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“It’s not me,” Remus growls, tearing at Sirius’s shirt then moving to the fly of his jeans. “It’s not me, it’s ―”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius cants his hips off the bed, lets Remus pull his jeans down, then his pants. His cock is already half-hard, exhilaration thickening it further. The glint in Remus’s eyes makes him grin, baring his teeth. “It’s not you, it’s the wolf, I know. You’re a good, respectable man, with a family and a mortgage and a little Mrs Wolf waiting at home ―”
“Shut it.” Remus’s eyes flash; Sirius's cock twitches. Honestly, Moony, he thinks. If you want me to stop, don’t react. You know this by now. He smirks.
“And a little litter of puppies along the way, that you can sing pretty nursery rhymes to, about big, bad woodsmen and their nasty axes,” Sirius continues, his voice lilting and falsely saccharine sweet. Remus snarls, his fingers digging into Sirius’s hips hard enough to bruise.
“Sirius, if you don’t fucking shut it right now ―”
“You’ll what? Leave?” Sirius snorts. “Go on then. See you later.” He lies back down on the bed, his shirt open and his cock lying against his belly. There are three buttons missing now, after Remus couldn’t manage to open them and just ripped it instead, and that alone would have been evidence enough for Sirius that Remus wasn’t able to leave this room ― if this hadn’t been something they’d been doing for as long as Sirius could remember. It happened like clockwork. The night before every moon, and Remus would be crawling into his dorm bed, and then after Hogwarts Remus would end up standing on Sirius’s doorstep, his breathing laboured and his eyes bright.
Every. Single. Time.
“The door’s that way,” Sirius nods his head, his tone light. He rolls his hips, grins as he sees Remus’s jaw clench. Slowly, he rises up onto his elbows, leans close enough to whisper over Remus’s ear.
“If you leave now, you could get back before she even notices you’ve go ―”
He cuts off with a surprised grunt as Remus grabs him by the throat and slams him back down on the bed. He can feel Remus’s strength, coiled tightly enough to burst as his chest rises and falls. He wonders if Remus would actually hurt him. He wonders how long it will be until he pushes hard enough to find out, but then again, surely if Remus was going to, it would have happened years ago. Things haven’t always exactly been sweet between them.
“Stop, Sirius,” Remus whispers furiously, his eyes full of emotion. “Why can’t you just stop?” His voice is almost pleading, and Sirius swallows thickly, painfully, around the grip of Remus’s fingers.
“It’s one of the perks of being the bit on the side,” he croaks bitterly. “You get to decide when you want to spend the night with me, but you don’t get to make me play nice about it.” Remus frowns, a flash of pain over his features, in those normally gentle eyes.
“You’re not my bit on the side, Sirius,” he murmurs, the tone so soft and his grip still so firm as he moves his hands from Sirius’s throat to his shoulders, keeping him pinned. His eyes are wide, surprised, his anger and frustration momentarily forgotten.
Sirius makes a caustic sound. “Yeah. I’m the wolf’s side piece. That’s how we sleep at night, right? That’s what we tell ourselves.”
Remus groans, something like fury and self-loathing flashing over his face again. Sirius wants to feel bad, but he can’t. Call a spade a spade, Moony old boy. You’re married and you’re still scratching at my door once a month. The least you can do is admit it, ‘cause if I’m not your bit on the side, then she is, and I don’t see a ring on my finger.
“Why can’t you, just for once..” Remus grits his teeth, and Sirius sneers.
“Can't what? Play along nicely? Or get over the fact you got hitched behind my back?”
“Behind your―” Remus nails dig into Sirius’s bicep hard enough to draw blood as he shakes his head in shocked anger. “You were fucking dead!” he shouts in Sirius’s face. Sirius says nothing, his own chest rising and falling. The silence of the room is smothering as Remus’s outburst reverberates around them both.
Sirius has nothing to say to that. He can’t remember The Veil, can’t recall what happened there, how he got out. It’s there, in his head, the memories distant like the sound of fluttering silk through a half-open doorway, but there’s no time for digging them up now. There’s a community to rebuild, a Godson to protect, and there’s Remus. There always has been, always will be.
Above him Remus pants, before frowning and shutting his eyes. Sirius can’t place what expression he’s wearing. He used to know every expression Remus had, every glint in his eyes, every clench of his jaw a language Sirius was fluent in. But since The Veil, there are new ones, new expressions Sirius doesn’t know how to translate. He thinks this one looks like sorrow, like anger, like regret and pain and relief all at once; he thinks it looks like grief. Makes sense that would be new, really. Sirius wasn’t around to watch Remus mourn him.
Remus hangs his head, the moonlight catching on the grey in his soft, brown hair, and Sirius swallows, feels a pang of pity in his chest. He lifts his hand to Remus’s shirt, runs his fingers softly over the thin, worn material ― the ghost of a peace offering. Through the fall of his grey-brown hair, Remus stares Sirius down, his eyes wary and sharp, something wild and ready to fight or flight stirring in them. Sirius loves it, loves this reckless, impulsive side which the moon drags out of Remus. He loves the way it always brings Remus back to him.
“How did you manage without me?” he asks quietly, but his voice is clear enough. Remus winces, doesn’t answer, and Sirius can’t help but press it further.
“Must’ve been tough. Trying to manage the wolf on your own.” Sirius runs the backs of his knuckles down to the fly of Remus’s trousers, lets them rest just above the clear line of his hard cock. “Trying to control what it makes you feel.” His hand moves lower, down to cup Remus through his trousers, just gently enough to be felt, to tease. He leans up once more, licks around the shell of Remus’s ear, and feels Remus sigh into it, his hands shaking as he holds back. “Or maybe Mrs Wolf fucks as well as m ―”
Remus growls, a sudden and harsh sound as he flips Sirius onto his stomach, presses his knee into the small of Sirius’s back. It knocks the wind out of him, and Sirius puffs a strangled laugh.
“Christ, Moony. Hit a nerve there, did I?” he wheezes, fully aware of both what nerve he’s hit, and how hard; he knows perfectly well that it was hell for Remus while he was gone. He’s got new scars on his body to prove it, the wolf taking it out on the man when it couldn't get to the scrappy mutt it long ago decided to call its mate. Sirius doesn’t mean to push Remus like this, or then again, maybe he does. He’s been doing it for so long, so easily, it’s like second nature now. The fact that their playful sparring comes with real teeth these days is just a bonus, according to his apparently perverted psyche; he likes it when Remus pushes back.
Remus removes his leg, places both knees on the bed beside Sirius’s thighs, but his breathing is harsh and loud, his self-control slipping away.
“Don’t talk about her,” he snarls, and Sirius knows what will happen from here. He likes to bait Remus, snark that it isn’t the wolf but him that comes crawling to Sirius every moon, but he knows it’s only partly true. There’s an animal there, just under the surface, an animal with a man’s desires. He can hear it in the way Remus can’t catch his breath, feel it in the way he leans down to run his open mouth over Sirius’s neck, inhaling his scent. This close to a full moon, to a transformation, Sirius knows Remus’s senses will be on fire. He’s always been sensitive, always able to pick things up others can’t, and something about the way Sirius smells drives him wild. Sirius knows it, and loves that Remus can’t stop the stutter of his hips as he pushes the hair away from Sirius's neck with a shaking hand and runs his lips over the hot skin there, breathing him in deep. Remus is likely as pissed off with Sirius as he’s ever been right now, at Sirius's mouth, but he wants him even more, and that...well, that’s everything to Sirius.
He rolls his shoulders, arches his neck and presses his arse up against the hard line of Remus’s cock. Remus groans, a low rumble that Sirius can feel as much as hear.
“You want me,” he murmurs, pushing back again and delighting when he feels Remus’s knuckles brush against his spine as he scrabbles at his own fly, rips it down and gets a hand around himself. Sirius’s grin feels wide enough to split his face in two.
“Eager, are we?”
Remus only growls in response, barking a summoning charm and extending the hand as the tube of lube slaps into his palm. Sirius hears him flip the cap open, feels a fat dollop of the cold liquid land onto his arse cheek as Remus slicks himself. Sirius groans, his own arousal spiking again inside him as Remus slides his fingers over the lube, gathers it up roughly, and spreads his cheeks. He’d let Remus do this without it, he realises with a strange laugh, but Remus has never forgotten to make sure Sirius is good and ready before he pushes inside. Remus is big, easily big enough to hurt, and while Sirius likes a bit of pain with his pleasure, he’s forever grateful that even through the fog of the wolf growling in his mind, Remus remembers to take care of him.
Sirius chokes out a sound as Remus slips his index finger inside him, down to the first knuckle and then the second before pulling out, twisting, then sliding back in. It’s almost too much too fast, and Sirius hisses, drawing his knees up underneath himself, lets the position spread him wider. When Remus next pushes two fingers inside him, they slip in easily, and Sirius sighs.
Remus works them in and out, his free hand firm on the base of Sirius’s back, burning a warm brand into his skin. Sirius rolls his hips, pushes back and Remus groans, fingers tensing and nails running over Sirius’s spine.
“Missed this, Moony?” Sirius breathes, and Remus growls again, that low and resonating sound that makes Sirius’s cock twitch, hot and hard between his legs. He wants to wrap his hand around it, but not yet. He wants to come with Remus inside him. He wants to make Remus lose it.
“I have,” he murmurs again. “Missed you, like this.” It’s true, almost unbearably true, and it momentarily guts Sirius to say it. He swallows, hard, pushing it down. Remus is the one who’s going to crack here, for fuck’s sake, not him. “I’ve missed your fingers, your cock. Missed the scent of you.” He looks over his shoulder, through the tangled sheet of his hair, and sees Remus’s face crumble, his eyes slam shut and he chokes out a strangled groan. Sirius grins, confident once more. He knows all of Remus’s soft spots, even after all these years, knows just how to hit them.
“Shit, Sirius,” Remus grinds out, three fingers pumping in and out now. Sirius closes his eyes, moans at the feel of it, at the stretch of Remus’s knuckles. He’s always loved Remus’s hands, loved the long taper of his fingers as he ran them down the spine of a book at school, as they prised the thick curtains around Sirius’s bed apart to reveal Remus’s pale face, his glazed eyes. They would always tremble back then, Remus stuttering an apology as he crawled into the bed at Sirius’s beckoning to frantically rut against Sirius’s thigh. Sirius would whisper that it was okay, nothing to be ashamed of here, carding his fingers into Remus’s hair and coming with a choked sigh and a smile of his own.
Those were sweeter times, he thinks as Remus slams his fingers inside him one last time, digs his nails into Sirius’s hip as he pulls him up onto all fours and positions himself behind Sirius. There’s nothing soft or hesitant about Remus now, the only tremble in his hands one of power, of frenzy, being kept in check. But then again, Sirius wonders as Remus bites down the length of his spine, maybe that’s what made Remus tremble back then too. Sirius has never been closer to anyone in his life, but there’s still a thousand secrets between them, especially regarding the moon.
He hears Remus pulling his shirt over his head, before tossing it roughly away. Sirius rubs his forehead against the pillow beneath him, giddy anticipation running up his spine at what will happen next. It’s been too long since they last did this, almost a whole month. Sirius feels resentment well inside at the reminder that Remus only lets himself come to Sirius now when it’s right before the moon, so determined to be faithful to his ball and chain. Sirius always liked Dora, before The Veil ― hell, he still likes her now ― but Remus is fucking his. Sirius smiles unkindly.
“I missed it so much, Moony,” he purrs, “that I just couldn’t wait until the moon.” He feels Remus tense behind him, inhaling sharply, and resists the urge to crow in triumph.
“What?” Remus voice is quiet, sharp, almost too low to be heard, and Sirius knows he’s got him.
“Well, it’s a long time, between wax and wane. A man has needs.” Sirius draws out the S, sees Remus place a fist on either side of Sirius’s hands. “Needs only another man can meet.”
Remus groans, low and desperate, the head of his slick cock brushing against Sirius’s arse cheek. Sirius almost feels bad about what he’s saying. Almost.
“Other men,” Remus pants, his voice broken and ragged. “You’ve been...” he breaks off, unable to say it.
“Fucking them,” Sirius bluntly finishes for him, moving his his hips until the head of Remus’s cock brushes over his hole. He shudders at the feel of it, sees the tremble in Remus’s arms as Remus runs his teeth over Sirius's back. He closes them on the meat of Sirius’s shoulder, almost a bite, before gasping and rubbing his face over the area instead, gripping his cock in one fist and easing it inside Sirius. The head slips inside, past the resistance Remus had already loosened with his fingers, and Sirius groans, low and blissful ― and then again in frustration when Remus stops.
“Moony,” he moans. “Come on.” But Remus holds firm, his hips only moving the slightest fraction, his breath hot and damp on Sirius’s skin. Sirius can feel it, can feel Remus holding back. He pushes back himself, trying to take him in further, but Remus stills his hips.
“Come on,” he pleads again, desperate for Remus to fuck him properly, to feel that length sliding inside. He groans in frustration when Remus still doesn’t move, still tries to keep himself in check, allowing himself only to rub his face over Sirius’s shoulder, first his forehead then cheek. Sirius knows this gestures, knows what it is. It used to confuse him, baffle him, when Remus would nuzzle into his neck, rubbing his cheek back and forth over the same spot. “Scent,” was Remus’s groggy answer, when Sirius finally asked. “S’my scent, Pads. Want you to...smell like me. So, if anyone...anyone else ever...,” and Sirius hadn’t asked again, had simply bared his throat and smiled until Remus fell asleep, his face still tucked in the crook of Sirius’s neck.
Sirius grunts, bites his lower lip. “Moony. Fuck me.” Remus groans, his hips slipping forwards slightly, and Sirius gasps at the perfect slide of it. Desperate times, he thinks. “Make me forget them,” he whispers harshly. “Make me forget all about those other guys since you were last here ―”
And that's what does it. Remus snarls, a feral, jagged sound as he slams into Sirius, barely waiting a beat before pulling out and thrusting inside again. He grabs Sirius’s hair, pulling his head aside as he bites at his neck, sharp nips of teeth that sent shivers down Sirius’s spine. Remus's hand is almost painful in his hair, the slide of his cock just sudden and hard enough to dance around the edges of pain and Sirius keens, grins euphorically at the overwhelming sensation of it all. This is what he wanted.
“Me, Sirius, only me,” Remus mutters mindlessly against his skin, just audible over the slap of his hips. “There’s no one else but me,” Remus grinds out, slamming in again, and Sirius wants to laugh at him, wants to bark that he’s a hypocrite and Sirius can suck as much cock as he likes while Remus is playing happy families with his young bride, but then Remus changes the angle again, hits ― oh, shit ― that spot inside him, and Sirius forgets how to breathe.
Three. He's fucked three men since January’s moon, and none of them can even come close to comparing to Remus, can even skirt around the edges of how good it feels when Remus is inside him, around him, holding him down. He moans into the pillow, Remus’s mouth sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin of his neck as he pumps his hips relentlessly. Sirius would ordinarily be embarrassed by making this much of a racket, but right now he can’t give a fuck about anything but the thick, hard weight of Remus’s cock.
Remus curls over Sirius’s back, the pace of his hips brutal as he slams in hard enough to make the bed springs creak, and Sirius’s teeth clack together. He braces one hand on the bed, the scant hair on Remus’s chest brushing against his back as Sirius curls his own palm around his aching cock, begins to pull it quickly. This won’t take long, not with Remus’s breath hot and his teeth hard at the sensitive tendons of Sirius’s neck, not with Remus’s cock brushing against his prostate on every second stroke. It feels maddening, perfect, and his breath punches out of him faster than he can choke it down as Remus knocks his fist away and grips Sirius’s cock himself.
“Oh, shi ― shit!”
Sirius gasps, his orgasm hitting him sudden and hard as Remus pumps his fist around him. His grip is tight and perfect, and Sirius keens as he spills over Remus’s hand, onto the sheets beneath him. His arse clenches reflexively around the girth of Remus’s cock, and Remus grunts, his teeth sinking into Sirius’s neck and his cock spurting inside him. Sirius feels one last pulse wrack his body before he falls limp against the sheets, gulping down air and trying to hold himself up as Remus ruts into him, riding his own orgasm out.
The bed is solid beneath him but Sirius feels liquid, sated and exhausted. He winces as Remus pulls out, his arse sore and sensitive, and Remus places a warm, breathless kiss against his shoulder. His rubs his face against the spot, one last time, before catching himself and pulling abruptly back. Sirius smiles tiredly into the pillow before rolling onto his back and arching his neck as Remus steps off the bed, righting his trousers with shaking hands. His face is ruddy, his bare chest flushed as Sirius stares at him. There’s no one he’s ever wanted like he wants this man, he knows that as well as he knows his own name. He swallows thickly, emotion welling up inside him, and he stands, at the very least to have something to do with himself ― something that doesn’t involve asking Remus not to leave, to stay the night, to get rid of that stupid gold band on his finger which they both know is a damn farce.
He struggles his jelly legs into his jeans, pulls them up over his thighs. He doesn’t bother with a cleaning spell, noting Remus hasn’t either. He knows Remus didn’t forget to cast one. It makes Sirius smirk, the idea of Remus going home still smelling of him. His missus won’t be able to tell, not likely, but Remus will know it’s there, and this close to the moon...well, Sirius knows it’s deliberate.
Remus is almost fully dressed when Sirius looks up from zipping his fly. They stand on either side of the room, Remus near the door and Sirius shirtless by the bed.
“Sirius.” Remus looks away, runs a hand over the stubble of his jaw. Sirius looks back evenly. He’s not feeling unkind, but he’s also not willing to help his old mate out of this one. Remus sighs heavily.
“You’re not my bit on the side,” Remus says roughly. “You’re…” he breaks off, licks his lips. Sirius stares back, that strange and yet somehow familiar pain back in Remus’s eyes. Sirius stalks closer, his jeans slung low on his hips and his own eyes hard. I’m what, Moony? he thinks. The love of your life? The horizon you run to when the wolf needs open plains and can’t stand the stifling cage of domesticity you’ve built for it, for yourself? A huge pain in the arse you wish you could be rid of forever?
All three?
Remus looks away, does the last button of his shirt up, and Sirius smiles ruefully. This is another part of the dance they do, so close to admitting something and yet at the same time not even remotely able to do it. He’d be shocked if Remus was ever able to finish that sentence, to tell Sirius what he ― this ― really means to him. He sometimes thinks if he can get Remus to talk, really talk, before he’s buttoned himself back into those bland, boring shirts, back into his everyday-man costume, then he’ll crack. Get the truth out of him. But tonight he doesn’t want to push it. He lets Remus leave without a fight ― well, without any more of a fight.
He picks up the half-drunk tumbler of whisky as he stiffly walks back to the bed, sits down on it heavily. He should shower, wash the remainder of this mess off of himself, but he likes it; he’s not even going to pretend he doesn’t. He wants to smell of Remus, wear his mark for all to see, and that’s not even the mongrel in him talking. That’s just Sirius. He downs the whiskey in one, lays down flat on the bed and inhales deeply, stretching his tired, sore limbs and feeling that glorious burn in his arse. He wants to feel it again, and soon, wants Remus to come to him once more ― and he knows that he will. He can’t help it.
“You’re not my bit on the side, Sirius. You’re…”
Sirius smiles thinly at the ceiling, running a hand over the trail of dark hair on his belly. He wants to hear the end of that sentence more than anything in the world, and for that, he can wait.
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