Work Text:
Sirius Black opened the door of his childhood home with shaking hands. He had been waiting for weeks for a trip out of the house, and it had been joyful but short. Fresh air still filled his lungs and veins and brains, and then he stepped inside - just like that - and started breathing in the stale air of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The joy and excitement quickly turned sour inside him. The children were gone and he would be alone; that fact was sinking in now. The taste of outside air he'd just had would have to be enough for Merlin knew how long.
Energetically, Sirius kicked off his shoes and let them lie where they landed. He walked across the dark and gloomy hall in his woollen socks and silently ascended the steps. His mind was still on the train station, but instinctively he avoided waking up the portrait of his mother. He entered his bedroom, sat down on the edge of the grandiose four-poster bed, and then got up again.
It had ended too abruptly. There was no one here where there just had been a bustle of voices and laughter.
He stepped to the window and looked out a while, following early falling leaves with his gaze. He then walked to the other end of the room, opened a closet door but had forgotten what he was looking for, and closed it again. Soon, he came back downstairs, walked quickly to the kitchen, sat down, picked up the paper, put it down, got up, went to the living-room, and forgot why he'd come there. He looked at the elaborate decorative objects like ghost figures in the abandoned room, and decided to turn on the light. Then he decided it was too early for that, shut it, and circled the room, the plush carpet too soft under his feet. He ended up back at the door. Sirius stepped across the hall and a few steps up the stairs, then back down, checked the food cupboard and found nothing he wanted to eat, sat down, and got up.
He was upstairs again, for the fifth time, when the front door clicked softly. He'd been dreaming awake in the big comfy chair next to the bedroom window for half an hour or so, but the sound woke him up completely and instantly. He was feeling electric again.
Sirius got to his feet and walked to the bedroom door. He turned left, had a hard time keeping quiet on the stairs, and then he was in the hall. It was shadowy despite that it was still light outside. He blinked.
Just inside the door was Remus Lupin in his shabby clothes, glistening with droplets of water. Feeling somehow hungry, Sirius took in the sight of him. The man looked preoccupied but dynamic, one who had had both outside air and activity lately. Remus's chin-length hair was slightly tangled and his grey eyes were alive.
"Hi," Sirius said. Finally, attention!
"Hello, Sirius. I came to see Molly." His tone was one of a busy man, polite yet not overly friendly.
"Haven't seen her since I came back." Sirius's spirits were sinking fast. Please talk to me!
"She should be here shortly. Maybe I'll have the time to read the paper and have a cuppa before I leave again. Care for tea?"
Right after thinking he wanted company, Sirius didn't want to watch his childhood friend read the paper and have a cuppa while politely exchanging opinions about current events. It was Remus's tone, which clearly said, "Keep at an arm's length.
"I, I think I have something else to do."
He was idle for most of his days and Remus knew it, but he was polite enough not to ask and not to question his right to be alone, even if sometimes Sirius hoped that he would. He excused himself, turned and walked back upstairs. He was spending too much time climbing these stairs.
*
They had faded, Remus and him. When Sirius came back from Azkaban, he was welcomed with open arms into the lives of his old friends in the Order, most warmly by Remus, who had been the closest to him just before Azkaban. But it was Remus who turned out to have changed the most. While age and experience had perhaps sharpened the edges of the other members of the order, Remus seemed to have settled down. The almost desperate longing that Sirius remembered seeing in Remus was gone, and in place of it was a melancholy peace.
Sirius walked to his room again and lay down on his bed. He caught himself wishing that his old friend had been less satisfied with what he had and what he was. They could have picked up where they left. That hope had given him light in the darkness of the prison. He was reluctant to give it up for the sake of mere reality.
"Idle again, you sorry excuse for an heir?" said an ancestor from his portrait on the wall.
"Shut up, Nigellus," said Sirius.
*
Sirius had better things to think about than an unsatisfied ancestor.
Something had occurred to him. It was so clearly true that he didn't know how he'd never thought of it before, not since his escape from prison over two years ago. He knew why he'd been first excited and then afraid. He knew what he'd been missing for so long, almost as much and as urgently as he missed his freedom.
The man he'd spent so much time with at school had grown important to him over the years. They'd spent so much time together, the unwilling werewolf and the keen animagus.
They had been exceptional. They'd shared things they wouldn't share with others. Sirius didn't have so much in common with Peter that he would have confided in him, and all too much in common with James to risk it. But his and Remus's favourite thing to do had been to sit down together and talk, often joking a lot but sometimes very serious.
It had been a natural next step to admit to himself that he didn't want just friendship from Remus. He had wanted to touch Remus's hair in a way he knew he couldn't, and maybe rest his head on Remus's stomach in a way that would have been too close altogether. That was the relative innocence of a teenager that he now laughed at, staring at the ceiling of his childhood room.
The intentions of his dear friend Moony had remained secret, and he'd never asked. Moony had been carelessly beautiful, sparing with words and distant. Sirius had cherished his dreams of Remus for the last three years in school, during which it became increasingly clear to him that he was slightly but persistently in lust with his best friend. Sirius fancied girls, went out with them, kissed them, was madly in love for two months, and got bored. Remus stayed.
Sirius had watched him closely like a dog for signs of reciprocation, but they never quite came.
It had been enough to hug his friend a little longer than ordinary friends would have, to brush his lips very softly against Remus's on a couple of nights when they were too tired - or at an older age, too drunk - to care. It had been sort of cool that he'd been a special friend to Remus. Maybe. It had never occurred to him that he could ask for something more than that. Remus's attention, and the fact that he had without protest let Sirius ever so slightly cross the line, had been enough.
And why had it? Sirius got to his feet quickly. Prison, if not just age, had made him rawer, more urgent, less subtle, and less willing to settle for anything less than what he knew he really wanted. He noticed that he was willing to go too far now and, drunk on the idea of what he was about to do, he didn't really care.
His escape and status as a runaway now forced him to live a life much more restricted than then. But the conclusion was inevitable, and he reached it at the same time as he reached the door of his room. There was at least one thing the real prison or this prison of a house couldn't take from him.
*
As he walked down the stairs, he traced the staircase wall with his finger, just until the curtain that covered the portrait of his mother. He was suddenly very conscious of the feeling of the wood under his hand and the hard edges of the stairs under his feet. More and more slowly, he walked down the stairs, as if it was happening to someone else.
*
Remus was in the kitchen, sitting down by the small table, glasses on. Sirius looked at him and quickly returned to reality. This man had that effect on Sirius. He was wearing an expression of educated interest in the newspaper he was scanning with his gaze. Sirius stepped in, walked around the table and sat down, taking yesterday's newspaper from the table. Yet he didn't look at the paper but at the other man, who was exactly his age and still older. Where Sirius had just suffered, Remus seemed to have processed things.
Remus didn't look up. The uppermost button of his shirt was undone, revealing the ends of his collarbones. Sirius's need for this man had gone nowhere; it had merely been pushed aside during the long years. But Sirius could see, or maybe imagine, the young, hungry boy behind the mask of the worn, serene man.
Sirius got up, then, walked past Remus, and faced him, taking a deep breath before talking.
"Remus," he began, with no idea what he was about to say but feeling very confident that the words would find their way out just the right way when it was time; they always did.
"Yes." Remus's tone was not questioning. He had put the paper down.
But it wasn't easy to talk, not now, not if it came to the two of them. Remus looked at him with the same polite expression he had just granted the paper. The other man looked peaceful, but then shuddered very slightly.
"Do you–" Sirius began, still with no idea of what he was going to say. "–want–" He licked his lips. "–do you know what's happened?" he continued, intentionally leaving the question cryptic.
Remus's grey eyes were now staring into Sirius's. He stood up and took one step forward, narrowing the distance between the two men to a foot or so.
"To us," Remus said, smiling very slightly. Despite a hint of nervousness, Sirius was annoyed at being so obvious, so easily read. He could back off now and brush this off by adding that he was talking about Molly or the other members of the Order.
Backing off got considerably harder when Remus casually took the one small step that was enough to close the distance between them. He lifted his hand, placed it on Sirius's shoulder, and pressed his lips lightly on Sirius's. Sirius felt his cheeks flush and he felt he needed to gasp for air but couldn't, really, as Remus's lips were blocking his mouth, and come to think of it, that was all right, now. It was right, just like it should, and Sirius wondered how long they could keep kissing, mouths slightly agape, ten seconds, eleven, twelve, before he'd have to say something. He pulled off.
"Nh," was what he managed. There were so many things to say. Your lips feel great. Am I this easy? Finally. Why not earlier? Merlin. Yes. What are you doing?
Not one of them found its way out, though, so he leaned forward again, almost hungry now, and kissed the dry lips of the other man. He dared to lean still a bit closer to Remus to feel the other body with his own, lean and thin and sweet.
Above all, he felt innocent. What was happening was doing it itself, and he didn't have to guide it. Remus's body was warm and somehow very familiar even if he'd never felt it this way and he pressed against Remus's chest and opened his lips some more to take in whatever Remus wanted to give him. Remus tasted like a human being.
Sirius was ready, not questioning it any more.
And the door clicked again.
"Hello!" called the voice Molly Weasley.
"Fuck," said Sirius under his breath.
"Hello," said Remus and wiped his lower lip with one finger.
"Wotcher, Molly," said Sirius, too cheerfully, stepped away from Remus and immediately cursed the cool air that now lay in uncrossable quantities between his body and Remus's.
Molly stepped in the kitchen, a visitor from the other side of the world.
She had left her cloak and shoes in the hall, but her hair was dripping wet; it had to be pouring now.
"Hello, Sirius. Remus," Molly said. Sirius first wondered how much was apparent from his flushed face and then what they actually were hiding, two grown men.
Remus looked very proper when he turned to Sirius. "Molly promised to bring me news from Arthur so that I know which way to leave for my next expedition. They say the Floo Network is watched in parts of the country and I want to visit an old contact as quietly as I can."
"Good," Sirius said. Bad, he thought.
"We could sit down, then," said Molly. "I have a lot to tell you. I see the kettle is hot." She went to pour herself tea. "Sirius?"
"Um, yes, please."
*
They drank their tea and exchanged stories about their day. Sirius was not listening. He was staring at Remus, and in turn, trying not to stare at him. What was Remus thinking? He gave nothing away.
After emptying his cup, Sirius excused himself. When you've had your talk with Molly, meet me upstairs, he thought, but never said anything but a short excuse. He was ashamed at his childish lust now, his being so easy and predictable that Remus had seen right through him.
And at the same time, as he walked up the stairs in silence yet again, he felt lighter than he had for a long time. Neither the activity nor the trip outside had managed to lift his spirits as much as the simple sign of affection, a promise.
*
After about half an hour, Sirius heard the door again. Quickly, he returned downstairs. Molly was busy in the kitchen, alone.
"Remus left already?"
"Yes, he did. He was in a hurry. Would you mind helping me with dinner?"
Sirius felt his stomach sink. "Not at all," he said.
*
They made dinner, but Remus didn't return for it. Molly and Arthur were there, as were Mundungus and Tonks. But there was no sight of Remus the whole evening. Sirius was feeling confused more than anything.
The next morning, he was just feeling sorry for himself. The house was empty again and he walked around aimlessly, read a book for a couple of hours, and at two in the afternoon, decided it was no longer too early for a drink.
Drinks didn't help.
Neither did seeing Remus the next day, busy and strictly matter-of-fact and not paying any attention to him. Sirius was expecting a wink, or a confused look, or something of recognition that Remus still remembered having kissed his oldest friend in the same kitchen just the day before yesterday, but no such thing came.
After explaining his business to Kingsley Shacklebolt, he handed Sirius some papers. "Would you give these to Albus when he stops by, Sirius?"
"Sure." He reached out his hand, their fingertips met, and Remus didn't let go of the papers instantly. Half a second too long might have passed that their skins were in contact, or else Sirius imagined it, and it was gone quickly.
Remus looked him in the eye. "Thank you." He excused himself and turned away. Sirius waited for Kingsley to leave the kitchen, strutted upstairs, and threw himself onto his bed.
*
On the third day, his dream of Remus had started burning. People came and went; everybody except Remus, it seemed.
*
On the fourth day, he took the whisky bottle from the closet in his room at half past one in the afternoon and poured himself a generous drink.
By the fifth drink, he was crying. He was alone again in the damn house. He didn't know what was going on. For all he knew, Harry and Remus and the Weasleys and everyone could be dead tomorrow. It wasn't like he really cared that nobody wanted to be with him now that he was free. He didn't mind being locked up with nothing to do when everyone else was saving the world and dying at it. He wasn't worried that the most evil wizard in the world wanted all his friends dead and the world as he knew it destroyed. Really. It was just the being ignored or the alcohol or something that made the tears so very easy.
"That's not how a Black would handle the situation," said an ancestor. Sirius inhaled, and exhaled.
"Do shut up, Phineas."
He got up and the room swayed gently for a moment. He took one more drink from his bottle and then took a few steps. The movement of the room settled to a gentle background rocking. Leaning on the wall when necessary, he got to the bathroom.
He had been struck by an urgent desire to take a shower. When was the last time he'd showered, anyway? Sirius yanked down his worn-out jeans and let them lie on the tile floor, then took off his sweater and t-shirt at the same time and dropped them on top of the jeans.
Sirius turned on the water and stepped under it. This was where no portrait and no living person could intrude him when he unceremoniously touched himself, right nipple, stomach, then thigh. It was comforting.
His breath still ragged from the weeping, Sirius took his cock in his hand and squeezed it gently, tentatively, then moved his hand along the length of it. It took a while until he was completely hard, but slowly, mechanically, he started to wank under the shower. He leaned on the tile wall with his other hand for support and then started to sob again.
It took a long time, because he was numbed by the alcohol and by feeling sad and sorry. But slowly, he stopped noticing his anxiety and gradually felt nicer and nicer. He felt for his nipples with his free hand, almost fell, and quickly leaned on the wall again, never stopping stroking his cock.
Little by little, he stopped caring for good, so close now, and there appeared a name ready on his lips he'd rather not have had there.
"Remus," he said to himself as his release came. He felt hot and sweet and he was somewhere very soft for a second or two. He only felt good now for admitting it for what it was, lust or love or whatever.
Slowly coming down from the small ecstasy of the orgasm, Sirius started to wash, absent-mindedly, first his hair, then his body. He felt emptier now. Sirius dried himself. He returned to his room and to his bottle wearing nothing but his towel. He closed the door and emptied the rest of the bottle within the next hour. It was about four in the afternoon when he fell asleep on his bed, on top of the embroidered bedspread.
*
When he woke up, it was past midnight. The towel was spread under him, still damp. His head was spinning and he was thirsty as – Fuck, fuck all of this!. He got to his feet but then wished he hadn't. After wrapping the towel around him in case he encountered anyone in the corridor, he left his room.
Remus should be in the corridor and see me, he thought. He should understand it all and talk to me for a while. He should have come here and see how I feel.
The corridor was empty, so obviously empty that it seemed to be mocking him. Like everything in the house. Ridiculously, stupidly empty, deliberately trying to make him feel bad. The portraits didn't like him. It was dark. Nothing in the house seemed to be his. He had chosen next to nothing of the things that were there; nothing belonged to him. He wasn't home, he was trapped.
Sirius Black sat on the ground and cried. Never mind water or anything else, here was emptiness.
*
The next day was grey and hopeless. So was the one after that. Nobody showed up before late in the afternoon, when Sirius was sitting in the kitchen, uninterestedly flipping through the paper. He had a bottle of Firewhisky open on the table, on one side of the paper, and the second glass of the afternoon, empty already, on the other.
The door opened and closed.
The creature that came in the kitchen had tangled light brown hair and an exhausted posture. He was still wearing his green coat. He had seen better days; he had more grey in his hair than most men his age. From his face showed a shadow of worry that had obviously followed him for longer than was healthy.
Sirius felt absolutely calm at the sight of Remus Lupin. He had unconsciously settled the matter in his mind maybe the night before last, when he had sat crying in the upstairs corridor of his childhood home. Instead of fear or some kind of a rush that he was waiting for, there was a stable, warm feeling of affection in his stomach. He could have pinned it down to drunkenness if he had, in fact, been drunk. But two glasses hardly counted at this point of in his life.
Remus greeted him in a nondescript tone and sat down on a chair. He shook off his coat and left it hanging tiredly from the back of the chair. He was physically there, after so many times Sirius had imagined him to be. Existent at last, after Sirius's almost losing hope. Alone in the house with Sirius. It was now. There was no hurry or urgency, just necessity. It was now.
Sirius got up, said hello, and stood there by the kitchen table, waiting, looking at the man that had haunted his dreams for six days now, and before that, over twenty years. Remus was handsome under the wear and tear of the years, beautiful the way only somebody you knew very well could be. Sirius had watched him grow and mature to be a young man. Here was a version of the same young man, thirty-six now, essentially the same. Only he had grown manlier, somehow harder in his body if not gestures.
Not returning the stare but obviously noticing it, Remus chose instead to look down at the table, then at the wall, then somewhere in Sirius's chest region. Sirius continued to look at him, taking pleasure in being able to do this, not being afraid or insecure for once, not having anything to lose any more.
"You're making me feel uncomfortable," Remus finally said, not sounding very uncomfortable at all. There was a calm expectation in his voice, instead, like there often had been.
"Hmm." Sirius didn't feel he had to say anything. There would be no justification, no reason for what he was about to do.
Almost sleepily, he discontinued leaning on the table, walked around it, and stopped very close to Remus. He didn't feel like saying anything. He wanted to make this very slow, because what would happen next, rejection or the other thing, would be fast, critical, out of control.
With Remus still sitting down on the chair, Sirius half-kneeled, half-leaned down and touched his lips lightly on Remus's.
"Okay?" He was suddenly asking for permission, and it irritated him.
Remus answered by standing up and kissing him, only slightly more intensely than the not-even-kiss Sirius has placed on Remus's lips. They had time, now, like never before. The kissing got hotter and wetter and Sirius didn't know which one of them was leading it, because he seemed to have merged into Remus.
Why not earlier? What had he been afraid of? It would have been so different.
"Okay," said Remus and smiled slightly. It was the first time Sirius had seen him smile in weeks, the puzzled and worried expression gone from his scarred face for now. And he kissed Sirius again, then carefully worked his tongue between Sirius's teeth and then into his mouth, touching Sirius's palate, then taking the time to touch Sirius's tongue.
Remus withdrew, looking Sirius in the eye for the first time. Sirius felt his closeness somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach.
"Are we breaking something?" Remus asked quietly.
"Can't imagine," Sirius said and took a deep breath. "Can't imagine anything that we could." Remus looked him straight in the eye.
"Yes," Remus said and closed the two-inch gap between their mouths again, his lips now hot, needy.
It was quenching Sirius's thirst, one that had been with him for so long that he hadn't remembered, or maybe ever known, that it could be quenched. The lonely masturbation days ago had been a sorry excuse for really being touched, like this, and he now felt like he had almost betrayed himself by thinking it had been anything and by thinking of Remus then. But there was no regret. Hands were wrapped around waists and bodies were pulled closer, breaths were getting quicker, and every distance between them was too great.
Bedroom, he wanted to say between kisses when they paused for breath for a fraction of a second, but it would have seemed too obvious, somehow shameful. But he felt Remus's cock now, half erect, with the man pressed against him, so real. That was the only word that came to mind; Remus was real now, more so than a lot of things in Sirius's life lately.
"Bedroom?" said Remus.
"I was just thinking about it," said Sirius, "believe it or not." He cracked the joke, as if he was nervous. Feeling awkward, he turned his back on Remus and started across the kitchen. His steps were too long, out of place.
He was actually nervous.
But Remus took a few hurried steps, reached his side, and then grabbed him by the hand.
"It was about time," said Remus calmly.
Sirius didn't know how to reply to the ambiguous comment, but he agreed. Hand in hand, they silently sneaked up the stairs, past the portrait of Sirius's mother, and to Sirius's bedroom.
When entering the bedroom, Sirius felt a sudden joy that he couldn't really explain. He walked with Remus across the room, then grabbed his shoulders and gently pushed him against the wall. Sirius then kissed Remus like he had been wanting to for a long time, shoving his tongue deep inside Remus's mouth. Mine, he thought, and then smiled at the childishness of the thought. But still, mine.
"Improper," said an ancestor. Remus started. Sirius didn't.
Not taking his lips away from Remus's, he reached for the portrait and took it in his hand. He stopped the kiss, placed the portrait on the floor, facing the wall. He should have done this long ago.
Remus let out a dry laugh.
"Come here." Remus grabbed the fabric of his pullover, and pulled him gently nearer to the four-poster, then touching his shoulders, led him down to sit on the plush bed. Sirius let himself be guided like this, allowed himself to feel safe and trusting for once. Now.
Slowly, Remus started kissing him again on the edge of the bed. God, Sirius thought, they were doing this slowly, like two school kids. Which was exactly how he felt. Had he not seen the schoolboy in this mature man all along? Was he not doing something he just never dared to do when they were younger? Here was freedom at last. He was not only outside Azkaban but also without fear.
Remus's hands found their way under his pullover, moved up between his t-shirt and pullover, retreated, crawled under the t-shirt as well, and slowly caressed his stomach. Sirius felt awkward and ecstatic at the same time and he wanted more, oh yes, more of Remus. He grabbed the hem of Remus's shirt and pulled them up over his head. Remus's face was serious.
"Lissn, I'm--" started Remus, his voice muffle by fear or want.
"We'll be fine," Sirius interrupted and placed a few more kisses on Remus's lips, then his neck, to fade any trace of embarrassment or, God forbid, second thoughts. Over twenty years, Moony. You've had time to think twice.
Moony's skin was a healthy tone, but countless faded scars were visible on his sides and his chest. Sirius traced his neck with kisses, then his chest, then his stomach, then neck again. Remus was in good shape, the look of a man who had been doing something all these years instead of sitting in a cell.
The dark thought was shaken away by Remus first touching his neck with his lips, then licking it with short strokes, then nibbling it very gently. That felt very, very good, sending a hot flash down to Sirius's groin. Oh, more.
Sirius reached for his own shirt and pulled off both his pullover and his t-shirt. He was partly embarrassed to be this bare and this thin in front of Moony. But Moony knew him, and knew what he'd been through. Sirius pulled him close in order to avoid being seen by him, until they were sitting close together on the bed, facing each other, legs intertwining and so much delicious warm contact.
He licked Remus's shoulder once and then gradually lower. Remus took in a sharp breath when his tongue reached his nipple, which became erect from the touch or from the wetness. Sirius concentrated his attentions on it for a while, then the other nipple, enjoying the sound of Remus's breath getting heavier and heavier. Sirius glanced down and saw that Remus's trousers were tented over his groin, and the sight was intoxicating. I did that. I did this to him.
Remus's hands travelled across his chest, now feverish, pausing to circle his nipples, causing him to gasp for air and almost cry out loud and then travelling lower, lower, pausing at his jeans' waistband. Sirius felt the almost unbearable contradiction between wanting to push him to go faster now and wanting to enjoy this situation for all he could get.
And then Remus's eyes were on his, their lips pressed together, and there was a moment when every movement paused and after that, Sirius felt himself let go again.
"I want you," he said, like he'd wanted to say, and there was nothing to be embarrassed of any more.
"Yes," said Remus, hoarsely, breathing warm air on Sirius's chin.
They would both get what they wanted, there. There was no hurry as Sirius pushed Remus back to lie on the bed, leaned in to kiss him deeply, broke the kiss, leaned back again, and opened his trousers. Sirius heard a sharp intake of breath as he slid the trousers off Remus. Remus's penis was poking upward in his y-fronts, somehow indecent, almost irresistible, but it wasn't yet time, not just yet.
He lunged forward, on top of Remus, Remus laughed, and they rolled on the bed like two dogs. Once pinned firmly under Remus, Sirius felt their cocks touch, oh, like that. He swallowed. Remus must have felt it too because he made a jerking move so that their cocks were rubbing together through their underwear and Sirius's jeans, which were all too much.
"Wait," Sirius said, then gasped for air again, "let me take these off."
"No, let me take them off." Remus sat up on Sirius's thighs and opened the button and the zipper of his jeans. Slowly, raising himself, Remus slid the trousers down Sirius's legs, lifting the front at first so that it wouldn't get caught on Sirius's erection, throbbing and aching and just wanting Remus any and every way that the man would like to give himself. Remus paused to stroke Sirius's cock, just once, through his boxer shorts, and it was heaven, before Remus lifting himself off Sirius's legs and taking the jeans completely off.
The boxer shorts went as well, as easily as that. Sirius propped himself up on his elbows to see Remus's face, to read what he was about to do. That was to touch Sirius's cock. First wrap his hand firmly around the base of it, and then start stroking it, slowly at first, but with concentration, like he did everything, the pedantic fool.
Sirius smiled, but Remus then wrapped his warm mouth over the tip of Sirius's aching cock, finally, giving him what he had been looking forward to for a long time now. Now.
Where had Remus learned this? Maybe it was better not to think about that, Sirius thought, as Remus carefully, expertly, sucked and stroked his cock. Still leaning on his elbows, Sirius watched the top half of his cock disappear in the mouth of Remus Lupin, over and over again, and the sight of it was almost too much, too right, too good. Remus's eyes were closed and he let out small moans of contentment that Sirius felt as delicious vibrations in his member. It was almost time to give Remus something back for his efforts, but not just yet, this was too good to be stopped now.
But they had to stop, now, or it would be over too fast, and who knew what would happen then, anyway? So he ran his fingers into Remus's hair and gently nudged him by it so that he stopped his sucking and looked up.
"Mine," Sirius said, not even knowing if he meant it was his turn or that this man was his. But Sirius kissed that man on the lips, which tasted salty now, then touched his hips and started sliding his boxers down his hips. That proved impossible with Remus sitting on the bed.
"Wait." Remus backed off, stood up next to the bed, and took the underwear off himself. Sirius smiled at his own clumsiness. It had been long since the last time.
The boxers revealed a perfectly erect cock. It was too good, all of it. But Sirius's own groin was pulsating in a dull ache for attention, so he kissed the now-naked Remus on the lips, deeply, wetly, and then took a firm grip on the base of Remus's beautiful, beautiful member, leaning on the bed with the other hand and leaning towards Remus, the other man's breath hot on his skin.
"I want you," said Remus, the simple statement more than Sirius had ever hoped for. "Oh, it's been long... Oh." Remus's words were cut short. Sirius had started sliding his sweat-slick hand up and then down the length of his prick. Remus groaned audibly, absent-mindedly, and the noise sent an electric shock down to the pit of Sirius's stomach.
With his eyes half-closed, as if his mind was somewhere far away, Remus then reciprocated by taking hold of Sirius's cock. The gesture was needy, very arousing in its boldness. He wants me, crossed Sirius's mind, as if that were news, but so little time ago, it had been. And now that same man – fuck, twenty years, Moony – was breathing hot air onto his face, faster and faster, and the hand of the same man was stroking his cock, hard and hot and slick and oh, good.
Yes, he was going to come, exactly like this, like they were two teenage poofs, awkward and loving and on a bed that didn't quite belong to them. He was so close, too close, but then Remus whispered his name, Remus's skin touching his, so he felt everything go away but the pleasure, Remus, yes. It was here, everything had turned out right, and Sirius came, spilling his seed on Remus's fist, which was covering the tip of his member and then to Remus's stomach when the hand had slid away. A flush of pleasure washed over him, and for a few moments, he was nothing but love, relaxed, satisfied, now.
After a few very long seconds, Sirius found himself gripping Remus's cock with his hand still, and something had to be done about that, so he started to move his hand up and down again, in the warm, impossible afterglow of what had just happened. God, he couldn't understand this, so he didn't even try but leaned very close to Remus and wrapped his other hand around his shoulder. Remus's breathing became faster and faster.
"Please. Sirius," he was positively begging for it now. And not long after, he came in hot spurts inside the narrow space between the two warm, naked bodies.
Remus held him like a drowning man now, muscles contracting and relaxing again, gripping his bony shoulders hard, and made a small moaning sound as if in pain. Then, gradually, his body relaxed like Sirius's had, but Remus never let go of him. So they sat there, bundled together, two men too old for this kind of a feeling, Sirius now thought in sudden clarity.
Remus's breath steadied down. His body was getting cooler, too, the sweat cooling the bodies of the two men, but not unpleasantly. They were still holding each other. Sirius wasn't about to let go any time soon.
"Too long," he said.
"I know," said Remus.