done my hair up real big, beauty queen style by greenvlvetcouch

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Summary:
“What?” Remus murmured, the corner of his mouth turning up.

Sirius blushed and couldn’t help it. Leaned forward and listened to Remus groan
again when he shifted in his lap. Their foreheads pressed together as his hands
settled on Sirius’ hips.

Another whisper, “What do you want, beauty queen, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Never,” Remus mumbled when reached around, holding Sirius steady as he set his
empty beer on the table. Sirius leaned back, looking at the world upside down,
knowing Remus had him; he wasn't going to drop him.

Notes:
idk what this is, it is what it is. it's PORN, okay I'm SORRY it wasn't going to
be, but then it had to be, ya know? blame indi and yaz, i don't even know how this
brain rot started, and then it turned into a whole thing.

this was fun, i just used it as an excuse to work on some things i don't think i am
the strongest at as far as writing. there's no real point here, throwing it back to
my random one-off one shots era from forever ago <3 ya know, porn with some thinly
veiled plot, my go-to.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:
Sirius turned the water off, sliding the glass door back and fishing for a towel.
He sighed, leaning as far out into the cold as he could, and found one just past
where his fingertips had been able to reach.

The bathmat was soft under his feet as he wrapped the towel around his waist,
listening to pots and pans bang in the small kitchen down the hall, the sound of
the fridge door opening and closing, and a soft curse.

A pair of Remus’ boxers were pulled on next, Sirius’ favorite, and he supposed they
were still warm, wondering if Remus had tossed them in the dryer before setting
them on the bathroom counter crossed his mind. The thought made Sirius grin as he
shuffled around and grabbed his dirty clothes, looking for a clean shirt and
finding none.

He kicked his shoes out into the hallway, heavy boots thudding against the
doorframe, and leaned down and around the hallway, tossing them next to the front
door.

“Where are the spoons?”

Sirius looked up and watched Remus pull out a drawer and huff. And then another and
then another, neither of which were anywhere near where the sink was, where the
silverware always went, and Remus knew this. They had argued about it when they
moved in, and whenever Remus moved stuff around, Sirius inevitably moved it all
back because neither of them could find anything.

Sirius walked into the kitchen, giving him a pointed look before opening the
dishwasher. It fell open, dishes rattling as Remus crossed his arms.

Sirius glanced down, trying to make a point before narrowing his eyes, face drawing
up. “Wha—”

“I’m not stupid. I already—”

“Oh shut up, no one said you were stupid.”

“Well—"

Sirius rolled his eyes, leaned down, and crouched. Hands on his knees, then knees
on the worn linoleum, he shoved his hand into the dishwasher and felt around the
bottom. A whole bunch of wet, a bunch of nothing, and then Sirius grabbed the four
spoons and a fork that had fallen during the cycle.

Holding them out, he looked up at Remus and raised his brows.

One for each of them and two extras—just in case.

“Need a new dishwasher,” Remus sighed, snatching them out of Sirius’ hands, holding
them up in the light, and taking a deep breath. He glanced at Sirius from the
corner of his eye, “Doesn’t even clean them.”

“You don’t put enough stuff in it,” Sirius said, resting against the cabinet, an
arm wrapped around his knees as he watched Remus with a small smile. “I’ve been
telling you.”

“Well, it’s a dishwasher. I don’t know—”

“Shirt, please.”

Remus tossed a spoon in one of the bowls in front of him and turned. Crossed his
arms and leaned against the counter, looking down at Sirius. “Hm?”

A hand held out, a gimme motion from Sirius, “Shirt—please.”

“Where’s yours?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s cold.”

“Yeah,” Sirius stressed. “Exactly.”

And Remus could try as hard as he might, but Sirius saw the slight smile a moment
before he reached down, pulled his shirt off, and balled it up. Threw it at him,
and it landed on his head with a heavy smack; Sirius let go of his knees and fell
back on the floor. A small chuckle escaped; it was warm, soft, and worn from the
years, one of the first Christmas presents he had gotten Remus years ago.

His favorite shirt, Sirius’ favorite shirt.

“Where’s the fuckin’ cat?” Remus mumbled, spoon in his mouth when Sirius went to
pull on the sleep shirt. Remus grabbed the bowls and leaned down, finding them both
a beer from the fridge before slamming it closed with a hip.

Sirius watched with a sort of reverence from the floor.

He followed him into the living room, stumbling to his feet and tossing his arms
around Remus’ neck, jumping and hanging onto him as he walked them towards the
couch. Feet lifted, Remus groaned, pitching forward so Sirius didn’t topple them
both or spill dinner all over the carpet.

“You’re heavy.”

“You lie,” Sirius insisted.

He let go of Remus and opened the front door, bit his lip at the cold as he pushed
at the screen door, fighting against the late-night wind, and leaned out. About to
yell for the cat, Moomie walked up a moment later, Sirius leaning down and making a
little noise at her. Something like a shrill and quiet scream, Remus said he talked
to the cat like a baby; he argued Mooms was a baby, despite being almost eight.

The first Christmas presents Remus had gotten Sirius years ago.

Their baby, Sirius had cried, and Moomie had been little more than a ball of fluff.
Something permanent for them to hold, she slept on their chest when she was small,
tiny teeth too sharp, and Remus ended up with one too many silver scars on his arms
and hands.

A nasty one on his cheek, Sirius told him it made him look roguish.

During the summer, when Remus worked outside and drove with the windows down, the
scars stayed that smooth silver color, the rest of him turning a warm and inviting
tan. Moomie walked around their little home like she owned the place, was doted on,
and hailed as The Queen of The World one too many times; Remus said it went to her
head long ago.

Mooms walked in, all black with her little socked feet, and immediately went and
laid down in front of the couch. Sirius leaned over, picking a leaf off her tail
before tossing it outside and letting the door slam shut. She settled on one of the
decorative pillows covered in cat hair, a permanent dip in the material—her throne;
he glanced back just in time to see Remus roll his eyes.

Sirius followed, shoving at the coffee table with his leg and taking his place on
the floor in between Remus’ knees where he was sitting on the couch. Leaning back,
looking up, scrunching his face, his nose like he knew Remus loved.

Eyes closed, he only had to wait for a moment before Remus leaned over, gave him a
sweet kiss, and mumbled against his lips,

“Remote?”

Sirius leaned forward, grabbed the remote, and held it back to him as he said,
“Spoon?”

He turned around, watching Remus hum, pull the spoon from his mouth again, and hold
it out to him; Sirius took it, grabbed the bowl of cereal from in front of him,
drew his knees up, and let the spoon drop into the cereal.

Moomie meowed softly next to him, and Sirius gave Remus a pointed look before he
raised a brow, sighed, and moved his leg slightly. The cat walked a bit closer,
rubbing against Remus’ leg and sitting down, little butt pressed against Sirius’
side.

It was Friday night, mid-November, and Sirius loved Remus.

Loved him in the summer when it was too hot to do much more than sweat. Watching
Remus drive up their small little driveway, watching the way the truck lurched over
the uneven road before he parked it next to Sirius’ bike and hopped out.

Sirius standing on the front porch, arms crossed and waiting for Remus to walk up
to him.

To wrap him in a hug, arms tight around his shoulders and neck, and it was always a
kiss to the forehead, the side of his cheek before it was a real kiss, standing on
their porch, no matter the month.

His feet leaving the ground, sometimes spun around, sometimes lifted with a groan,
and walked inside, Sirius reaching behind him, legs wrapped around Remus’ waist, to
open the door.

Sirius loved him in the fall when the leaves around them fell, filling the gutters,
and a month before the trees were bare, Remus would always stop, usually halfway to
the truck before they went out, and turn around and hum.

Sigh real heavy, ‘I gotta clean those gutters soon.’

And on easy weekends, he’d be out there, on the ladder with Sirius supervising,
Moomie playing around in the leaves or on her lazy days, lying on the front step.
The dark wood worn from her scratching at it, marking her territory to gaze upon
her kingdom.

Sirius holding a bag open, trying his hardest to catch all the leaves.

And then the fall and autumn leaves led way to winter, colder months where there
was a bite to the air and sweaters were a must. Sirius would dream of a fireplace,
and Remus promised someday they would have one but Sirius, late at night when they
were curled up in blankets, soaking up the warmth, always told him he could do
without a fireplace.

Pressed against Remus’ back in bed, legs tangled and an arm thrown back, playing
with Remus’ hair, Sirius would confess he quite liked where they were.

They ran through laundry at an alarming rate, Sirius wearing one of Remus’
sweatshirts at all times, a must.

The winter turned to the holidays, Thanksgiving at James’, and too much food.
Unbridled laughter and too many drinks, some years Remus and Sirius fell asleep on
their couch, sprawled out, and a few times now, Sirius had woken up to Regulus
throwing a blanket over them both, a small smile on his face.

Going home after, Remus huffing and puffing as they both made Moomie a tiny little
Thanksgiving plate. Turkey, she hated it, but Regulus loved Moomie and still set
some aside for the cat when packing up leftovers anyway.

Their third Thanksgiving together, Remus and Sirius sitting on their kitchen floor,
empty beers next to them, as they tried to get the cat to eat a deviled egg.

But most of all, Sirius loved Remus on Christmas, maybe a bit extra.

A peaceful home, music spinning on the record player Remus had gotten them not long
after they moved in. Second hand, it skipped whenever it pleased, but it sat and
had its own place on the little table in the living room, something like a trophy;
each year that passed, the more it skipped, something that made the music sound
extra sweet.
A tiny Christmas tree, three stockings they hung up every year, the holes in the
wall growing wider and wider from each time Remus hammered them in.

Remus’ had a moon on it, Sirius a star, and Moomie’s was shaped like a little fish
with button eyes.

Sirius loved Remus those days when he was too tired from work but picked him up
anyway and gave him a kiss, the days he did extra laundry so Sirius could pick what
sweater he wanted to wear. When he hauled the ladder out from the detached garage,
climbing on the roof to get the cat down.

Late night runs when they were out of milk, the nights Sirius couldn’t sleep and
wanted to do something as silly as lie on the floor, turning into Remus’ side and
telling him life had been bad when he was younger.

And then it had gotten better, but that sometimes people, he thought, didn’t
understand how lonely being content could be.

Sirius would lie there and tell him about lost time and how sad the world could be.
How he had been happy but lonely until he met Remus, how he hadn't been truly
happy, he knew that now. Remus would tell Sirius how good people deserved the best,
and he had never been afforded much, but how then, at that moment, he was staring
at the best.

A whole bunch of nothing, a whole bunch of the important things.

Sirius loved him those hot summer days when the air was stagnant and stale, and the
grass needed to be moved before it died altogether. Sirius loved Remus when he took
him to town, letting him buy all the flowers and plants he wanted, knowing they’d
die soon enough.

Handing him the gardening gloves, helping pick a color, and dragging the pallets
from the truck. Opening the bags of dirt on his knees and letting Sirius point and
boss him around, making the house look like a home.

Sirius was never good at gardening, but the heat killed them no matter what; they
stood no match.

They did it every summer as soon as the breeze was cool enough to break through the
heat.

But Sirius loved Remus most, even more than Christmas, on Friday nights.

Sat in front of their small television in their home. Warm and cozy, even when the
AC was turned on a bit too much because you could either be too hot or too cold,
and Sirius liked the excuse to be close. Bowls of cereal, always made by Remus, sat
in front of them.

Sirius sat on the floor as they ate, Moomie close after her adventures outside,
Sirius muttering and asking where she had been and what she had been up to while
Remus flipped through channels, trying to find something for them to watch.

Humming and sounds of excitement from Remus when Sirius told him Mooms had been on
a grand adventure that day.

Remus’ knees pressed against Sirius’ arms, squeezing tight and leaning back, the
sound of spoons knocking against their nice bowls. Squares of paper towels on the
coffee table neither of them would use, but it added to the grandeur of the
evening.

“Valley Girl?” Remus mumbled around a bite; Sirius looked back and watched a bit of
milk dribble on his chest. He wiped at it and then his mouth with the back of his
hand. “Valley Girl—we watched it like last month, though.”

“Well, what else is on?”

“Ridgemont High?”

Sirius hummed, “No.”

“Paris, Texas?”

“Sad.”

“Well, baby. I don’t—”

“Shows?”

“What, you want to watch Miami Vice?”

Sirius huffed, reached back, and knocked his hand around until Remus handed him the
remote. Snatching it up, he felt Remus flick the back of his head before he shot
him a look, “Watch for Moomie.”

“Moomie is on the floor. She’s fine.”

Sirius flipped through the channels, curling his lip at Miami Vice, which he
actually didn’t mind but had mentioned once he hated, and he had kept up the
façade. Remus knew, surely, but played along until inevitably, one day, Sirius’
secret would be spilled, but that wasn’t going to be that night.

“Dallas?”

“Baby, I hate Dallas. You know this.”

“Well,” Sirius said pointedly, sharply. “What do you want to watch?”

“Paris.”

“That’s sad.”

“And you asked.”

Sirius huffed, flipping back a few channels before putting on Valley Girl and
glancing back at Remus. “You said this one first, so it was your first choice.”

“Not how that works,” Remus said, mouth full of cereal again. “But fine.”

Sirius grinned, turning back and pulling his shirt over his knees before settling
against the couch, balancing his bowl of lucky charms on his knees. The milk
sloshed, and it almost slipped, but Sirius caught it just in time, taking a bite.

They fell into silence and watched.

Sirius leaned his head on Remus’ knee between spoonfuls, watching his dinner and
petting Moomie every once in a while, letting her tail run through his fingers.
She was a little roughed up; the end of her tail had been lost at one point, just a
little nub that no longer grew hair when she disappeared for a week and came back
looking a tad bit worse for wear. A chunk was missing out of her ear, a tooth gone
from an unfortunate dentist visit, but Sirius told her it made her look mean, that
probably all the other cats scurrying around were quite afraid of her.

She was a tough cat, though, and had survived many a scuffle and catfight. Sirius
said they raised her right, and Remus said Moomie was never going to die; she’d
bury them.

Sirius poked through his cereal, found a little blue moon, and reached back,
holding it up to Remus before he felt him eat it. Slurping at the milk running down
Sirius’ fingers, a moment passed, and then it was a little yellow star marshmallow
held in front of him, blocking the tv.

Sirius ate it.

Found a tiny little rainbow, picked it up, and sucked the milk off before setting
it on top of Moomie’s head. She didn’t blink an eye; she was a good cat. Resting
her head on her paws, glancing at Sirius out of the corner of her eye.

“Stop feeding the cat fucking cereal.”

“I’m not.”

“You spoil her.”

“You feed her beer.”

“Good for her bones,” Remus mumbled, a whispered curse, and Sirius knew he had
dropped more milk on himself. “Gimme—”

Sirius reached out, set his bowl on the floor, and scooted it towards the cat
before opening Remus’ beer and handing it back to him. A kiss on his wrist before
Remus took it, Sirius offered the napkin next, but it was waived off.

He grabbed his beer and took a sip, wiping his mouth and grabbing his bowl again.

A quick glance back, Remus staring at the tv, the light painting his face white and
blue; Sirius set a little star in front of Moomie on the floor. She lifted her
head, looked at him, and he gave her a pointed look.

“What time is the dinner tomorrow?”

Sirius fumbled, taking too big of a bite and trying to talk, “—veen.”

“What?”

He rolled his eyes, a hand under his mouth trying to catch the milk. “Sev—”

“Seven?”

“Yeah, but,” Sirius set his dinner down and picked at one more marshmallow before
popping it in his mouth. He cleared his throat, “Reggie said to get there early.”

Remus only nodded, and Sirius adjusted again, letting his knees free and shoving at
the coffee table with a foot again, pushing it further out. Moomie made a little
noise of protest, and Sirius leaned down, nuzzling at her back with his nose before
groaning as he picked her up.
He often called her his little sack of potatoes; Remus called her the ten-ton cat.

“Here, baby,” Remus leaned forward, holding his bowl out, and Sirius grabbed it,
setting it on the coffee table. Picked up the brush and traded him, settling the
cat in his lap and sitting up straighter.

A routine, Sirius thrived on them.

He could handle spontaneity, but when it came to most, he liked knowing what was to
come. Coming from a childhood that had a bit of both, it was a careful balance.
Those Remus kisses when he came home were vital, but he liked having weekends free
to do as they pleased.

He liked their cereal nights on Friday but always let Remus pick what type they
ate. He liked watching tv, the quiet time just the three of them, but found it fun,
never knowing exactly what they would end up watching.

But one thing, without fail, never changed.

Remus shoved at his back, and he leaned forward to let him pull Sirius’ hair out
from under the collar of his shirt, wet and sticking to his skin. And then it was
brushing his hair, much too long for Sirius to do himself, which was a lie, but
Remus liked to do it, and Sirius liked to be loved by him, so that’s what they did.

Whatever they wanted, always.

Sirius felt Remus pull his hair out and split it in half, tossing the other half
over his shoulder, and it landed on Moomie, who lifted her head, peeking up at
Sirius, who smooshed her face and gave her a quick kiss on the nose, squeezing her
close and curling his knees up further—trapping her.

Watching the movie, feeling the brush pull through his hair. Staring at the ends,
working its way up until there were no tangles. The smooth half gently set to the
side, braided to keep it out of the way.

Remus had learned to braid, Lily had taught him, and Sirius loved him.

And then the other side was brushed, pausing every so often when Remus got sucked
into whatever was on the screen. Sirius could feel it, felt the pause and the
hesitation, and smiled and took a sip of beer. He petted the cat, fighting against
her wanting to get up and run around, poking at her little socked feet and giving
them a kiss.

Once that side was braided, all of it was moved behind his head again, falling over
Remus’ knees.

“Can you hand me—”

Sirius reached forward, careful not to tangle his hair again, and grabbed the bag
of velcro rollers. Leaning back again, adjusting Mooms, and taking another sip.
Sirius looked down and mumbled a sorry when Remus adjusted his head and picked up
the little marshmallow he had set on the cat’s head earlier.

Held it out to her and watched her sniff and poke at it with her nose.

“Baby.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, closing his fingers and hiding the tiny rainbow in his
palm. Paused and waited until he felt Remus’ fingers parting his hair again,
clipping the bottom half of it up.

He opened his palm and watched Moomie scarf down the little treat.

“I saw that.”

Sirius grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “You saw nothing.”

And then he felt Remus catch the bottom of his hair with the roller, the baby hairs
snagging a bit as he rolled it up, leaning over and grabbing a clip to hold it in
place. Careful fingers, gentle hands as he worked.

“Okay?”

Sirius hummed—routine.

Sometimes they tugged and pulled at his hair, much too long. His brother told him
to cut it; Sirius always stuck his tongue out at him, reminding him he got the
better hair. Reggie’s was always a bit too wild to keep it anything other than
short.

Remus rolled the next one and asked again, and Sirius nodded. Then the next, then
Moomie told him it felt fine. Onto the next row and then the next, working his way
up Sirius’ head. He was much quicker than Sirius could ever be, but he hardly tried
when he knew Remus would do it anyway.

At the top of his head, Remus shoved at his forehead, tilting his head back with a
smile. Sirius was granted a view of his lovely face, which he loved so very much,
and requested a kiss. Which he was granted, and then Sirius closed his eyes,
letting Remus section that part.

Roll another one, resting his head on Remus’ knee, shifting where his tailbone was
going a bit fuzzy from sitting in one spot for so long. Another hum, Remus was
gentle and never pulled his hair, and if he did, if there were those few little
hairs that snagged, he poked and prodded until he pulled them a bit loose.

It’s easier to love things when you’re younger; it takes a lot to find joy in the
small things the older you get.

Remus taught Sirius that because it had always been the opposite for him. There had
been no love or joy in the walls he grew up around, and Remus never failed to take
his hand, spin him or dance him around their small home and sweep his hand out,
saying, ‘You can love all of this as much as you want.’

‘Joy can be found in anything, trust me. I see it when I look at you or anything
you have touched.’

By the end, Sirius’ hair was perfectly rolled, courtesy of the one he loved, and
Sirius stood, let Moomie go, and she went and curled up in the corner on her little
blanket. Something she had gotten for Christmas the year before.

Remus groaned when Sirius plopped down in his lap, something dramatic, and wrapped
his arms around Sirius’ knees where he was sitting on top of him. Leaning his chin
on the top of Remus’ head, settling back in to watch the last bit of the movie.

But he hardly ever watched the last half of movies, and Remus knew that.

Because there was something special about loving someone all the time. It seeps
into the cracks, into everything you do. Every move of your arms and legs, twitch
of your fingers, and the way you breathe. The way you decorate a home, Christmas
lights from the year before still strung above the small tv, painting colors
against the wood paneling on the walls.

An ugly couch Remus hated but had hauled inside anyway because Sirius had smiled
when he saw it. A kitchen table they had gotten from James, years and years of
late-night conversations soaked into the wood, carrying them through the years to
come.

Things on the coffee table, love amongst it all. One too many lighters and burnt
through candles. Bills and mails Remus would open and toss there after work, a
towel slung over the back of the chair off to the side, curtains Sirius had stood
by and watched Remus hang.

‘Go sit over there; you’re too pretty to be liftin’ a finger.’

Moomie’s toys were lying about, they kept a tidy home, but it was comfortable.
Lived in, and it was that love was woven through the fabric of the rug under their
feet, the blankets tossed over the back of the couch. A bedroom full of books,
piles, and piles, and there were always a few on the side table; Remus would read
to Sirius before bed because he had told him years ago there were too many books he
had not been allowed to read when growing up.

‘Well, then we’ll get started on those.’

Eight years later and Remus still found more to read, though, despite Sirius having
read all the ones he had missed out on.

There was beer in the fridge, cereal in the cupboard. A pack of cookies on the
counter, only two bites taken out of the twelve because Sirius had to have them
when they went to the store the other day, and they were awful.

Standing there in the kitchen late at night, watching as the other took a bite,
trying to hide a grimace.

Laundry in a pile on top of the dresser, Sirius looked around.

Was grateful that everything around them had been privy to how much he loved, how
much he was able to. Sentience was neither here nor there, it was all still
witness, and that was more than enough. Their home was not the largest, but they
filled it to the brim with them.

He hummed, something low and long and turned his head on Remus’ knee to look back
at him. He was already watching Sirius, the movie forgotten, and Sirius supposed he
never saw the end of them either. He’d drown in those eyes, patient and kind like
Sirius was more than enough, could never be too much.

Those gutters were nothing to deal with when compared to Sirius coming outside,
beer in hand, squinting up at him as he let the leaves fall. Reaching up, Remus
leaning down to take the drink.

Mid-week evenings lying on the floor rolling around with Moomie, who still played
like a kitten, and Sirius often caught Remus talking to her, whispering words
Sirius supposed he was never meant to hear.

“What?” Remus murmured, the corner of his mouth turning up.

Sirius blushed and couldn’t help it. Leaned forward and listened to Remus groan
again when he shifted in his lap. Their foreheads pressed together as his hands
settled on Sirius’ hips.

Another whisper, “What do you want, beauty queen, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Never,” Remus mumbled when reached around, holding Sirius steady as he set his
empty beer on the table. Sirius leaned back, looking at the world upside down,
knowing Remus had him; he wasn't going to drop him.

And then Sirius jumped as he hauled himself back up, surprised at the lips against
the collar of his shirt. Worn thin and stretched out, the material grating against
his skin. His breath caught because it always did. Something like childhood
infatuation, he felt the way about Remus he had always imagined love felt when he
was younger.

Born from a home devoid of it, Sirius’ imagination had run wild, and Remus had
taken one look at him and seemed to say, ‘I can do you one better.’

“What are you doing?”

Whispered, trying to think beyond the lips against his skin, Remus’ nose skating
along his neck. Slow, gentle breaths that drove him mad because he wanted it all;
Sirius needed everything at once but found he was often given only bit after bit
until it accumulated into that everything and more.

His hand found the back of Remus’ head when Sirius thought he went to pull away. A
breathy laugh as fingers brushed against his shoulder, pulling the shirt down.

“What we do every Friday,” Remus fought against Sirius’ grip and pulled back.
Leaning down to meet his eye, “I’m gonna fuck you on our couch.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sirius said airily as if he had forgotten. “Right.”

And then they were moving again, Remus still with a tight hold on his waist as
Sirius settled on top of him, knee shoved into the cushions. Remus grabbed Moomie’s
mouse, bit at his lip, and narrowed his eyes before whistling. Her attention
caught, he tossed the mouse.

Sirius watched it hit the wall in the hallway, bounce and roll towards their room.

She was up in a moment, bounding over towards the toy, and they both waited but
heard it squeaking from down the hall.

Remus glanced back at Sirius and raised a brow, and he couldn't help it. Fingers on
those cheeks, Sirius squished them too hard, the love turning violent. That
happened sometimes; Remus loved it and had told Sirius long ago he felt the most
loved when it seemed Sirius couldn't stand it.

He gave him a kiss, drawing Remus close, holding him in place. He tried to lean
further in, but Sirius held him there, under him and his. The chase, small moments
where it seemed Remus could stand it even less, and when he needed it, he needed it
then.

“Gimme a kiss,” Remus said, mumbled and stilted as Sirius’ fingers dug into the
hollows of his cheeks.

Sirius whispered, “How bad do you want it?”

“I’d sell my soul, find a crossroad right now if you asked.”

“No need to be dramatic,” Sirius grinned, letting go of Remus’ face and thumping
his forehead. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to.”

A contemplative hum, like maybe Remus was a little let down he wouldn't be meeting
the devil any time soon; Sirius rolled his eyes but made a noise of surprise when
he was shifted, moved to lay down on the couch.

“Nope,” Sirius said as he shoved at Remus’ chest, shaking his head. “No—you're not
messing these curlers up again.”

Remus’ wrists caught under his fingers, Sirius gave him a pointed look before
righting again and setting them on the couch under them. A poke at the middle of
his chest, palm flat against his stomach, trailing down. Remus moved his arms to
rest on the back of the couch, and the look he gave Sirius could have set him on
fire if he wasn't made of tougher stuff.

And then his brows drew together, and a hand came up, fixing one of the rollers as
it fell in Sirius’ eyes. He fixed it carefully, like it was the most important
thing in the world, and clipped it back into place, shoving at it to make sure it
would stay.

He studied it for a moment, but Sirius could hardly stand it, one's capacity to
care, and drew him in for a kiss.

Remus let him in instantly, hand on the back of Sirius’ neck to keep him close. And
Sirius loved Friday nights because Friday nights were most of all this.

Remus close, undivided attention because the world demanded a lot. Time with Remus
was not time with him, where Sirius knew all he was thinking of was him when their
tongues brushed, and he tasted of lucky charms. Licked into his mouth, the taste of
beer behind his teeth delivered with a deep groan. Hands on either side of Sirius’
neck, tilting his head into the kiss, trying to find the right angle to get the
most.

Sirius waivered off balance for a moment, Remus shirtless, so he clung to his
shoulders. Warm despite the AC being up too high, arching into him, and there was
that most, that more, and Sirius whimpered. Felt Remus somewhere deep inside of
him, chin slick with spit, fervent, and quick kisses that bordered on
uncomfortable.

Jaw aching, Sirius desperate.

Desperation turned to distress, the first roll of Sirius’ hips and Remus’ hands
were gone from the sides of his neck, on his thighs and holding him down. Sirius
bit at his bottom lip and heard an exasperated groan escape that he caught as he
grabbed Remus’ wrists again.

Rose up and leaned over him, shoving them against the couch again, pressed into the
cushion. Remus let his head drop back, lips swollen and bitten, everything wet.
Dark eyes, flitting across Sirius’ face like he couldn't decide what to focus on
first.

Defeat, Remus raised his hands when Sirius let go slowly, giving him a serious
look.

“Be good,” Sirius stressed the last word, and Remus swallowed, nodding quickly.
A hand slowly ran down his chest, feeling it flex under his touch. Further down,
Sirius shifted back, fingertips skating under the waistband of Remus’ sweatpants.
Over his hip, thumb brushing the cut of bone, soft skin and longing is what he
felt.

Those fingers turned harsh, digging into Remus’ hip and pulling him closer, drawing
him in. Sirius’ watched his face, watched the way his gaze faltered when it was a
thumb brushing close to his cock. Remus let his knees fall open further, and Sirius
fought a grin, something just for himself.

Leaning close, lips against Remus’ neck, fingers playing with skin. Hot, and he
felt the tremble, Remus fighting to stay still, to keep his hands on the couch
where they were, fighting to be good. A soft exhale, words he couldn't quite make
out, Remus giving way to Sirius’ mouth, his teeth scraping over his collar bones.
One side to another, the breath leaving his chest, silent beyond the struggle to
swallow when those teeth nipped at his neck.

Remus’ hands came up, running down Sirius’ arms, and that was fine. Sirius thought
it was more than fine, something to contrast the thinly veiled restaurant he was
rallying. Up and down, brushing over his shoulders to find Sirius’s hands, pulling
one close, and it was another kiss to his fingers.

Each and every one as Sirius found the spot he liked, right where Remus’ shoulder
met his neck, and kissed a bit harder. Laving his tongue over the skin, the bruise
he’d pull back and see, and there it was when Sirius looked. Reddened skin and
Remus glanced at him from under his lashes; too long and too pretty, he always
thought.

“You’re killin’ me,” Remus said, voice low and rough.

Sirius leaned back, steadying himself on Remus’ shoulder before shoving his
waistband down, pulling his cock free from the sweatpants, and wrapping a hand
around his length. It was a hiss, Remus’ hands fumbling, wanting to touch but being
reminded, and they fell limp at his sides.

“Baby,” he muttered, looking down briefly where Sirius’ fingers were too soft
against his skin, Remus’ breaths stuttering and thighs twitched under where Sirius
was sitting.

“You’re always so impatient,” Sirius remarked, thumb brushing over his slit,
smearing the wetness and bringing it to his mouth, between his teeth, and sucking
it off.

“Well,” Remus started, a weak defense surely on the tip of his tongue. “Please.”

Another plea when Sirius licked his palm, staring into those eyes. Remus moaned,
tossing a hand up, words failing him when Sirius’ hand returned, grip tightening.
Remus’ fingertips just grazed Sirius’ thighs in time with the slow drag of a wet
hand down his cock.

Remus’ fingers twitched like his cock, hot and heavy in his hand.

He grinned and leaned close, apprehension in Remus’ gaze as Sirius said, “I like it
when you beg.”

And then, something like his Achilles heel, his soft underbelly, and his weakest
spot, Remus looked at Sirius with wide eyes. Brown and those lashes. The smattering
of freckles he had over his nose and high on his cheeks, the spot on the left side
of his face where there were none, where he said god must have left it bare so
Sirius could kiss him there.

Sirius told him all his other freckles were from their other lifetimes, where he
had kissed Remus way back when.

Lips parted and a flush on his cheeks, his neck, and collarbones, making that
bruise on his neck look even worse.

Remus put everything into it when he said one more time, “Please.”

And Sirius’ breath caught, and then he was nodding, Remus’ nodding as well before
shoving at Sirius’ boxers. He yelped, almost falling over in the haste before Remus
caught him around the waist, lifted him, and made Sirius fall forward.

His breath stuttered, Remus hard under him, and then his lips parted against a warm
neck when it was Remus’ hands on his ass, digging into the soft flesh as Sirius
kicked the boxers off and away. Looking out the window, past those curtains, head
falling into the crook of Remus’ neck when it was a heavy breath close to Sirius’
ear.

Sirius whimpered, hearing him spit before he felt Remus’ thumb brush over his hole.

Angling his head, trying to avoid fucking up the curlers while pushing back, a
needy noise left Remus’ lips as he guided Sirius. His back arching, an unsteady
breath, as Remus pushed a finger in slowly.

“I wanted,” Sirius groaned, swallowing roughly, and he felt himself give. “I-I
wanted to—”

Sirius was shushed, Remus keeping him close as he took another finger. Other hand
squeezing his hip and then ass, Sirius’ thighs jerked when Remus’ hand came down
hard, and he hissed, the skin stinging, burning.

“Your fucking ass,” he said, voice strained. “Let me have my moment.”

Sirius could only nod.

“Get you nice and ready.”

Those fingers withdrew, and Sirius whimpered, arms wrapping around Remus’ neck, his
knees uneven on the too-soft couch. Lips working against Remus’ neck, feeling him
tilt his head to the side, giving him more room. Sirius heard him spit again,
exhaling heavily.

Pushing back, done with waiting, sinking back onto Remus' fingers again. A roll of
his hips, near dying for it, and the way Remus stretched him, long fingers buried
inside of him. Drawing up, fighting against Remus’ hold on him.

An arm wrapped around Sirius’ waist, Remus whispered, “C’mon, baby. If you’re so
desperate, then fuck yourself.”

“I—” Sirius tried, but it was cut off by a gasp, his knee slipping on the couch,
sinking down fully.

“No, yeah, come on,” Remus whispered, palm digging into the soft skin of his ass,
pushing and pulling him back onto those two fingers. “Tight—so fuckin’ tight.”

Sirius let out a breath, rising up, and it was another roll of his hips, trying to
take more. Grinding down, meeting Remus’ eye. His mouth parted, red, and he could
see the indent in his bottom lip from where he had bitten it, little teeth indents.
Sirius leaned down, bit the same spot.

“I just want you,” Sirius whispered, moving faster, Remus helping, shoving his hips
down when he bottomed out, pushing his fingers deeper, a quick pace that had Sirius
seeing stars. The back of his eyelids, as hard as he tried to keep his eyes open,
to watch Remus—to show him that he could be good too.

“I’m right here, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing Sirius’ collar again. “Like
when you wear my shirts.”

Sirius’ response was a whine, those fingers twisting, and then they were crooked,
Remus catching him when he lifted and holding him there, grip tight on his waist as
he fucked him. Too deep, Sirius cried out when the fingers were gone again; he was
empty before they were back and even slicker.

Quicker and faster, hard, and he could do nothing but sit there and take it,
fingers scrambling for purchase on the back of the couch. Words mumbled and strung
together, nothing that made sense left his lips. Remus pulled his fingers out, and
before Sirius could plead again, tell him he needed it, it was Remus’ cock against
his hole.

More spit, Remus watching Sirius’ lips. That jaw-aching type of kiss, he tasted the
gasp as Sirius started to sink down, steady but his thighs were trembling. Remus’
hands left his hips and fell against the couch again. Noses brushing, giving
everything over to Sirius as he bottomed out.

Slowly pushed himself up and took Remus fully, feeling full and like he’d never be
empty again.

“Oh fuck, you look—” Remus groaned, Sirius batting his hands away when he tried to
touch. White knuckles against the cushions, “Oh, you’re so pretty.”

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, Sirius setting a slow pace. Reveling in the drag, the
ache of his shoulders and knees. The way Remus’ chest rose and fell in time with
his hips, he peeked at Sirius again, the look in his eye making Sirius feel hot.

“Pretty as the day I fuckin’ met you.”

“Not prettier?” Sirius asked, breathy as he took him again and bit back a moan.

Remus shook his head, lying there weak and awestruck, eyes glassy, trained on
Sirius’ lips. “Every day I wake up and look at you; you’re prettier,” He moaned,
rough. “Beautiful. Fuck—and tight and hot and wet—”

That moan turned into heavy hands on Sirius’ waist, shoving him further onto his
cock. Holding him down, hips lifting, a bit too deep and Sirius cried out, panting.
He fought with Remus’ hands, trying to catch them and pin them again.

“Will you stay,” Sirius huffed with a laugh. “Stop touching.”

“I can't—”

“Listen to me,” Sirius snapped and watched Remus’ eyes go a bit wide. Dark and
heavy.

A bit round, damn near innocent, and Sirius shook his head, shifting his knees and
finding his footing before rolling his hips. Quicker, gracefully. How Remus liked
it, he knew from practice; Sirius always thought fucking might get old, he had
always assumed, but it was hardly the case.

There was something neat about knowing how to reduce the person you love to nothing
more than whimpers and whines when you wished. And Sirius wished to, just then.
With one last roll of his hips, before he drew his knees up, Remus’ next breath
turned high-pitched.

His eyes rolled, lashes fluttering. “Oh, fuck, baby.”

It turned a bit less graceful, less about show, more about seeing how far he could
drive Remus towards losing it, what could happen then, it was his favorite game.
Sirius was spurred on by the look in Remus’ eyes, to fuck him faster, taking as
much as he could every time he sank down onto his cock, knocking the breath out of
himself.

“Sirius—”

He shook his head, gasped and said, “Take it.”

And Remus’ eyes flew open as Sirius smirked. He had heard Remus tell him that a
million times, Sirius knew how to take it, but Remus clearly was having a hard time
keeping his hands to himself and letting Sirius do as he wished.

“I’ll take whatever you want to give,” he swallowed. “I’m yours, please.”

Sirius moved his hips faster, shook his head, and admitted defeat when Remus
wrapped a loose hand around his cock. Just touching, but Sirius felt the drag as he
fucked him, wanting Remus to fall apart but feeling the tightening in his chest.
The bottom of his spine, Sirius watched him smirk like he knew exactly what he was
doing.

Other hand smoothing over Sirius’ hip, that burning, and that need to fall apart
and fall all over Remus.

Sirius’ lips parted, and he choked on a groan when Remus shifted, sinking further
into the couch. His head falling forward, he felt a roller come undone on the back
of his head and cursed. Nodded, and it was Remus fucking him, into him, as Sirius
met his thrusts.

The quick snapping of hips, Sirius’ fingers digging into the back of the couch.
Draped over Remus, trying to give as much as he was taking. Whispered words between
them, meaning nothing while meaning everything, a push and pull, seeing who would
break first.

It was Remus, and Sirius let out a choked laugh, a weak smile.

Remus came with a groan, a rough shove at Sirius’ hips, sinking into him fully as
Sirius fell back onto his cock. Ground his hips down, dragged it out as he heard
Remus let out a long moan, caught in his throat before Sirius gripped his hair and
pulled his head back.

Met his eyes, and the moan finally escaped, filling the air between their lips as
Remus whimpered,

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ full of me.”

Quick fingers on Sirius’ cock, he rolled his hips twice more and felt Remus twitch
inside of him, full of him, before he followed suit. A string of fuck’s whispered
as Sirius spilled over his hand, felt Remus slick his cock with it, and work him
through it. Hips jerking, trying to shy away from the ache, but it was Remus’ cock
in his ass, skilled fingers keeping him suspended.

Leaving him hollowed out and breathless.

And then he fell against Remus, limp and sated and able to do little more than let
Remus slip out of him, thighs sweaty and sticking to the side of Remus’. A too-warm
chest pressed against Sirius’ cheek, slow movements of his lips as he brushed them
over Remus’ shoulder, back and forth.

A kiss to the top of his head, hand on his ass again, Remus letting out a sharp
breath at the feel of himself spilling out of Sirius. Sticky fingers on his waist
and a low hum. Sirius hummed in response and got another in response, a different
pitch.

Sirius turned his head, looked back, and could just make out the tv. The end of the
movie playing, dangerously close to the closing credits. Cereal sitting in the
bowls, soaked with milk and mushy, all the marshmallows missing from Sirius’ bowl;
he grinned when Remus spoke.

“Sit up, baby.” Sirius felt the tugging on his hair, Remus' voice soft, “You messed
up a few curlers.”

Notes:
the first official appearance of moomie cat, more to come. she's the star of the
show, don't lie we all know it.

find me on tumblr, u know the drill <3