Fic: This is a Bean, Sirius/Remus NC-17
Title: This is a Bean.
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC-17 for sex and generous usage of the f-word.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Sirius and Remus at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
A/N: In which I break down and write Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean slash AND Remus/Sirius. Oh my.
Warnings/Kinks: Breath play. Rimming. Angst followed by extreme fluff, we're talking the l-word, take your insulin now.
This is a bean. It's a green jellybean.
Green is for jealousy and this is its flavour; little sour apples and bitter vitamin pills.
"What's this? What's it for?" Sirius asks.
"It's just for- It's just for you," Remus says.
"Chocolate frogs? Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans? I'm twelve now." Sirius slams the sweets down on the side table. "You're bringing me treats. You come home and you bring me treats."
"Don't be so petulant."
"Child! Child! That's how they talk to children. I am not a child." Sirius shouts. "It's not fair, I'm stuck here. It's not fair you go ahead and I always stay behind. I'm a sad sack of bones stuck in this sepulchre."
"Don't be so dramatic," sighs Remus.
"Don't be- don't be-" Sirius looks at Remus, at the side table, at the black oppressive room, the bed that will never stop smelling of dust. "Can't I breathe? Can't I ever breathe again?"
This is a bean. It's a red jellybean.
Red is for anger and this is its flavour; hot cinnamon chewing gum, cruel biting peppers.
Remus is still, he doesn't struggle. His face is white, his eyes wet and Sirius wants to snap him like a stick. Sirius has Remus pressed against the wall, his hand around his throat. He should never be happy. You can never be happy; they'll pull that out from under you. They take that every time. It's only anger they can't touch.
Sirius squeezes the breath from Remus. He can feel Remus hardening against his leg which is wedged between Remus'. It's perverted; it's all so stupidly perverted. Remus' eyes are defiant, he never pleads. Sirius rubs his own erection against Remus'. Not good. Not pure.
This shouldn't be done in anger, so he stops. Remus' gasps loudly, colour flooding back into his face.
"You like it?" says Sirius.
"I like it."
"I don't like it anymore."
"Sirius," Remus says, removing his shirt, stripping matter of factly. "You can't have what you had."
Irretrievable.
"But you can have something new," Remus says, and he helps Sirius pull his shirt off over his head.
"You can't give me what I want," says Sirius. "And I won't give you what you want, either."
"It's not mine to give or yours to keep back," says Remus, softly. "It just happens, these things- they just happen."
This is a bean. It's a blue jellybean.
Blue is for desire, for wanting. For peppermint that sparks when you bite it. For sticky blueberry sauce and the musty, wrong flavour of Stilton.
"What can I give you? You go out, you get me things. What can I give you?" These are whispers in the dark. They are pressed hard and naked together under billowy sheets, every billow coughing dust.
"You gave me a home," Remus says.
"This isn't a home, never call it that." Sirius says.
"You know I don't mean this place."
Remus is all skin and bones. His skin tastes like skin and bones. They're both like that, too thin, splotchy skinned, one all indigo ink and the other claw shadows. They kiss because Sirius is tired of talking. They kiss because Remus is tired, his eyes dark hollowed-out circles in the dark. In the dark there's no gold in them.
Remus turns Sirius over, onto his stomach, he rolls him up.
"Up, up," Remus says and Sirius complies.
Sirius is up on his hands and knees, legs spread as far apart as possible, Remus between his legs. Remus plants a kiss on his anus. It's a small kiss, and then it's a wet deep kiss, and then all tongue and sibilate licking and lapping. Sirius sighs and can't help sliding back down, his arms and legs jelly. This makes things more difficult, but Remus is persistent. Using his hands to pull apart Sirius' cheeks to keep Sirius still and to keep the sweet, hot, (wrong), wet contact. Sirius rubs his cock into the sheets; they're smooth but smell like dust. And he could come like this alone, but Remus moves one hand round, insinuates it under Sirius' stomach, squeezes it around Sirius' cock. Remus' hand is slick and a little sticky. Jellybeans thinks Sirius, sticky like jellybeans. And it hurts; it hurts and it doesn't. It feels like something he can almost just have.
"Fuck me," Sirius says when he comes. "Make me glad, make me- something."
Remus flips him over so he can fuck him face to face. But Sirius doesn't look at Remus; he looks past him at the vaulted ceiling. Remus pulls Sirius' legs up high, hooks them over his shoulders. It hurts, thinks Sirius, hurts his joints. His joints are sore like an old man's joints. Remus shoves into him hard. He shoves again and again. He thrusts upwards and there's a blue spark right through Sirius. Remus thrusts again and it sparks again. Crack. Fuck.
When Remus comes, one of his arms flies out, he knocks the sweets from the table. Jellybeans spill everywhere, bounce and roll, a thousand prisoners set free.
This is a bean. It's a yellow jellybean.
Yellow is for the sunny after. For the sunlight you taste in tomatoes. For salty yellow cheese sandwiches, toasted in late afternoon. For lazy lemonade and cold gin.
"What's all this for?" says Sirius.
"For eating."
Remus has brought sandwiches into bed- tomato and bacon, toasted cheddar cheese, crisps, more chocolate, and two fizzing bottles of butterbeer.
"Grilled cheese for breakfast?" asks Sirius
"It's not breakfast, it's nearly two."
"You let me sleep. You didn't wake me?"
"I slept, too," says Remus, sipping his butterbeer.
"I don't want to eat. I want to fuck."
"Fucking's over," says Remus. "Eating now."
"And then fucking after?"
"Maybe."
And they do fuck after, Sirius' rough chin slick with butter and stuck with crumbs. Remus licks his chin and fucks him flat. It feels like something that will be taken away later, but he kisses Remus anyway, a kiss that tastes like come and butterbeer.
Remus lies on his back and Sirius rests his head on his shoulder. He twists his fingers in the thick greying hair that makes an oval in the centre of Remus' chest.
"You're an old man, now. See." Sirius yanks a grey hair out to show it to Remus.
"Ow."
"You became old while I was gone. You went and grew up without me."
And this is black and it's for what's unknown, what's dark and frightening. For what's like chocolate and dying.
Sirius is dressed and Remus still dozes in the bed. It's grown so late the day is darkening again.
Remus opens his eyes and looks groggily at Sirius. Sirius picks up the only every flavour bean left on the side table and drops it into Remus' mouth.
"Mmph," says Remus. "And what's this jellybean for?"
"It's for love, I suppose."
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC-17 for sex and generous usage of the f-word.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Sirius and Remus at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
A/N: In which I break down and write Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean slash AND Remus/Sirius. Oh my.
Warnings/Kinks: Breath play. Rimming. Angst followed by extreme fluff, we're talking the l-word, take your insulin now.
This is a bean. It's a green jellybean.
Green is for jealousy and this is its flavour; little sour apples and bitter vitamin pills.
"What's this? What's it for?" Sirius asks.
"It's just for- It's just for you," Remus says.
"Chocolate frogs? Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans? I'm twelve now." Sirius slams the sweets down on the side table. "You're bringing me treats. You come home and you bring me treats."
"Don't be so petulant."
"Child! Child! That's how they talk to children. I am not a child." Sirius shouts. "It's not fair, I'm stuck here. It's not fair you go ahead and I always stay behind. I'm a sad sack of bones stuck in this sepulchre."
"Don't be so dramatic," sighs Remus.
"Don't be- don't be-" Sirius looks at Remus, at the side table, at the black oppressive room, the bed that will never stop smelling of dust. "Can't I breathe? Can't I ever breathe again?"
This is a bean. It's a red jellybean.
Red is for anger and this is its flavour; hot cinnamon chewing gum, cruel biting peppers.
Remus is still, he doesn't struggle. His face is white, his eyes wet and Sirius wants to snap him like a stick. Sirius has Remus pressed against the wall, his hand around his throat. He should never be happy. You can never be happy; they'll pull that out from under you. They take that every time. It's only anger they can't touch.
Sirius squeezes the breath from Remus. He can feel Remus hardening against his leg which is wedged between Remus'. It's perverted; it's all so stupidly perverted. Remus' eyes are defiant, he never pleads. Sirius rubs his own erection against Remus'. Not good. Not pure.
This shouldn't be done in anger, so he stops. Remus' gasps loudly, colour flooding back into his face.
"You like it?" says Sirius.
"I like it."
"I don't like it anymore."
"Sirius," Remus says, removing his shirt, stripping matter of factly. "You can't have what you had."
Irretrievable.
"But you can have something new," Remus says, and he helps Sirius pull his shirt off over his head.
"You can't give me what I want," says Sirius. "And I won't give you what you want, either."
"It's not mine to give or yours to keep back," says Remus, softly. "It just happens, these things- they just happen."
This is a bean. It's a blue jellybean.
Blue is for desire, for wanting. For peppermint that sparks when you bite it. For sticky blueberry sauce and the musty, wrong flavour of Stilton.
"What can I give you? You go out, you get me things. What can I give you?" These are whispers in the dark. They are pressed hard and naked together under billowy sheets, every billow coughing dust.
"You gave me a home," Remus says.
"This isn't a home, never call it that." Sirius says.
"You know I don't mean this place."
Remus is all skin and bones. His skin tastes like skin and bones. They're both like that, too thin, splotchy skinned, one all indigo ink and the other claw shadows. They kiss because Sirius is tired of talking. They kiss because Remus is tired, his eyes dark hollowed-out circles in the dark. In the dark there's no gold in them.
Remus turns Sirius over, onto his stomach, he rolls him up.
"Up, up," Remus says and Sirius complies.
Sirius is up on his hands and knees, legs spread as far apart as possible, Remus between his legs. Remus plants a kiss on his anus. It's a small kiss, and then it's a wet deep kiss, and then all tongue and sibilate licking and lapping. Sirius sighs and can't help sliding back down, his arms and legs jelly. This makes things more difficult, but Remus is persistent. Using his hands to pull apart Sirius' cheeks to keep Sirius still and to keep the sweet, hot, (wrong), wet contact. Sirius rubs his cock into the sheets; they're smooth but smell like dust. And he could come like this alone, but Remus moves one hand round, insinuates it under Sirius' stomach, squeezes it around Sirius' cock. Remus' hand is slick and a little sticky. Jellybeans thinks Sirius, sticky like jellybeans. And it hurts; it hurts and it doesn't. It feels like something he can almost just have.
"Fuck me," Sirius says when he comes. "Make me glad, make me- something."
Remus flips him over so he can fuck him face to face. But Sirius doesn't look at Remus; he looks past him at the vaulted ceiling. Remus pulls Sirius' legs up high, hooks them over his shoulders. It hurts, thinks Sirius, hurts his joints. His joints are sore like an old man's joints. Remus shoves into him hard. He shoves again and again. He thrusts upwards and there's a blue spark right through Sirius. Remus thrusts again and it sparks again. Crack. Fuck.
When Remus comes, one of his arms flies out, he knocks the sweets from the table. Jellybeans spill everywhere, bounce and roll, a thousand prisoners set free.
This is a bean. It's a yellow jellybean.
Yellow is for the sunny after. For the sunlight you taste in tomatoes. For salty yellow cheese sandwiches, toasted in late afternoon. For lazy lemonade and cold gin.
"What's all this for?" says Sirius.
"For eating."
Remus has brought sandwiches into bed- tomato and bacon, toasted cheddar cheese, crisps, more chocolate, and two fizzing bottles of butterbeer.
"Grilled cheese for breakfast?" asks Sirius
"It's not breakfast, it's nearly two."
"You let me sleep. You didn't wake me?"
"I slept, too," says Remus, sipping his butterbeer.
"I don't want to eat. I want to fuck."
"Fucking's over," says Remus. "Eating now."
"And then fucking after?"
"Maybe."
And they do fuck after, Sirius' rough chin slick with butter and stuck with crumbs. Remus licks his chin and fucks him flat. It feels like something that will be taken away later, but he kisses Remus anyway, a kiss that tastes like come and butterbeer.
Remus lies on his back and Sirius rests his head on his shoulder. He twists his fingers in the thick greying hair that makes an oval in the centre of Remus' chest.
"You're an old man, now. See." Sirius yanks a grey hair out to show it to Remus.
"Ow."
"You became old while I was gone. You went and grew up without me."
And this is black and it's for what's unknown, what's dark and frightening. For what's like chocolate and dying.
Sirius is dressed and Remus still dozes in the bed. It's grown so late the day is darkening again.
Remus opens his eyes and looks groggily at Sirius. Sirius picks up the only every flavour bean left on the side table and drops it into Remus' mouth.
"Mmph," says Remus. "And what's this jellybean for?"
"It's for love, I suppose."