prompt 7: This is a Pause Worth Savouring
Title: This is a Pause Worth Savouring
Characters/Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: Adult-ish
Disclaimer: All your characters are belong to Jo.
Prompt: 7
Summary: It’s unbearably hot inside the tent and he’s so hard and aching that everything seems surreal, so it could very well just be a dream, one he’s had many times before.
1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
It is, when you get right down to the fact of the matter, a sleepover, but they are seventeen years old, and the word sleepover has been removed from their vocabulary, unless it is accompanied by pillow fights and tits, of course. There is a tent too small for all four of them to fit into, four sleeping bags and pillows, and a hefty basket of goodies packed by James’ mum, for whom Remus is entirely grateful. Without James’ lovely mother, he’d probably have been forced to eat out of a can all weekend, probably something unrecognizable that Sirius had managed to burn the daylights out of.
They squish themselves into the tent at an hour reserved only for seventeen year old boys, the moon hanging like a grin in the black night above them, bumping gangly boy elbows and knees until they finally all get settled. James is snoring first and Pete soon follows, because Pete always does. Remus is the last one awake and he hears Sirius’ breath just as clearly as he hears the crickets chirping in the grass, the owls hooting in the branches, and the squirrels skittering about the forest floor. He waits, listening carefully for signs that Sirius has slipped into that deep, R.E.M sleep, until finally he can hear Sirius’ light, even breaths, and the soft murmurs of dreams on his lips.
Remus turns in his sleeping bag, his back pressed against Sirius’ side and slowly slides his hand underneath the elastic of his pyjamas, feeling his cock already half-hard and throbbing. It’s being this close to Sirius and not actually being able to do anything about it that’s killing him; catching a sliver of skin when Sirius stretches his leg and his shirt rides up over the top of his shorts and thinking how lovely it would be to touch him. It’s what makes him temporarily insane enough to do what he’s doing with Sirius right bloody next to him.
Remus closes his eyes and his fingers, curling them around his length, pulling slow, but firm, biting his lip to keep quiet. He has a mad need to move his hips in time with his hand, thrust into his fist the way he does when he’s at home, arching his back off the mattress when he comes, a stream of white shooting through the air as Sirius’ name gets stuck on his lips; but he can’t. Not here in the quiet woods, in the quiet tent, with Sirius and the rest of them so close. Remus works another hand into his pyjamas to squeeze his bollucks while the other twists and pulls, gathering lubrication from the tip to slide down his generous length and back up.
He can’t help what happens next -- it’s habit by now, imagining that the hand around his cock is Sirius’, and that Sirius is kissing, sometimes biting, him on the neck, and Remus is making a strangled noise in the back of his throat before he can prevent it from becoming audible. In all his concentration of trying desperately not to rock his hips into his palm or make any other embarrassing noises, he doesn’t notice when Sirius stirs and rolls onto his side until his chest is pressing against Remus’ back and his hand is sliding down Remus’ arm.
“Moony…” Sirius whispers, his breath tickling the invisible, downy hairs that cover Remus’ ear, and his entire body goes rigid when Sirius’ hand dips into his pyjamas and covers his own.
“S’all right Moony,” Sirius breathes reassuring words in his ear, and Remus thinks its Sirius’ lips he feels dragging down the sharp curve of his jaw, but he isn’t sure. It’s unbearably hot inside the tent and he’s so hard and aching and everything seems so surreal it could very well be just a dream, one he’s had many times before. “Don’t stop Remus, keep going. Please?”
Sirius’ voice is so raw and husky from just waking and possibly from something else that Remus has to make a conscious effort to continue breathing. Sirius’ breath is warm and leaves a sticky spot on the back of Remus’ neck, just below the hairline, as his fingers curl over Remus, matching them, and urges Remus to finish what he started.
“Hell,” Remus chokes out as Sirius’ hand grips tighter around his, causing Remus to grasp his cock harder. His bollucks are tighter than anything and he can feel it in his belly, tight with need, and he wants to kiss Sirius - wants Sirius to kiss him so bloody bad, but needs to come even more than he needs to feel Sirius tongue in his mouth.
“Oh Moony, Moony, Moony,” Sirius’ feathery voice chants next to his ear as Remus’ come spills between their entwined fingers and against Remus’ stomach. He feels rather than sees, as his vision is obscured by a blinding white light, Sirius’ hand as it cups his cheek, angling his face so that he can kiss him. His lips are soft and they are wonderful, and he tastes like burnt chocolate, and there’s bit of tacky marshmallow still stuck in his teeth, but it’s wonderful, wonderful, and over too soon.
“Gnnnk,” Prongs makes a noise in his sleep that sounds like a lawnmower trying to start up and they both jump back, suddenly aware again that there are other people in the tent - their friends, who would be quite shocked to wake up and find their mates snogging and touching each other.
Sirius grins lopsidedly at him and wipes excess saliva off his mouth with the back of his hand, and Remus shifts in his sleeping bag so that he can face him, and also so that the vertebrae in his neck don’t become permanently damaged. Sirius’ eyes are brighter than the moon and his mouth is identical in shape. They don’t say anything, not because there’s nothing to say, but because the sun is contemplating rising soon and Peter just flopped over in his sleeping bag, and they don’t want anything to ruin this.
They pause the moment, wishing they could keep it and replay it again and again. Sirius runs his fingers through Remus’ golden hair, making a note of how it curls around his ears in the thick, summer humidity, and Remus presses his palm against Sirius’ chest and the photo of Bob Dylan on his shirt. They pause and take in the moment, because really, it’s a lot to take in. Their friendship has changed, yes, but not only theirs. In two weeks time they will return to Hogwarts for the last time, and Remus expects a lot of changing will happen between the four of them in their last year. It makes him feel wistful about saying goodbye and it makes Sirius excited about all the great things that are waiting for them, but right now none of it is important. What is important right now is that Sirius is stroking his cheek with the back of his thumb, even though his eyelids are fluttering and threatening to close, and Remus can feel Sirius’ heart - tum tum, tum tum - thumping in his palm.
Remus pauses, pushing away his wistful thoughts about change and good-byes. Now is not the time. Now is the time for quiet; even the crickets have fallen miraculously silent. Now is the time to reflect, to sleep, and to dream. Of hot summer days and of kissing and of sweet, blissful ignorance that won‘t be theirs for the taking much longer. Because when the sharp, waning moon is captured by the glorious sun once again, and the darkness is chased away by her radiance, Remus knows that everything will be different and that the world will become complicated once again.
Characters/Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: Adult-ish
Disclaimer: All your characters are belong to Jo.
Prompt: 7
Summary: It’s unbearably hot inside the tent and he’s so hard and aching that everything seems surreal, so it could very well just be a dream, one he’s had many times before.
1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
It is, when you get right down to the fact of the matter, a sleepover, but they are seventeen years old, and the word sleepover has been removed from their vocabulary, unless it is accompanied by pillow fights and tits, of course. There is a tent too small for all four of them to fit into, four sleeping bags and pillows, and a hefty basket of goodies packed by James’ mum, for whom Remus is entirely grateful. Without James’ lovely mother, he’d probably have been forced to eat out of a can all weekend, probably something unrecognizable that Sirius had managed to burn the daylights out of.
They squish themselves into the tent at an hour reserved only for seventeen year old boys, the moon hanging like a grin in the black night above them, bumping gangly boy elbows and knees until they finally all get settled. James is snoring first and Pete soon follows, because Pete always does. Remus is the last one awake and he hears Sirius’ breath just as clearly as he hears the crickets chirping in the grass, the owls hooting in the branches, and the squirrels skittering about the forest floor. He waits, listening carefully for signs that Sirius has slipped into that deep, R.E.M sleep, until finally he can hear Sirius’ light, even breaths, and the soft murmurs of dreams on his lips.
Remus turns in his sleeping bag, his back pressed against Sirius’ side and slowly slides his hand underneath the elastic of his pyjamas, feeling his cock already half-hard and throbbing. It’s being this close to Sirius and not actually being able to do anything about it that’s killing him; catching a sliver of skin when Sirius stretches his leg and his shirt rides up over the top of his shorts and thinking how lovely it would be to touch him. It’s what makes him temporarily insane enough to do what he’s doing with Sirius right bloody next to him.
Remus closes his eyes and his fingers, curling them around his length, pulling slow, but firm, biting his lip to keep quiet. He has a mad need to move his hips in time with his hand, thrust into his fist the way he does when he’s at home, arching his back off the mattress when he comes, a stream of white shooting through the air as Sirius’ name gets stuck on his lips; but he can’t. Not here in the quiet woods, in the quiet tent, with Sirius and the rest of them so close. Remus works another hand into his pyjamas to squeeze his bollucks while the other twists and pulls, gathering lubrication from the tip to slide down his generous length and back up.
He can’t help what happens next -- it’s habit by now, imagining that the hand around his cock is Sirius’, and that Sirius is kissing, sometimes biting, him on the neck, and Remus is making a strangled noise in the back of his throat before he can prevent it from becoming audible. In all his concentration of trying desperately not to rock his hips into his palm or make any other embarrassing noises, he doesn’t notice when Sirius stirs and rolls onto his side until his chest is pressing against Remus’ back and his hand is sliding down Remus’ arm.
“Moony…” Sirius whispers, his breath tickling the invisible, downy hairs that cover Remus’ ear, and his entire body goes rigid when Sirius’ hand dips into his pyjamas and covers his own.
“S’all right Moony,” Sirius breathes reassuring words in his ear, and Remus thinks its Sirius’ lips he feels dragging down the sharp curve of his jaw, but he isn’t sure. It’s unbearably hot inside the tent and he’s so hard and aching and everything seems so surreal it could very well be just a dream, one he’s had many times before. “Don’t stop Remus, keep going. Please?”
Sirius’ voice is so raw and husky from just waking and possibly from something else that Remus has to make a conscious effort to continue breathing. Sirius’ breath is warm and leaves a sticky spot on the back of Remus’ neck, just below the hairline, as his fingers curl over Remus, matching them, and urges Remus to finish what he started.
“Hell,” Remus chokes out as Sirius’ hand grips tighter around his, causing Remus to grasp his cock harder. His bollucks are tighter than anything and he can feel it in his belly, tight with need, and he wants to kiss Sirius - wants Sirius to kiss him so bloody bad, but needs to come even more than he needs to feel Sirius tongue in his mouth.
“Oh Moony, Moony, Moony,” Sirius’ feathery voice chants next to his ear as Remus’ come spills between their entwined fingers and against Remus’ stomach. He feels rather than sees, as his vision is obscured by a blinding white light, Sirius’ hand as it cups his cheek, angling his face so that he can kiss him. His lips are soft and they are wonderful, and he tastes like burnt chocolate, and there’s bit of tacky marshmallow still stuck in his teeth, but it’s wonderful, wonderful, and over too soon.
“Gnnnk,” Prongs makes a noise in his sleep that sounds like a lawnmower trying to start up and they both jump back, suddenly aware again that there are other people in the tent - their friends, who would be quite shocked to wake up and find their mates snogging and touching each other.
Sirius grins lopsidedly at him and wipes excess saliva off his mouth with the back of his hand, and Remus shifts in his sleeping bag so that he can face him, and also so that the vertebrae in his neck don’t become permanently damaged. Sirius’ eyes are brighter than the moon and his mouth is identical in shape. They don’t say anything, not because there’s nothing to say, but because the sun is contemplating rising soon and Peter just flopped over in his sleeping bag, and they don’t want anything to ruin this.
They pause the moment, wishing they could keep it and replay it again and again. Sirius runs his fingers through Remus’ golden hair, making a note of how it curls around his ears in the thick, summer humidity, and Remus presses his palm against Sirius’ chest and the photo of Bob Dylan on his shirt. They pause and take in the moment, because really, it’s a lot to take in. Their friendship has changed, yes, but not only theirs. In two weeks time they will return to Hogwarts for the last time, and Remus expects a lot of changing will happen between the four of them in their last year. It makes him feel wistful about saying goodbye and it makes Sirius excited about all the great things that are waiting for them, but right now none of it is important. What is important right now is that Sirius is stroking his cheek with the back of his thumb, even though his eyelids are fluttering and threatening to close, and Remus can feel Sirius’ heart - tum tum, tum tum - thumping in his palm.
Remus pauses, pushing away his wistful thoughts about change and good-byes. Now is not the time. Now is the time for quiet; even the crickets have fallen miraculously silent. Now is the time to reflect, to sleep, and to dream. Of hot summer days and of kissing and of sweet, blissful ignorance that won‘t be theirs for the taking much longer. Because when the sharp, waning moon is captured by the glorious sun once again, and the darkness is chased away by her radiance, Remus knows that everything will be different and that the world will become complicated once again.