dusting every line of him copper. Remus palms over his sternum, down to his stomach, and Sirius shudders, arching into it.
They crash onto the bed in a tangle, jeans rasping against jeans, cocks straining through denim. Sirius rolls them until he’s on his back, hair a dark halo on the pillow, eyes blown wide. “Get these off me,” he says, yanking at his fly.
Remus takes his sweet time. He pops the button, drags the zip down excruciatingly slowly, watching Sirius squirm. The jeans peel off inch by inch, boxers clinging, damp at the front. Remus palms over the bulge, pressing hard, and Sirius cries out, hips bucking.
“Patience,” Remus murmurs.
“Fuck patience,” Sirius growls, tugging Remus down by the neck. Their mouths crash together again, and Sirius bites at his lip hard enough to sting. “I’ve waited too long for this.”
Remus grinds against him, his own jeans still half on, both of them leaking into the mess of fabric between. He shoves them down, kicks them off, and then they’re bare, skin to skin, cocks sliding against each other. The drag makes them both gasp. Sirius wraps a thigh around his waist, scratches down his back, and moans into his mouth.
“Condoms—drawer,” Sirius pants, breaking the kiss just long enough to nod at the bedside table. “Lube too.”
Remus reaches over and fumbles with the drawer, and then pops the bottle open. The anticipation is killing Sirius. Remus slicks his fingers with lube and kisses Sirius again as his hand starts travelling down his body. He wraps his long, clever fingers around Sirius’s cock and gives him a few lazy strokes. It’s maddeningly slow, teasing; Remus is reminding him who’s in control. He hums like he has all the time in the world, sliding lower, cupping Sirius’s balls, massaging until his thighs are shaking. He spreads them wider, and then Remus’s lube-slippery fingers dip lower, circling Sirius’s hole, pressing just enough to make him clench around nothing.
“Please,” Sirius blurts, hips rolling down to meet it. “Don’t tease—just—”
Remus chuckles under his breath and presses a little harder, fingertip breaching, probing slowly to see if he’ll open up. Sirius’s head tips back against the pillow with a strangled sound. It feels so fucking good.
The first push inside makes Sirius gasp, whole body tightening around the intrusion. His hands fly to Remus’s shoulders, gripping hard.
“Easy,” Remus murmurs, lips brushing his temple. “Tell me if—”
“More,” Sirius cuts him off, already rolling his hips down onto the finger, greedy for it. “Don’t stop. Please.”
Remus works him open slowly, one finger, then two, stretching, scissoring. Sirius whines when he curls just right, moving with the pace and fucking himself on Remus’s fingers. “Fuck—there—do that again—”
Remus obliges, teasing the spot until Sirius is wrecked, thrashing against the pillow, sweat absolutely ruining his hairline. By the time he adds a third finger, Sirius is begging outright, voice rough. He feels like he might just die if he doesn’t get fucked right now.
“Moony—please—I need you, I can’t—fuck… just fuck me already!”
Remus pulls his fingers out of his arse, and Sirius groans at the loss. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Remus reaches for a condom packet, tears it open with his teeth—can he get any hotter?—, and rolls the condom on. Sirius can’t look away: the smooth drag of latex down the length of him, the way Remus closes his eyes and spreads more lube on himself, before stroking his cock back to full, glorious hardness.
Sirius’s mouth goes dry. Remus’s dick really is huge, but here, now, as it’s about to enter him, it looks almost obscene. His stomach flips between fear and want, cock twitching just with the mere thought of that being inside him.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “You’re fucking huge.”
Remus glances at him, something wicked flickering in his eyes. “I think you’ll manage. Won’t you, Padfoot?”
“Manage? I’m about to be split in half.” Sirius laughs, but his thighs fall open wider anyway, desperate to receive what’s coming. His nails sink into Remus’s arms as he inches closer, holding on like he might float away otherwise.
Remus just kisses him, slow and steady, and shifts lower as Sirius wraps his legs around his waist. The blunt head of Remus’s cock nudges against his rim, pressing but not pushing in yet. Sirius is already panting, knuckles white in the sheets, legs trembling with anticipation.
“Relax,” Remus murmurs, brushing his lips against Sirius’s.
“Don’t tell me to relax,” Sirius snaps back, voice shaking but sharp. “Tell me to take it.” And then he rolls his hips upwards, forcing himself to open up.
The first push almost makes him scream. The stretch is brutal and burning, his body clenching hard around the thick cock. His thighs quake with the effort, sweat prickling down his neck, but he doesn’t mind. “Fuck—yes—keep going—”
Remus pushes in deeper, inch by sweet inch, and Sirius moans into his mouth, overwhelmed with pleasure. His body tries to fight it at first, his arse not wanting to make way for Remus’s cock, but Remus, to his credit, is going as slowly as possible. Sirius can feel every ridge, every pulsing vein, even through the condom, and it makes his eyes prickle with tears.
“Fuck—” he gasps, head tipping back, hair sticking damp to his forehead. “You’re… Moony, you’re so fucking huge!”
Remus kisses the words off his mouth, swallowing the moan as he eases in another inch.
“Yeah? Do you like my huge cock, Padfoot? Does it feel good?”
Sirius can’t answer—he doesn’t know how Remus can even form a coherent sentence right now. He positions his legs further up on Remus’s back, opening himself up a bit more. Oh, he’s been dreaming about this moment for years, fantasising about what it would feel like when Remus would finally, inevitably fuck him senseless, and now that he’s here, it’s better than any fantasy. And he’s imagined every possible scenario thoroughly, wanking himself raw on more than one occasion.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” Remus murmurs against his lips. His voice is steady, maddeningly gentle, while Sirius feels like he’s being split open in the best possible way.
“Don’t… stop talking,” Sirius chokes out, a half-laugh, half-moan, but his heart is going pitter-patter-pitter-patter at the sound of Remus calling him baby. “Just fuck me—please.”
Remus doesn’t rush. He holds Sirius’s hips still, controlling the angle, pushing in fully until Sirius can feel his impossibly thick cock filling places nothing else ever has. The thought of Remus being inside him is absurd—Sirius can’t believe his arse is actually capable of taking him so well. His stomach flutters, and he closes his eyes, cock leaking against his own belly, Remus skewering him so wide open he thinks he might actually break any moment now.
“Look at me,” Remus orders quietly.
Sirius’s eyes snap open, and the sight of Remus towering over him while buried deep inside him almost makes him come on the spot.
“You’re okay?”
“I’m better than okay. You feel… You feel fucking incredible.”
Remus pulls out and then pushes back in to the hilt. Sirius cries out his name—he doesn’t stop to think if the others might hear them. The rhythm builds slowly with shallow thrusts first, testing, stretching him further, until Sirius’s body starts to give, until the burn melts into heat and he’s rolling his hips up and down to meet it.
“Yeah… fuck—there!” Sirius practically screams. His legs lock tight around Remus’s waist, forcing him impossibly deeper. “More, Moony… more…”
And Remus obliges, snapping his hips just a little harder, his thickness hitting deep, making Sirius shudder with every thrust. Remus pulls back further this time and then slams in again with more force.
“Oh my fucking god,” Sirius gasps. “You’re splitting me open—”
“You can take it,” Remus grinds out, starting to sound like he’s losing control as well. “You feel so fucking good around me, Pads. So tight. I’ve been dreaming of fucking you since I first saw you.”
The words make Sirius clench even harder around Remus’s cock as they exchange a sloppy kiss. He can’t believe Remus has also been imagining this for years. He feels full to the point of dizziness in more than one sense, cock leaking helplessly as it flops between them, smearing a wet mess on their stomachs.
Remus sets a rhythm of steady, deep strokes that rock the bed, pushing Sirius further up the mattress. Each one drags over that spot inside him, pressure building. Sirius moans without shame now, every thrust pulling something filthy from his mouth.
“Harder, fuck me harder, baby,” he begs, nails clawing down Remus’s back. “Don’t hold back, I can take it—”
And Remus gives him what he’s asking for as he starts snapping his hips harder, slamming his cock so deep inside that it makes Sirius’s vision go white for a few seconds, mouth suspended in a silent scream. The bed is creaking so loudly that Sirius fears it might actually fall apart.
Sirius doesn’t even know what he’s saying, spitting out incoherent phrases between moans. His cock drags against Remus’s stomach with every movement, spreading precome everywhere before he grabs it and starts stroking in time with the rhythm pounding into him.
“Look at you,” Remus groans. “So beautiful like this—you’re taking my dick so well. Such a good boy.”
Sirius nearly sobs at the praise. He feels his orgasm building deep inside him, lighting every nerve on fire. “Yours.” That’s all he manages to get out. “I’m yours—”
Remus suddenly lifts Sirius off the bed by grabbing his hips just ever so slightly and changes the angle, fucking into him with such force now that it almost causes him to black out. He wonders where this impossible strength has come from, as normally, Remus wouldn’t even be able to open a jar with his lovely, delicate fingers. Now, it’s the contrary—his fingers are gripping both sides of Sirius’s hips with in a way that he already knows (and hopes) it’s going to bruise.
“Come for me,” Remus orders after a particularly violent thrust. “Come on, Pads, I want to see you come on my cock—”
That’s all it takes. Sirius obeys like the good boy he is and comes harder than ever before in his life with a cry, spilling over both their stomachs, his arse clenched tight around Remus’s cock. After a series of filthy praises, Remus is gone too—he stills himself, buried deep inside Sirius, hips grinding down as he orgasms, biting down on Sirius’s neck while still holding him up somehow. Sirius feels every twitch inside him through the condom.
They collapse together once Remus comes down from his orgasm, not caring about the sticky, sweaty mess they made. Sirius is shaking with aftershocks, gasping little laughs into Remus’s shoulder as if he can’t believe what just happened. Remus moves to kiss his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, then finally licks into him. They kiss like that for a while, slow and hungry taking turns, occasionally breaking it to whisper something sweet in each other’s mouths. Sirius’s hands are roaming up and down Remus’s back, while Remus’s softening cock is still moving gently inside him until he whines, suddenly feeling overstimulated.
“Shh,” Remus soothes, pulling out carefully, tying off the condom and tossing it aside. He wipes them down with the first T-shirt he can grab, then drags the duvet up around them, wrapping Sirius against his chest.
He’s completely ruined me for everyone else, Sirius thinks to himself.
He grins against Remus’s chest. “So much better than The Ring.”
Remus huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to his hair. “High praise.”
“If I’d have known you were hiding that monster cock inside your pants, Moony, I would’ve just skipped the movies in the first place. That was a proper jumpscare.”
“You seemed to be enjoying it just five minutes ago when I was fucking you with it,” Remus says smugly.
“Never said it was a bad jumpscare.” Sirius pulls him down for another kiss.
He then settles back, tangles their legs together, and throws his arm across Remus’s chest, marking his territory. “Scariest part’s over,” he mumbles, voice already fading into sleep. “Except telling James.”
“I’m pretty sure we don’t need to,” Remus murmurs. “I think even my Ma and Da heard your screams on the other side of the country.”
Sirius snorts, too tired to be embarrassed, and buries his face in Remus’s chest. The quiet stretches, their breathing the only sound left in the room.
“You okay?” Remus asks eventually.
“Better than okay.” Sirius draws a lazy shape across his chest with one fingertip. “You?”
Remus hesitates, then nods, a little shy now, even though fifteen minutes ago he was fucking Sirius like a man possessed. “Yeah. More than.”
Sirius rolls onto his side, propping himself up to look down at him properly. His expression is unguarded—no smirk or sarcasm. “Don’t regret it?”
“Not a chance. It was perfect. You’re perfect.” Remus brushes a curl out of Sirius’s face and lets his fingers linger on his cheek. “Do you?”
Sirius shakes his head so fast his hair flops into his eyes. “I’ll regret it if you do. That’s all.”
Remus kisses him sweetly, lips barely brushing. “I don’t.”
The silence that follows isn’t demanding, it just lets them rest, wrapped around and inside each other. Even though they both know the truth, they don’t admit their feelings for each other just yet, but Sirius knows it won’t take long.
“Seven days,” Sirius mumbles, half-asleep. “Reckon I’ll still be sore then. Cursed videotape’s got nothing on you.”
Remus laughs into the dark, pressing one last kiss to his temple before falling asleep himself. “Plenty of time for a sequel.”
