your skin like a whole almond
When Remus is away, Sirius prowls the house like a lion on the hunt, angry at being eluded by its prey. He lashes out at anyone who comes near him, quarreling with Moody as easily as with his mother's portrait, wishing Dumbledore would send Snape along so they could have a truly spectacular row, possibly ending in hexes that would leave Snape's nose bloody and his skin riddled with boils and pus.
To shake himself out his bad moods, he remembers the way Remus looks, sitting neatly and properly at the kitchen table, mug of tea in hand, making "hmm" noises at Molly when appropriate -- while underneath the table, his unshod foot is slowly climbing Sirius's calf beneath his robe. Or how he looks in the library, lamplight making his brown hair gleam copper as he bends his head and takes Sirius's cock in his mouth.
It is these thoughts, and a thousand others like them, that sustain Sirius until Remus comes home. Sirius has grown used to living inside his head these past fourteen years, and now at least he can relive happier memories, and have a glass of firewhisky and a wank, as well.
Remus usually sends word ahead when he's on his way back, and Sirius lies in wait for him, hides in the darkness of the house and pounces when Remus least expects it. This time, Sirius tackles him onto the sofa in the sitting room attached to the bedroom they share.
Remus is damp because it's raining again. "Old Blighty in November," he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, spraying Sirius with droplets that feel like little bits of heaven against his weather-starved skin, desperate for something other than the gloom of his imprisonment. He licks the rain from Remus's skin, impatiently pulling at the clothes separating him from the long pale expanses of Remus's body.
Remus arches into him, meeting him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. He moans and shudders under Sirius's assault, and Sirius drinks in the sounds, the smells, the tastes and textures of him as he presses him down into the soft, overstuffed cushions.
When he has Remus undressed, he kisses his forehead, the bridge of his nose, buries his face in the crook of Remus's neck and inhales the scent of Moony-rain-wool-tea, the scent that equals home in Sirius's mind, always and forever.
Remus threads his hands through Sirius's hair, mumbles a few words that may be I love you, or possibly just, Sirius, please. Sometimes with Remus, it's the same thing, though it's taken Sirius all these years to learn that. Sirius feels the words vibrating when he puts his lips to Remus's throat, and Remus laughs again, squirming beneath him like the ticklish teenage boy he once was.
"God," Sirius murmurs, "Remus." One and the same to him, who only ever worshipped -- only ever wanted to worship -- at this altar laid out beneath him.
Sirius slides his hands over Remus's chest, soft brown hair threaded with grey, and teases his nipples to hardness with fingers and lips, loving the way Remus responds, parchment pale skin flushing rosy with desire. His hands curve over the delicate strength of Remus's ribcage -- he's too thin, they both are, even with Molly feeding them up -- and he can feel Remus's breath stutter and start, in and out, hear the rapid thump of his heartbeat and the soft sounds of encouragement he makes as his hands stroke Sirius's hair.
Sirius rubs his face against the flat of Remus's belly, enjoying the feel of soft skin beneath his cheek, the scent of warm Moonyskin and Moonysweat and soap -- his soap, actually, and he loves that Remus smells like him, and he like Remus; it never fails to send a shock of pleasure through him, even more now than when they were younger.
Remus shivers and this time his voice is clear and rough with need when he says, "Sirius, please."
Sirius raises his head, meeting Remus's heated gaze, and grins. He skims a hand over Remus's belly to brush lightly over his erection. "Glad to be home?"
"God, yes," Remus gasps as Sirius strokes him.
"I'm glad to have you here," Sirius replies, dragging his body back up, tingling from the slide of Remus's sweat-slicked skin against his. He shifts his weight and covers Remus's mouth with his, so they are cock to cock, tongue to tongue. 'This is the life,' he thinks, the darkness surrounding them obliterated for these few moments while they move together.
"More having, less teasing," Remus demands hoarsely when Sirius breaks the kiss.
"Bossy, aren't you?" Sirius is grinning, though, as he leans over and reaches into the pocket of his robe for the lube.
"Wouldn't have to be if you didn't keep faffing about," Remus replies with a twist of his hips that makes them both gasp.
Sirius doesn't tell him how much he wants this to last, how much he loves watching Remus buck and writhe and quiver, how these moments will be replayed over and over when Remus is gone again, and Sirius has nothing else to distract him from other, darker thoughts and memories. Sirius doesn't tell Remus how much he loves him, but he's pretty sure Remus knows.
"Patience," he says, pausing to catch his breath as he slips two slick fingers inside Remus, "is a virtue, Mr. Moony."
Another thrust of Remus's hips and Sirius has to swallow hard against the wave of pleasure rising in him. "Since when have we ever been virtuous, Mr. Padfoot?"
Sirius gives huff of laughter, and replaces his fingers with his cock, all words lost as he's sheathed in the tight heat of Remus's body, as close as two people can possibly be, moving as one. But Sirius still wants more, can feel it just out of reach; it spurs him to move faster, drive deeper, Remus's long fingers clutching at his biceps and long legs wrapping around his hips, meeting Sirius's thrusts with his own.
When Remus comes, he lights from within, incandescent with love and pleasure. Sirius leans forward to kiss him hard, to swallow that light into himself and be suffused with it, sustained by it. It bursts around him in flares of ecstasy that spark fire-white behind his eyes as he comes, spilling himself inside Remus's welcoming body.
He collapses onto Remus, still shaking from the intensity of his orgasm, and rains kisses on his flushed face. Remus holds him close and whispers secret things about love and need, things that promise forever, always, still, things that make Sirius's throat tight and his chest ache. He buries his face against Remus's sweat-damp neck, inhaling the scent of Moony-rain-wool-sex, the scent of home, and for the moment, he is content.