Work Header

Golden and Beautiful All Over

Work Text:

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black didn’t believe in sex.

They believed in producing heirs, of course. On the night of their honeymoon and every month thereafter, Walburga Black lay on the mahogany bed in her room and let Orion pump listlessly into her, her fingers wound around the tassels on a throw pillow, his clenched in the bedspread. They had sex when she was fertile, which she knew by the color of sparks that trailed from her wand when she drew it across her abdomen. They did not speak, they did not make eye contact, and they most certainly did not make love. They had sex the requisite number of times to create Sirius, and then again to produce the back up, Regulus, and then they were done. They may have had pleasures elsewhere, Orion may have pressed against Druella’s robes at family dinners, and Walburga may have kept a lover for long enough to realize it was a mistake and obliviate the poor man right out of the wizarding world, but that was before the boys could walk and talk and remember. Sirius and Regulus grew knowing many things about being a Black, but certainly they knew this: Blacks were not subject to pleasures of the flesh. Blacks did not disgrace themselves by touching what was meant to further the bloodline. Blacks did not fuck.

Which was a conundrum, Sirius thought as his back was pressed against the cool of a brick wall, one warm hand already under his shirt and wrapping around his side. His own hands were tangled in Remus’ hair, because Remus had such soft hair, tawny and curled just slightly, and it felt good in Sirius’ fingers. He pulled Remus closer, which was hard to accomplish, the taller boy’s body pressed against his, his tongue running over the ridge of Sirius’ teeth. It was a conundrum because Remus had been kissing him for a better part of a year now, and sometimes his hands drifted towards Sirius’ waistband, and Sirius wanted those hands to drift, but he stiffened as Remus’ mouth left his and moved to just under his ear, biting at the soft spot there.

“Is this too much?” Remus asked, nibbling the shell of Sirius’ ear, his breath a warm ghost.

“No!” Sirius said, although yes, of course it was. It was too much when Remus smiled at him, or looped their hands together, or sat by Sirius and gave him a new muggle novel to read. It was far too much when Remus said he liked him, kissed him soft on the lips, laughed into Sirius’ open mouth and called him an idiot. It was exceedingly, mind bendingly, overwhelmingly too much that Remus was snogging the life out of him, all warm body and honey breath and eyes that tinged a little gold when Sirius squirmed against the wall.

Sirius had a reputation, of course. He was Sirius Black, panty snatcher, girl kisser, bed warmer. He had kissed some girls, had gone on panty raids with James, and had given Marlene 20 galleons and illicit use of the Invisibility Cloak on no less than four occasions to spread a rumor that they shagged in the Forbidden Forest. Marlene didn’t mind, used the money to buy Dorcas an anniversary gift; it wasn’t necessarily safe to be gay, so the cover was good for both of them, and Marlene had a soft spot for Sirius ever since she found him crying the day Remus went to Hogsmeade with Emmaline Vance.

But that was all show and farce. That was a ploy, a magic trick. Remus’ hand splashed on his belly was real, and real was—real was—

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Remus said, which was such a Remus thing to say. James wouldn’t say that. James would let silence do the talking, or nudge Sirius’ shoulder and look at him with one eyebrow raised and if Sirius smiled they’d go on and if he frowned James would change the subject and it would be normal, normal. Then again, he had never kissed James. Sirius shook his head to dispel thoughts of his best mate.

“I want—just kiss me. Merlin.” Sirius said, and leaned forward, because he wanted Remus’ mouth, not a speech about consent. But Remus dodged out of the way.

“But you’ve gotten all tense.” He said. “This doesn’t work if you’re tense.”

“I’m not-you’re making me tense!” Sirius snapped. “I wouldn’t be tense if we were kissing!”

“You specifically get tense when we are kissing, so I doubt that very much,” Remus said in a tone that sounded like a prefect, like a boy who was friends with Lily Evans. Sirius groaned.

“I’m fine, Moony. Kiss me.”

“It happens when we kiss too long. It’s a pattern,” Remus said thoughtfully, and when Sirius moved to grab his shirt in his fists Remus moved faster, wrapping his hand around Sirius’ wrists and holding them against the wall above his head with idle power. Sirius did not appreciate that Remus could so easily overpower him in the week before the full moon, although in another way, Sirius most certainly did appreciate it that Remus could so easily overpower him the week before the full moon.

“It’s not a pattern. And this is not a problem. Our only problem is that we aren’t snogging because you’re thinking.” Sirius complained, but it was true that cold fear was sneaking up his spine, because he had been avoiding this, and now it was coming, and he did not want it to come. He wanted to kiss Remus until they both died of old age or dehydration, whichever came first. He wanted to do more than kiss Remus, truth be told, but that would require talking, and Sirius didn’t want to talk.

“No, it’s a pattern,” Remus said, gnawing his lip like he was studying a hard spell, not pinning his boyfriend to a wall. “You like to kiss. I know you do. You’re a bloody nuisance about it.”

“I’m not a nuisance!” Sirius complained, tugging sharply at his wrists to see if Remus would budge. Remus did not budge, but tightened his grip in a way he’d never allow himself if he were focused, and Sirius liked that, liked the way it hurt a little. He wondered how much Remus would hurt him, if he wanted him to.

“Last week you tried to set my chair on fire so I would “forget about potions and kiss you,” Padfoot. Those are your words. No, you like kissing.“ Remus stopped, and his eyes met Sirius’, and he asked it so gentle that Sirius would have hexed him if his hands were free, “Did anything happen over break?”

“I got disowned over break, Moony. I told you. Prongs sent you those letters and you clucked so loud they heard it in France and-”

“But did-” Remus stopped, his frown settling. “James said they hurt you.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and tried hard to suppress the memory of Grimmauld Place, the way he screamed loud against his father’s desk because even he wasn’t stubborn enough to resist the force of the Cruciartis. “James is, you know, intent on the destruction of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Thestral Shit. He’s been their prime enemy since first year when my mum let my wrist heal all wobbly.”

“You mean since she broke your wrist and didn’t get you treatment,” Remus said gently.

The delightful thing about being up against a wall with Remus Lupin is that he might kiss you so soundly you were weak in the knees and lightheaded, and you might wander back to James with your mouth swollen and your hair disheveled and your world upside down. The unfortunate thing about being up against a wall with Remus Lupin was that he cared; he always cared; he went on caring and he never stopped, and he might interrupt a perfectly lovely snogging session to ask you personal questions if he felt it might help you.

“Moony, they had a bit of a fit-”

“You’ve new scars-”

“They threw me out-”

“You nearly splinched yourself-”

“I am fine .” Sirius snapped, glaring at Remus.

“Okay,” Remus said softly, and his hold on Sirius’ wrists loosened, his eyes warm and worried and so gentle Sirius wanted to scream. “So why do you get so tense when I kiss you?”

When Sirius was nine years old, he and Regulus had gotten into a very real dick measuring contest. It began as who could fly the best and escalated: who could get Kreacher to stand on his head the longest, who could do the most magic, who could sneak a frog into Bellatrix’s dinner, who could endure one of their mother’s curses without screaming, who could stay awake the longest. Finally it was who had the bigger willy. It was ridiculous, a spitting contest between two boys who barely knew what their equipment was for, two brothers creating laughter in a place that was so very dark. And of course Walburga caught them.

Walburga opened the door of her eldest sons room and saw them pantsless and assumed the worst, assumed something more complex and dark than either boy could imagine. She cursed them faster than they could say “mother” and they were stuck like that, petrified on the floor, wide eyed and open mouthed, pants at their ankles. Sirius could only see the ceiling, but he could hear her cold voice above the panic in his ears.

“Touching yourself will destroy your magic. Every time you use that thing, you get a little more muggle,” she said, and then she left.

Sirius knew magic better than Walburga did; it had been thrumming in him since he was born, and it appeared at inopportune moments, rose up like bile when he saw Bellatrix, hummed like a cat when Andromeda touched his shoulder, flitted wild between his palms when he was sorted into Gryffindor. Sirius knew magic and magic knew Sirius, and he knew at nine there was no way to get more muggle, there was no way magic could leave him. But he also knew the terror of laying exposed on the floor for hours, the shame of not being able to stop Regulus’ soft hitching cries, the light changing as afternoon faded and the sun set, the way his tears ran out the corners of his eyes and dried on the dark floorboards before his mother sent Kreacher to set them free. He knew the way Regulus didn’t like to play games after that, the way he skirted closer to his mother, like by appeasing her he could avoid her. Sirius remembered the price, and he remembered all of this whenever Remus’ hand touched his belt.

“Let me go,” Sirius said, squirming, but in earnest now, twisting his wrists hard enough to turn them red in Remus’ grasp. And Remus did, released his wrists instantly and took a step back. It was mostly because he believed that trust was earned and that no one should be held against their will, and also because he had seen panic in Sirius’ eyes when he was pinned against his liking, and of course because Sirius’ magic tasted like oranges and bloomed under Remus’ tongue when it surged up around him in anger and fear.

“It’s alright,” Remus said.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Sirius said, which was true and not true, and then he stormed out of the broom closet because it seemed like the fitting thing to do.

Sirius found James, because that’s what he did when he was upset, returned to the place where Everything Was Safe. James was a cool and steady constant, always pleased to see Sirius, never pushing to talk about it. Even when Sirius has arrived at Potter Manor bleeding and in his pants, curse marks littering his chest and looped handwriting spelling out MUDBLOOD LOVER in wounds across his ribs, James hadn’t forced a conversation. James had ground his fists together and wrapped Sirius in a blanket and accepted that they couldn’t go to St Mungos. James had healed what he knew to heal, and his father had done the rest, and when it was over and Sirius lay shivering in bed, James had climbed in beside him and talked to him about Quidditch until Sirius passed out, his head on James’ chest.

“How far do you reckon Pete could fall as Wormtail without breaking any bones?” James said by way of greeting, his legs stretched out in front of him on the dormitory floor, a stack of books and carelessly organized papers beside.

“Six feet. We tested last year.” Sirius said, and sat down, shoving books out of his way and flinging himself facedown across James’ legs.

“Mmm,” James said, and rested the book he was holding on Sirius’ back, which meant, Do You Want to Talk?

Sirius huffed, which meant Maybe, and used his wand to turn the edge of James’ parchment black.

The silence stretched between them, which wasn’t really silence, it was the calm of James breathing and Sirius sulking and the two of them tacitly acknowledging that it was happening. James hummed as he read, some song Lily had taught him, and Sirius scowled but was soothed by the noise of it. Sirius liked muggle songs and Sirius liked Lily and Sirius liked pretending not to like anything when he was in a bad mood.

“Remus asked.” Sirius said, his voice muffled against James’ calf.

“You to marry him?”


“It’s not far off now. You’ll wear white and look every bit the blushing bride, and I’ll walk you down the aisle, and Pete can be the ring bearer.”

Prongs .”

James set his book down and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Alright, Padfoot. What did Remus ask you?”

“You know.”

“I decidedly do not know. I’ve been working on my telepathy, but you are notoriously difficult-”

“About—sex stuff.” Sirius snapped, flinging himself up off of James’ legs and sitting cross legged beside him.

“You haven’t told him, then?” James asked. James knew. James was Sirius’ secret keeper. He had spent the first three hours of Hogwarts convincing Sirius they would be friends forever, the first three months of Hogwarts trying to understand why his friend flinched away from hugs and gnawed his lips bloody when letters from home arrived, and the first three years listening in silence as Sirius slowly shared story after story, spilling it, all the ache. James listened and although he would one day believe in mercy and charity among all things, he would never forgive Orion and Walburga Black.

Sirius shot him a look like he was a blithering idiot. “How am I supposed to- no , James, I haven’t told him . What would he think of me?”

“He’d think your family is evil, and he’d think we need reform in the Ministry so we can prosecute them.”

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. “He’d think I’m a freak, is what he’d think.”

“Moony? Folds his socks and transforms into a man eating monster once a month Moony? Would think you’re a freak?”

Sirius ground his teeth, curling in on himself again in a pose James knew meant danger. “He’s had sex, James. Normal sex. With normal people.”

“I hardly think one time with Hilly MacMurphy counts. He probably came before he got it in.”

“Emmaline said she saw him getting sucked off by Thomas Reynolds last year.”

“Emmaline likes to say things that make your cheeks go pink because she’s a pain in the arse and annoyed that she can’t make beautiful children with you.”

“Lily said so too, though.”

“No, Lily just didn’t call her a liar. Because they’re friends. Like when I tell Pete he could be a great Quidditch player if he wanted to, and you don’t laugh in my face to spare his feelings.”

“I don’t laugh in your face because you told me to quit laughing when you complimented Peter.”

“My point exactly,” James said, grabbing Sirius’ arm and tugging until they were shoulder to shoulder and some of the tension leaked from Sirius’ body simply from the closeness of it, the reminder that James was there, and if James was there that meant the bad couldn’t be. No one ever screamed at him if James was about. “The point is that yes, Remus has had some experience. And yes, your mother is a monster. And by all means, you are approximately as skittish as ten wild cats in a bag when it comes to taking off your pants in front of Moony. But that won’t change how he feels about you. He’ll join me in wanting to destroy the Ancient and Most Noble House of Inbreeding, that’s all.”

“If you’re wrong-”

“If I’m wrong, I will tattoo ‘James is an arseface’ on my forehead,” James vowed. “I won’t marry Lily, and I’ll name my first child–had with the woman of your choice–Sirius Was Always Right Potter.”

Sirius laughed, a bark of a laugh, and kicked at James’ outstretched leg with his own. “Turnip,” he said, and touched the warm spot on his ribs where Fleamont Potter had healed away what his family thought of him.

“I’m quite more of a parnsip, though.” James said grandly. “Peppery, you know?”

“You wouldn’t know a parsnip from a turnip if Lily Evans had one balanced on each buttock.”

“If Lily Evans had anything balanced on any buttock, I would transfigure myself into that thing immediately, simply for the grace of touching what I imagine must be creamy and fair skin.”

Sirius groaned, pushing at James. “You’re disgusting.”

“You take it up the arse.”

“I don’t! I mean, I haven’t. We haven’t. I want to—try.” Sirius made a frustrated noise and buried his face in his hands. “But I’m rubbish.”

“How hard can it be? How’s this: you strip, I’ll tie a big old ribbon on you, and we’ll leave you for Moony! Like a gift! And if it’s going up your arse, can’t you just lie back and take it?”

Sirius peeked at James through his fingers in horror. “Is that what you tell Lily to do? Lie back and take it?

James sighed, tipping his head back against the wood of his bed. “We both know Lily gives the orders.”

“There has never been a thought in your brain.”

“Nor will there be,” James conceded. “Nevertheless, I think you should sit down, tell Remus why you’re so nervous, and let him, you know, soothe you.”

“That’s disgusting. Don’t say soothe me.”

“Alright, let him suck you off then.”

“Prongs!” Sirius shouted, slapping James hard on the back of the head. “You aren’t helping!”

But James laughed, swatting affectionately at Sirius. “Just talk to him, Padfoot. He’s besotted. He cares. He’ll listen.”

“Fine,” Sirius said. “I’ll talk to him.”

A true fact about Sirius Black was that he disliked being vulnerable. A truer fact about Sirius Black was that he would rather destroy every candle in the castle and blot out the sun than have someone see his face when he cried.

Remus would’ve just approached him. They would’ve gone for a walk. It would have been casual. Instead, Sirius hid in an alcove behind a tapestry, waited for Remus to walk by on his way to Care of Magical Creatures, and yanked him into the dark by the edge of his robes.

“You’re lucky I can smell it’s you or I’d have cursed you solid,” Remus said with a sigh, dropping his book bag at his feet.

“You’re lucky I smell so good,” Sirius said.

Remus rolled his eyes, and although Sirius couldn’t see it he knew Remus well enough to know it happened. Remus shifted his feet in the dark and took a breath. “About earlier—“

“No no no!” Sirius shouted, then shook his head. “That. I mean. It’s hard to say, Remus, and I need you to know—you’re a good kisser and it’s not your kissing, it’s—have you ever compared dicks?”

Remus blinked slow into the dark. “Yes,” he said, careful. “Are you… worried about the size? Of your bits?”

“What? No. Are you worried about the size of my bits?”

“No! I haven’t thought about—I mean I have thought—I would like to think about—um, Sirius, what is this about?”

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could feel the memory rising up, and magic in his palms, and he didn’t want to say it, he didn’t want to be breathing and saying the shameful thing, but he wanted to kiss Remus, and he knew there was no going around it, no way to hide from it, and Sirius Black was moody and conflicted and given to pouting, but he was also bravebravebrave.

So he told.

Remus’ wand illuminated the alcove, the heavy tapestry that hid them from the hallway. Sirius went to wipe at his eyes but Remus caught his wrists and kissed them, gentle, just a slight pressure. “Padfoot,” he said softly.

“It’s fine,” Sirius lied.

Remus smiled sadly at him, and then tugged him closer, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ middle. “I’m sorry,” he said into Sirius’ hair. “I’m sorry. They treated you—it’s wrong.”

Sirius pressed his face against the warm skin of Remus’ neck. “I just wanted you to know that I—I want to—but I-I’m rubbish, Moony, and you should probably go find Hilly-“

“Aren’t I the one who pulls that line about not being enough for you?”

“Each month ‘round the full.”

“And what do you tell me?”

“That I will sabotage any date you go on without me.”

Remus snorted, tilted Sirius’ chin up to kiss him. “I want to be with you, Sirius. And if we don’t—I mean, we haven’t got to—“

“But I want to!”

“If you’re scared—“

“I am not scared,” Sirius said, real anger flashing in his eyes.

Remus opened his mouth and closed it, then nodded. “Sorry,” he said. “Bad choice of words. Of course you aren’t scared. But we can take it slow. We can—“

Sirius launched himself forward, twining his arms around Remus’ neck, kissing him hard, all teeth and edges. Remus wrapped his arms around him, resting his hands on Sirius’ back. But Sirius didn’t stiffen this time, didn’t grow tense in his arms. Instead he grabbed at Remus’ belt, tugging it loose from his trousers. Remus made a surprised noise against his mouth but let him, let him unzip his trousers and reach into his pants.

“Oh!” Sirius said, looking up at Remus, his mouth open. “You have—I mean—“ he paused and then laughed at himself, leaning his forehead against Remus’ shoulder. “I mean I knew you had a dick, I just—it’s big, is all. I mean. Could you just—“

But Remus knew what he meant, and kissed him quiet, letting his hand slide under Sirius’ untucked shirt, feeling the warm skin of his back. Remus had spent a lot of time staring at Sirius’ back, when he lay shirtless sprawled on James’ bed, when he flung his Quidditch gear off after a game. He had wanted to touch it for years, and now he did, pushing his shirt up to feel the ridges of his spine arching up to his shoulder blades.

Sirius pulled back to yank his shirt up over his head, throwing it behind him. Remus sighed in relief, letting his fingers trail down Sirius’ sides, over his ribs. “You’re incredible,” Remus murmured. “Unbelievable. Every inch of you is perfect.”

Sirius looked back at Remus in surprise, eyes wide and mouth parted. Of course he knew he was good looking; he was a Black and Blacks were beautiful, even his raging mother. But no one has ever talked to him so tenderly, so softly, like he was so valuable. “Oh,” he said, quiet.

“The loveliest person I’ve ever seen,” Remus said, kissing Sirius’ collarbone, his shoulder.

Sirius swayed under the weight of Remus’ adoration, clenching his fists on Remus’ shoulders. “I want—Remus, I want to—we—I mean, should we—“ He wasn’t used to to not knowing what to do. Sirius always knew what to do. He was intuitive, and he made leaps, creative and clever and leaving everyone behind him in the dust. But now he floundered, unsure where to touch, how to go forward.

“Relax,” Remus said. “You’ve only got to relax.”

“I’m trying ,” Sirius said impatiently.

Remus laughed then, because it was a conversation they would’ve had over divination. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to do this,” he said finally.

“What!” Sirius shouted. “I’ve finally got up the nerve and you—“

“I can feel what you’ve gotten up,” Remus said, kissing the corner of Sirius’ mouth. “Come with me.”

Remus led him through the halls, and Sirius thrilled at Remus’ fingers around his wrist, his shirt in Remus’ other hand. The castle air was cool on his chest but he didn’t mind, focused on the way Remus’ shoulders moved beneath his robes. They stopped in front of a statue, and Remus said something in Latin about the moon and it moved, revealing a room inside.

The room was small and hidden away, tucked near a portrait of Sirius’ great great uncle, who glared at him as he passed, but there was a fireplace and a bed, and it was warm. “Where’d you find this? Why isn’t it on the map?” Sirius asked, forgetting a moment about sex to think about loyalty and priorities and What It Meant to Be A Marauder.

“I forgot about it,” Remus lied. “It was a room Dumbledore had set aside for me in case… in case the days before the moon were too… well, it’s gone unused, so I needed a moment to tidy it up. But this will do much better.”

Sirius was still considering the implications and whether he was angry about them when Remus stood behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. “We can stop whenever you want.”

Sirius felt the buzz of it, Remus’ arms soft over his sides, and leaned his head back to rest on Remus’ chest. “No. Let’s just… let’s do it.”

Remus didn’t respond, just kissed Sirius below his ear, then down to his neck. Sirius shivered, and for a moment heard his mother’s voice and shook his head hard to push her away.

“Stop thinking, Sirius.” Remus said softly.

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I know, which means you should trust me. If I’m telling you to stop it, it must be serious.” He kissed a line along Sirius’ shoulder, up his neck and behind his ear again. “And if you make that joke, I will spank you.”

Sirius squirmed back against Remus, considering whether that was really a threat or not, and if so, whether he’d enjoy it. A tug in his gut said yes. He opened his mouth to test it, but then Remus spun him around and pushed him back so he stumbled, the backs of his knees hitting the bed and then he tumbled into it.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to fuck you?”

Sirius shook his head dumbly. He wanted to say how long and he wanted to say fuck me? and he wanted to say your mouth so instead he said nothing, looked up at Remus with wide eyes.

“I’ve fucked you in my dreams,” Remus said, shedding his shirt as he came closer to the bed. “Often in the Astronomy Tower, under the stars. Sometimes in our dormitory. I tie your hands to the bedposts with scarves and suck your cock until you can’t come anymore. Occasionally,” he kneeled on the bed, straddling Sirius’ hips, “I bend you over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and fuck you in front of everyone, and all you can think is my name, and everyone sees you there, with me.”

Sirius found suddenly that he was not thinking, that thoughts were a fuzzy blur, and all he knew was Remus’ hands resting lighttoolightwantmore on his chest. “Uhn,” he said, blinking slow.

“But do you know the hard part?” Remus asked, wrapping a tendril of Sirius’ hair around his finger.

“Whassat?” Sirius asked, although he could think of some hard things, but he didn’t think they were what Remus wanted him to say, and suddenly he wanted so very badly to please Remus, to make him happy.

“In my dreams, I want to hear you moaning. I want to hear you gasping my name. But I don’t know what that sounds like.” He have a sharp tug to Sirius’ hair. Sirius moaned reflexively, and Remus smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Like that.”

He tugged again, harder, and Sirius arched his head back, baring his throat and sighing happily as he did. “I knew you would like this,” Remus said softly. “Do you know how I knew?”

Sirius tried to shake his head, but Remus’ hand was clenched tight in his hair so instead he made what he hoped was a noise that meant no.

“When I kiss you, sometimes I hold your wrists,” Remus said, bending low to place his face near Sirius’, their lips brushing when Remus spoke. “I do it to keep you from moving too much. You’re so wiggly. You get distracted, Sirius. And sometimes you try to get your hands free. But you aren’t really trying, are you?” He looked at Sirius, his eyes blown wide. “When James pins you, you get mad. You hate to be confined. But you never get mad when I’m holding you. You pull and pull but you never get mad. Because you don’t want free, Sirius. You just want to know you can fight and I’ll still win. You want to know that I’m stronger than you.”

Sirius felt his cheeks redden, and he looked away. But Remus tugged his hair again. “I asked you a question, Padfoot.” He said softly.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, quiet like the crescent moon.

“Yeah what?”

“Yes, I want you to… I mean I… I want you to win,” Sirius said, and his cheeks burned. “I want you to be… in charge.”

Remus smiled at him, something soft and kind, and then kissed him. “Beautiful,” Remus said again, and then with a flick of his wand Sirius’ hands were drawn up above his head by golden ropes. Sirius craned his head to look up at them and then returned his gaze to Remus, mouth working soundlessly, uncertain of whether he wanted to beg for more or run.

“Listen to me,” Remus said, and suddenly he was normal Remus, prefect Remus, hugs Sirius after bad letters from home Remus. “If you say doxie blood, I’ll stop. I’ll stop everything. And I won’t be mad at you. You won’t have failed. We can try again, even, if you like. But if it’s not what you want, or you need a break, or it’s too much, or it hurts—doxie blood, you understand?”

Sirius nodded. Of course in this Remus would have boundaries and guards. Remus was always the one who made sure nothing went too far. Sirius was attracted to him because of his curling hair and his honey eyes and the ridiculous way he ate his toast (with a fork!) but also because Remus always had his hand fisted in the back of Sirius’ shirt, ready to drag him back from the edge.

“Say it,” Remus ordered, his hands resting on Sirius’ chest.

“Doxie blood,” Sirius said.

Instantly the bounds came off his hands, and Remus slid to the side, not leaving, but no longer pressing his full weight to Sirius’ stomach. “Good,” Remus said, and stroked hair back from Sirius’ face. “I’ll never be mad,” he repeated.

Sirius nodded. “But, um, Moony?”


“Could you… could you tie me up again?”

Remus waved his wands and the ropes were back, tighter this time, pulling hard enough that Sirius squirmed up on the bed to relieve the pressure. Remus knelt over his chest and sighed as Sirius’ eyes rested on the bulge in his trousers. “I would kill to see my cock in your mouth,” Remus said. “I bet you would drool everywhere. I bet you’d gag on it, and try so hard to take it all the way down that you’d end up crying for it.” He slid three fingers into Sirius’ mouth, stretching them so that Sirius did gag, and it shocked them both how right that felt, finding a limit and pushing it. “But I want to show you something else tonight,” Remus said, and withdrew his fingers.

Sirius let out a whine of displeasure and Remus scowled at him. “Bad dog,” he said, and Sirius’ eyes widened in disbelief at the phrase and the immediate effect it had on him. Remus moved down on the bed to between Sirius’ legs. “I told you I want to show you something. Lift up your hips.”

Sirius did, and Remus tugged his trousers, pulling them down and off his ankles, throwing them over his head. He wanted to tease Sirius for not wearing any briefs, but he was distracted by the sight of Sirius Black naked, arms stretched above his head, chest rising and falling unevenly, his cock hard and straining up towards his belly. He stared as long as he could, taking in the sight, committing it to memory, so that if Sirius changed his mind and they never did this again, Remus would never forget how it felt.

“Moony,” Sirius whined, “stop looking and start—ah!” He spasmed, pulling hard on the ropes as Remus said a spell and slid two slick fingers into him.

“Easy, easy,” Remus murmured, his free hand running soothing circles on Sirius’ hip. “You’ve got to relax.”

“That feels a lot,” Sirius blabbered. “I mean I just, I want—oh, Merlin shit Moony!”

“That’s your prostate,” Remus said, as if he were teaching a class and not making Sirius gasp and squirm. “Have you ever felt that before?”

Sirius shook his head, trying to grind down on Remus’ fingers for more. Remus smiled. “Good,” he said, satisfied. “I’m the only one who makes you feel this.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed distractedly, and arched as Remus rubbed that spot again. He was starting to sweat and regret the ropes; he wanted his hands, wanted to make Remus move faster, wanted more now, and bloody Remus was all about patience and the experience and Sirius just wanted to feel this forever, feel this good on Remus’ fingers until he died.

“They could make statues of you like this,” Remus sighed, moving his fingers over and over so that Sirius bucked and gasped in tandem with the stretch of his knuckles.

“Moremore please can I have more?” Sirius moaned, tugging impatiently at his bonds. “Please?”

“Are you certain?” Remus asked, rubbing faster now, watching his slick fingers curl in and out of Sirius, the way Sirius clenched around him when he hit his prostate. “We could just do this. We can take it slow.”

“More please ,” Sirius whined, because it burned, it hurt, but just a spark, not enough, not fully enough. He had forgotten to be ashamed and scared, and really being naked with Remus wasn’t so bad, because Remus was beautiful all over and he looked at Sirius like he was made of gold. It was safe, and now that he felt safe he wanted to feel everything .

Remus drank in the sight, Sirius biting down on the plump of his lower lip. “Since you asked so nicely.” The pressure increased as Remus slid a third finger into him, and Sirius rocked his hips wildly.

“Stay still,” Remus said sharply, and to both of their surprise Sirius did, turning his face to bite at his arm in frustration but obeying nonetheless. “Good, lovely. I want to see you. Look at me.”

Sirius looked back at Remus, his mouth falling open and a moan spilling out as Remus stretched a fourth finger into him. Sirius made an incoherent noise and Remus shuddered. The power was intoxicating. Sirius was opening for him, pliable and obedient in a way he never was. No one else had ever made Sirius look like that, his eyes glazed and his cheeks two pink burns, pulling uselessly at ropes. No one had ever made Sirius arch his back in pleasure, or heard the little whine he gave when Remus scissored his fingers, or seen how his stomach muscles fluttered and contracted when he felt good.

“Does it hurt?” Remus asked, moving his fingers slow and easy, using more lube than he needed to. He wanted, more than anything, for Sirius to feel safe, to feel loved, to be wrapped up in pleasure and forget all about cruelty and expectations.

“Yeah,” Sirius moaned, rocking his hips again.

“Needy thing,” Remus sighed, pushing down a thrill of excitement. He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on a nearby towel. “Are you sure about this?” He asked again, running his thumbs in circles over the sharp jut of Sirius’ hipbone.

“Moony!” Sirius groaned, tossing his head impatiently.

Remus ran his fingers over pale thighs, muscled from Quidditch and gripping brooms. “Easier if you’re on your belly,” he said, and with a flick of his wrist the ropes disappeared again. He could see that Sirius’ wrists were red from struggling, and made a note to heal them afterwards. Sirius rolled over and scrambled up to his knees, pushing his arse back at Remus invitingly. Remus swallowed hard at the sight. He had thought Sirius Black was the most beautiful thing on earth for years, and here he was, offering himself up.

Remus always figured that if he shagged Sirius, it would be a drunken one night fling, a sucking off behind the Quidditch Pitch. He hadn’t expected how Sirius would look at him with so much trust and love and eager eyes, so willing to adjust to what Remus asked. He hadn’t expected Sirius to blush when he was kissed, or to fist his hands in Remus’ shirt so desperately. He had thought that Sirius, clever and brilliant and arrogant, would treat sex like something cheap, like a bargaining chip. He hadn’t expected him to spend months squirming away from the promise of a handjob. And he certainly hadn’t expected this: Sirius panting beneath him, listening, trusting, asking for more.

Remus shed his pants, regretting it for a moment, because he liked the power of being clothed while Sirius was naked. But he was hard, and it was a relief to let his cock spring free, to slick it with the pot of lube he had stashed here. He wrapped one hand around Sirius’ hip, and used the other to line himself up. Go slow , he told himself, and then he sunk into delicious warmth.

Sirius bit down hard on the sheets, making little involuntarily moans as Remus filled him. He was breathing hard, and only noticed when Remus stopped, fully sheathed inside of him. “Okay?” Remus asked shakily, willing himself not to move, not to come.

“S’big,” Sirius said thickly, and shifted his hips, gasping when he did. “Fuck. Remus.”

“Do you want me to st—“

“No!” Sirius cried, and jerked in alarm, and then gasped, because he was fullfullfull, had never felt so stretched, and it burned pleasantly in his belly. He licked his lips and dropped his head, feeling his chest heave. “Please. More.”


“More,” Sirius rolled his hips to emphasize, and they both gasped at the feeling of it.

Remus drew back and sunk in again, slow and torturous, and part of him did it to be kind and not push Sirius too fast, and part of him did it to make Sirius wait, and part of him did it just to hear the way Sirius cried out, his fists clenching in the sheets.

Remus moved slow, using every ounce of his willpower not to thrust wantonly. Later , he told himself, because as much as he wanted to fuck Sirius into oblivion—and that was very, very much, an urge that sprang up in sixth year and hadn’t quit since—he wanted this to be gentle, to be kind. He wanted Sirius to know what it was to feel loved in every way.

Sirius was making noise like he had forgotten anyone else was in the room, shameless and mindless and lovely. Every time Remus sunk into him he let out a breathy moan, clenching around him. There was a sheen of sweat on his back, and his hair was fallen down over his face. Remus wanted to see his eyes, wanted to see him wanton and biting his lip.

Remus pulled back, watched in awe as he disappeared inside Sirius, the way his body opened, the way he moaned through it, tossing his head back so that his hair flew in all directions. He felt hot all over, felt like he might fly apart in a thousand directions, because Sirius was on his hands and knees, taking his cock, gasping like he would never be able to breathe right again.

He was trying to draw it out, but he knew they were both already on the edge, and it was all new, and he wanted to do everything with Sirius always, but he also wanted to make this last like it would be the only time. But already Remus’ thighs were tight with impending orgasm, and he would rather go naked through the school than come first. Sirius would never shut up about it. So he molded his chest to Sirius’ back and wrapped his hand around Sirius’ cock, stroking and feeling Sirius clench around him at the touch.

“Fuck! I didn’t—that’s—“

“Didn’t think I’d hog all the good stuff for myself, did you?” Remus asked. He shifted his hips experimentally, wondering if he could hit Sirius’ prostate like this, and was met with a strangled gasp.

“FuckingbloodyhellMoonyI’mgonnacome, oh please I’m going to come, please please please—“

Remus  had done this in his dreams many times, but never before had he turned and growled “Come” into Sirius’ ear and felt him immediately obey, his body clenching and spasming, Remus’ name tumbling out of his mouth. Remus tried to hold on but it was too much, Sirius coming on his cock, shuddering beneath him, moaning his name like he couldn’t think besides it.

After a few moments of gasping and sweating, Remus untangled himself from Sirius and rolled to the side. His chest was warm like the sun had set in it. Sirius squirmed closer to him, resting his head on Remus’ shoulder. “That was incredible,” he said, throwing one leg across Remus’.

“Yeah?” Remus asked, and curled his fingers in Sirius’ hair. “Not too much?”

“Mmm. Just right. Just perfect. Like you.”

“I’m not perfect, you daft thing.”

Sirius rose up on one elbow, looking hurt and aggrieved. “Remus John Lupin, you just gave me the finest orgasm of my life and have the gall to imply you are anything less than a glorious, stupendous, miracle of a human.”

“That’s quote the vocabulary for someone who mostly moaned please for the last fifteen minutes.”

“My brain was otherwise engaged.” Sirius said with a huff, dropping down to Remus’ chest again. “And anyways, you are too perfect. James and I agree.”

“Do not bring up James during the afterglow.”

Sirius laughed, stretching his arms up above his head. “How long after sex till I can talk about Prongs, then?”

“A while.” Remus grabbed his chin and kissed him, watching pleased as Sirius’ eyes fluttered shut. “Although speaking of, I ought to heal those marks on your wrists or he’ll suspect.”

“Suspect? He knows. Why do you think we talked?”

Remus closed his eyes. “I had thought you came to the decision to be honest on your own, although in retrospect I admit that was far fetched.”

“Very.” Sirius agreed, and offered his wrists for healing. “Nevertheless, he only thought you’d give me a blow, not shag me rotten, so we can cover these up and spare him. Plus I hate to think the talk he’d give you. Safe sex and all that.”

“Please let’s not,” Remus said, pressing the tip of his wand to Sirius’ wrists. He watched the marks fade, and he was glad, but mostly in the way a painter is glad to see a fresh canvas. He set his wand aside and kissed the freshly healed skin. “Do you feel alright?”

“I feel amazing. I could take on anybody in this state.”

“Please do not use our sex life as an excuse to pick fights,” Remus sighed.

“Or what? You’ll punish me?” Sirius leaned forward, grinning dangerously and a touch hopefully.

Remus looked at him for a long moment. “Yes,” he said, resting one finger on Sirius’ lower lip. “I will. If you like.”

Sirius’ eyes went a bit hazy with desire, and his breath stuttered. “Okay,” he said finally. “Yes. Okay.”

Remus nodded then. “Thought so,” he said. “But that does mean the inverse as well.” When Sirius looked at him blankly, he added, “If you were good, I might just reward you.”

Sirius’ chest was rising and falling rapidly, and Remus thought that even though he just got shagged he might agree to another round if there were a reward involved. But he had already missed one class that day, and didn’t intend to miss another. He kissed Sirius and sat up, stretching his arms over his head. “It’s nearly time for Potions.”

“But you said—“

Remus looked at him disapprovingly. “It’s nearly time for Potions, Padfoot. And if you can get through the entire class without causing a fuss, or cursing Snape, I will consider giving you a treat.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I suppose that would make you a bad dog.” Remus stood, reaching for his pants, charming the sweat and semen off his body. “And you would find out what happens to bad dogs. Which you will also find out if you don’t get dressed in a pinch.”

Sirius processed this for a moment and then jumped up, squirming into his clothes with charming eagerness. Remus watched him out of the corner of his eye as he redid his tie. When they were both dressed, Sirius was first to the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Wait,” Remus said, and Sirius stilled. “I want to say… what you told me earlier.”

Sirius scowled instantly. “Moony, do we have to talk about this?”

“I appreciate when you trust me. It makes me feel good,” Remus said, gently grabbing Sirius’ hand. “And I want to know. I know you never tell anyone the whole truth and you’re worried it’s too much or I’ll think different of you—but I won’t. It’s them I’ll hate. But never you.”

Sirius chewed his lip, shifting from one foot to the other. “You don’t know that,” he said finally.

“I know you. You aren’t hateable.”

Sirius looked up at him briefly, an unguarded look of surprise, and then away. “Alright,” he said. “Okay.”

Remus smiled, and kissed him soft, not about sex or power or the game between them, just care and concern and love. “Thank you,” he said. “Now to Potions.”