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Entry tags:
- angst,
- fic,
- hp,
- remus/sirius
Exhibitionism (R/S)
Well, it's not porn porn, but it is the smuttiest thing I've ever written (read: the most compromising.) And look! There's a hat! Haha, I'd missed my OTP so much, and I hadn't posted real fic in almost a month... I've been a bad girl. I actually finished this yesterday at 1 AM, but I was too tired to proof read it and check some words in the dictionary.
Title: Exhibitionism
Rating: R
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 1063
Summary: Sirius wants Remus back. Remus only wants to stop wanting.
Author Notes: Written for the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spooy since she's so great that she keeps on illustrating my fics and she deserves all the love in the world, and sazzlette, for generally being awesome and convincing me of doing this XD Love you guys. ♥
Based on this post, the second drawing.
That’s not the right way to wear that hat, you know?” says Sirius as soon as Remus enters the flat, shirtless on the couch, staring blankly at the smoke of the cigarette burning unattended between his fingers. Remus takes his old, threadbare, Gryffindor scarf off, hangs it in the lonely nail at the middle of the wall.
“And why is that?”
Sirius shrugs, takes a drag, arches in that mouth-drying way only he can pull off as he exhales the smoke out, and Remus bites his lip with the temptation of licking his way down that curve, of kissing his shoulder in the way he’s not allowed to do anymore (scapula, is the technical name, and the word could just slip from his lips like melted candle wax, like heat and dreams).
He walks across the room and sits on the windowsill, hands flat next to his dangling legs as Sirius stands up and walks to him, still smoking, the old intent in his eyes that Remus both craves and hates, the one that screams go when all he wants is to go slow and safe (or was it backwards?).
The hat is taken off Remus’ head unceremoniously, and he can only fake indignation for mere seconds before Sirius puts it on, low over his eyes, face tilted downwards and looking straight at Remus, a smirk teasing him, shaggy hair peeking out of the cap and sticking to his skin.
Sirius walks closer until he’s standing between Remus’ legs, and all those months of denying himself this closeness make Remus swallow with anxiousness, with expectance. There’s a reason he had decided to put an end to whatever had been what they had, he knows, but he can’t really remember any reason at all as his blood boils and leaves his brain helped with gravity (it’s all down to physics, it seems, inertia keeps pulling them together, momentum won’t let them stop, magnetism keeps them close with their opposite poles).
“See? It’s something like this,” Sirius says, and before Remus knows what happened he’s flirting again, flirting like two years ago when they still had to hide from the professors and the bittersweet real life had started. Sirius puts the cigarette between Remus’ lips, and he turns it off in the wooden frame after Remus takes a drag still looking at him, the fifty-fourth scorch mark staying there as a reminder of the moment.
Remus takes the hat back, puts it on and tries to emulate the easy grin, the poise Sirius seems to have inherited from a thousand Blacks before him; chin tilted up to look Sirius in the eye. “Is this better?” There’s a sinuous tone in his words, up and down like a roller coaster, like a wave in hundreds of years old poetry in yellowed pages, like the flame of a match that is painting with charcoal the mere tips of the fingers (and then it burns, but the uncertainty is what makes it worth it) .
A bright smile from Sirius, and long fingers set the corduroy fabric in place. “Much better, Mr. Moony. My, you even manage to look handsome with it!” says Sirius with a raised eyebrow, mischief in his eyes, and Remus forgets about the doubts and the stupid fight eight months ago as he drags Sirius’ head down, a hand on his nape, as he gets his lips so close he can almost taste them, and yet, he waits.
They breathe against each other lips, Sirius’ right hand on the window glass to support his weight, leaving the greasy imprints of his life line, and they have both stopped smiling because the mere act of inhaling (in, out, in, out) and exhaling has become difficult. “Will you give in already?” asks Sirius after a moment.
“Have I ever said no?” And that’s a lie, they both know, but it seems to be good enough for Sirius as he leans down to kiss him, urgent and fast, Remus’ hand twined in his hair as the last of his doubts edges away.
There’s not much talking after that, only gasps and moans that mingle with the traffic sounds out in the streets, filtering through the tiny crack in the glass, a throaty Finally leaves Sirius’ lips, a whispered You tart, answers back. Remus takes off his shirt, collar first and then the sleeves in that natural way he has never seen a girl do, and Sirius helps eagerly, throwing the old newsboy hat to the floor in the process, and out of sheer deviousness he picks it up and puts it back on his head, smiling.
Sirius’ hands go low, low, low as they kiss again, sweaty skin pressed tight together as Sirius straddles him on the windowsill, the wood squeaking with their weight. A hand pressing lightly at the front of his worn jeans, and Remus’ world gets painted in the brighter palette, pure greens and scorching blues and the red of the carpet that looks hypnotic just now as he whimpers softly. Sirius laughs, and Remus has to chase that elusive red mouth with eyes half-closed. He grows tired of the game when Sirius keeps moving away with a smirk, and he takes full advantage of Sirius’ gasp as he wraps a leg around his waist and pulls him closer, friction and adrenaline making them both pant into the kiss. They struggle to get the rest of their clothes off, but the hat stays on.
They fuck against the glass, in the middle of the day when everyone can see, and Remus stops fighting against his exhibitionist urges as he breathes Missed you, missed you, missed you, a thousand times over against Sirius’ neck, voice growing thicker and broken with every thrust, with every single movement. Sirius licks his collarbone, blows hot air on the wet path, and then Remus is coming, eyes shut and mouth open in a silent scream, his silence spelling the I love you he has never been able to utter.
They stay there for a while, catching their breath, staring at each other in silence. “Knew you’d come round,” Sirius says, and Remus mumbles a Shut up into his mouth. Sirius kisses back, and Remus finally stops doubting.
There’s not much sleep for either of them in the next few days, but Sirius’ skin against his makes up for it.
Title: Exhibitionism
Rating: R
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 1063
Summary: Sirius wants Remus back. Remus only wants to stop wanting.
Author Notes: Written for the lovely
spooy since she's so great that she keeps on illustrating my fics and she deserves all the love in the world, and sazzlette, for generally being awesome and convincing me of doing this XD Love you guys. ♥Based on this post, the second drawing.
That’s not the right way to wear that hat, you know?” says Sirius as soon as Remus enters the flat, shirtless on the couch, staring blankly at the smoke of the cigarette burning unattended between his fingers. Remus takes his old, threadbare, Gryffindor scarf off, hangs it in the lonely nail at the middle of the wall.
“And why is that?”
Sirius shrugs, takes a drag, arches in that mouth-drying way only he can pull off as he exhales the smoke out, and Remus bites his lip with the temptation of licking his way down that curve, of kissing his shoulder in the way he’s not allowed to do anymore (scapula, is the technical name, and the word could just slip from his lips like melted candle wax, like heat and dreams).
He walks across the room and sits on the windowsill, hands flat next to his dangling legs as Sirius stands up and walks to him, still smoking, the old intent in his eyes that Remus both craves and hates, the one that screams go when all he wants is to go slow and safe (or was it backwards?).
The hat is taken off Remus’ head unceremoniously, and he can only fake indignation for mere seconds before Sirius puts it on, low over his eyes, face tilted downwards and looking straight at Remus, a smirk teasing him, shaggy hair peeking out of the cap and sticking to his skin.
Sirius walks closer until he’s standing between Remus’ legs, and all those months of denying himself this closeness make Remus swallow with anxiousness, with expectance. There’s a reason he had decided to put an end to whatever had been what they had, he knows, but he can’t really remember any reason at all as his blood boils and leaves his brain helped with gravity (it’s all down to physics, it seems, inertia keeps pulling them together, momentum won’t let them stop, magnetism keeps them close with their opposite poles).
“See? It’s something like this,” Sirius says, and before Remus knows what happened he’s flirting again, flirting like two years ago when they still had to hide from the professors and the bittersweet real life had started. Sirius puts the cigarette between Remus’ lips, and he turns it off in the wooden frame after Remus takes a drag still looking at him, the fifty-fourth scorch mark staying there as a reminder of the moment.
Remus takes the hat back, puts it on and tries to emulate the easy grin, the poise Sirius seems to have inherited from a thousand Blacks before him; chin tilted up to look Sirius in the eye. “Is this better?” There’s a sinuous tone in his words, up and down like a roller coaster, like a wave in hundreds of years old poetry in yellowed pages, like the flame of a match that is painting with charcoal the mere tips of the fingers (and then it burns, but the uncertainty is what makes it worth it) .
A bright smile from Sirius, and long fingers set the corduroy fabric in place. “Much better, Mr. Moony. My, you even manage to look handsome with it!” says Sirius with a raised eyebrow, mischief in his eyes, and Remus forgets about the doubts and the stupid fight eight months ago as he drags Sirius’ head down, a hand on his nape, as he gets his lips so close he can almost taste them, and yet, he waits.
They breathe against each other lips, Sirius’ right hand on the window glass to support his weight, leaving the greasy imprints of his life line, and they have both stopped smiling because the mere act of inhaling (in, out, in, out) and exhaling has become difficult. “Will you give in already?” asks Sirius after a moment.
“Have I ever said no?” And that’s a lie, they both know, but it seems to be good enough for Sirius as he leans down to kiss him, urgent and fast, Remus’ hand twined in his hair as the last of his doubts edges away.
There’s not much talking after that, only gasps and moans that mingle with the traffic sounds out in the streets, filtering through the tiny crack in the glass, a throaty Finally leaves Sirius’ lips, a whispered You tart, answers back. Remus takes off his shirt, collar first and then the sleeves in that natural way he has never seen a girl do, and Sirius helps eagerly, throwing the old newsboy hat to the floor in the process, and out of sheer deviousness he picks it up and puts it back on his head, smiling.
Sirius’ hands go low, low, low as they kiss again, sweaty skin pressed tight together as Sirius straddles him on the windowsill, the wood squeaking with their weight. A hand pressing lightly at the front of his worn jeans, and Remus’ world gets painted in the brighter palette, pure greens and scorching blues and the red of the carpet that looks hypnotic just now as he whimpers softly. Sirius laughs, and Remus has to chase that elusive red mouth with eyes half-closed. He grows tired of the game when Sirius keeps moving away with a smirk, and he takes full advantage of Sirius’ gasp as he wraps a leg around his waist and pulls him closer, friction and adrenaline making them both pant into the kiss. They struggle to get the rest of their clothes off, but the hat stays on.
They fuck against the glass, in the middle of the day when everyone can see, and Remus stops fighting against his exhibitionist urges as he breathes Missed you, missed you, missed you, a thousand times over against Sirius’ neck, voice growing thicker and broken with every thrust, with every single movement. Sirius licks his collarbone, blows hot air on the wet path, and then Remus is coming, eyes shut and mouth open in a silent scream, his silence spelling the I love you he has never been able to utter.
They stay there for a while, catching their breath, staring at each other in silence. “Knew you’d come round,” Sirius says, and Remus mumbles a Shut up into his mouth. Sirius kisses back, and Remus finally stops doubting.
There’s not much sleep for either of them in the next few days, but Sirius’ skin against his makes up for it.
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