Precision and Other Overlooked Pastimes
Title: Precision and Other Overlooked Pastimes
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. And I mean everything.
Summary: Remus's first time. Er - in detention. Remus's first time in detention.
No redeeming value what. so. ever.
Precision and Other Overlooked Pastimes
by librae or sarah or something
It was late summer when he got the letter. That month the air was soupy, the breeze none too refreshing, and it was always on the verge of rain. The windows clouded with humidity. When Remus went outside-which was often-his T-shirt clung to the curve of his neck, and sooner or later the skies would open up grey-purple and the rain would chase him back inside.
When he opened that letter, though, the uncommon heat all but evaporated, save for the flush in his cheeks. The news made him slightly dizzy, and he felt the way he did when all the faces in a crowded room suddenly turned to him. A frost sensation spread through his palms, and then into his wrists, and then curled up to his elbows. With a kind of dull horror Remus realized this letter was going to bring him untold grief: they were going to do everything they could to make his life miserable, and it was never going to end.
It was August 28th.
:::
Precisely two months after Remus Lupin was made prefect, he found himself in detention for the very first time.
McGonagall called him to her desk, and after nearly a full minute of chagrined staring on the professor's part, she finally spoke. "What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?"
This was possibly his least favorite question in life. "It won't happen again, Professor."
"No, it won't." There was a sort of amused glint in her eye, but Remus often confused this glint with lunatic rage, so he didn't dare make a move. McGonagall began to speak again. "I hope you can appreciate your position, Mr. Lupin."
"Professor?"
"What I mean to say is, there were certain...factors taken into account when you were named Prefect. The company you keep, for one."
"I understand," said Remus, though he wasn't entirely sure he did. Or rather, he did understand, but to further acknowledge it would give further incentive to actually do something about it. For this he was not quite prepared, even though it was at least 85% his “company’s” fault that he was even having this conversation.
McGonagall began to shuffle papers on her desk and Remus prayed that this was a sign he could go. Oh, but of course things couldn’t be that simple: "I would never have guessed," the professor said mildly, without looking up, "that I would ever have to speak with you about your attendance. I expected better of you, Lupin."
"So did I," Remus thought, except he didn't so much think it as say it out loud. When he realized he could have kicked himself, but instead he added this slip to a rapidly growing list of reasons to immigrate to Burma, posthaste.
The professor was smiling faintly. "Whatever it was that drew you from my classroom, I do hope it will be worth spending the evening in detention. You may go now. I'll speak with Mr. Black personally, and I expect you both at eight o'clock."
Remus fled.
:::
It was precisely 8:47.
McGonagall's precise words had been, "I will be stepping out for a few moments. Both of you are to remain seated while I am gone. You will not switch chairs. You will not move a finger. You will not speak. Is that understood?"
It was. And that is precisely why, the moment her footfalls faded, Sirius launched himself across the room to kneel directly before Remus's spread legs.
He was not surprised, and he did not stop him, though he tried very hard to convince himself that he wanted to. "I hate you," Remus moaned.
"No talking, Mr. Lupin." Sirius grinned up at him through his pale eyes, which had gone a dark, glossy grey in the last few minutes. "A prefect should know better." And without another word he whipped Remus's robes up over his legs, over his hips even, and then he guided the folds of fabric to Remus's hovering hands so he could hold them up himself. Then Sirius cupped his palms around either of Remus's knees and spread them further, as far as they could go, which was more than they needed.
Remus's heart began to pound so hard he thought he might be sick.
A dry gasp caught in his throat when Sirius licked him through the fabric. "Don't," he said, and the words cracked. "If you’re going to, don't waste time. Please, if she comes back…."
Sirius's hands stilled where they were on the insides of Remus's thighs. He shrugged, and then he tugged the zip down with one swift motion. He pulled Remus's pants aside and then he was holding Remus's already half-erect cock in his fist. Sirius raised an eyebrow and Remus was going to offer an explanation-Sirius deserved to know it was his fault Remus had been hard half of detention-but then Sirius opened his mouth and touched him with just the tip of his tongue.
Remus hoped the moan had only echoed in his imagination.
It was obscenely wet. Remus could see a faint string of saliva stretched from the tip of his cock to Sirius's lower lip, glinting in the faint glow of the classroom. And then Sirius did it again, and again, these quick little swipes over the head of his prick, laving his precome away, but it left him wetter than before. Remus began panting.
Sirius smirked.
The licks came longer now, up and down the length from base to tip. All Remus could do was watch, and gasp, and tangle the fingers of one hand through Sirius’s hair. He imagined it had only been a minute or two but he wasn’t optimistic, and when a sound came from the hall he went completely rigid. His cock went even stiffer. There were no footsteps though, and he relaxed the grip on his robes, which were becoming damp in his clutch.
Sirius kissed the head wetly, his mouth open and his tongue smoothing over the slit.
“Hurry,” Remus said.
“Impatient?” Sirius murmured, and he licked him again, deliberately slow, exaggerated. He swirled his tongue around the tip, almost lazy. Their eyes met. Sirius looked completely debauched; his lips were swollen and red like cherries and for a moment Remus forgot how completely and utterly fucked they were.
He groaned softly. “Oh.”
Before he knew it Sirius had wrapped his lips around him and was sucking furiously, his head bobbing, and Remus began to cry and shake. With his other hand he let go of his robes and grabbed Sirius’s hair, his fingers sticking and pulling. Sirius made a small noise like pain, maybe, but it was muffled around his cock, and that just made Remus harder. He guided Sirius’s head up and down to this frantic rhythm, his lips gliding smoothly over his cock.
He wanted to be fucked. He wanted Sirius to yank him out of his chair and bend him over the desk, but McGonagall was coming soon, he knew she was, she had to be, and so he began to thrust into Sirius’s mouth as fast as he could. They could hardly keep up, and Remus’s lungs began to burn and he realized he was barely breathing, now. Again he gasped for air that wouldn't quite come.
All Remus could hear were faint little smacks and damp sounds as Sirius sucked, faster and faster, and the breaths that were coming broken and noisy through his nose. Remus made himself watch: Sirius's cheeks caved in and he moved as if possessed. He lapped his tongue. He groaned when Remus did, and took him deeper with each thrust, and finally he reached down with one hand and began stroking himself through his trousers.
It was just motion and heat and rustling for seconds, or moments, until sweat was prickling the back of Remus's neck, and at his temples, and under his arms. It couldn't last. The more frightened Remus got the harder he shoved Sirius’s head down on his erection, which made Sirius moan helplessly and rub himself between his hand and the chair leg. She’d hear them before they heard her, he thought, but only seconds later he found that wasn’t true.
He heard the even click of footsteps.
His stomach went icy cold with terror, but his face was warm and his cock was burning and wet and aching. Sirius looked up at him. It seemed to happen very slowly, the gradual roll of Sirius’s eyes, looking drugged with pleasure.
Remus came, shooting down Sirius’s throat. He slumped helplessly as his hips thrust of their own accord, but Sirius held him there until he was finished, finally, and then he pulled away quickly, swallowing visibly.
Sirius was tucking him back in because Remus’s hands were shaking and he kept fumbling, but Sirius’s fingers trembled too and that was when Remus noticed the stain on the front of his trousers. Sirius-idiot-didn’t leave then but swept down and kissed him once, messy, and there was come on his tongue and then it was between their tongues and then it was in Remus’s mouth, his taste. Their taste.
He started breathing again.
It was twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three seconds that they were safely seated again before the door opened. Out of the corner of his eye Remus saw Sirius’s tongue dart out and catch the last hint that anything was amiss. He winked.
It was not missed. McGonagall watched, and frowned, and did absolutely nothing, except give Remus one of those searching you know better looks.
Remus smiled because she could never guess.
He hardly minded that he was a dismal failure.
end.
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. And I mean everything.
Summary: Remus's first time. Er - in detention. Remus's first time in detention.
No redeeming value what. so. ever.
Precision and Other Overlooked Pastimes
by librae or sarah or something
It was late summer when he got the letter. That month the air was soupy, the breeze none too refreshing, and it was always on the verge of rain. The windows clouded with humidity. When Remus went outside-which was often-his T-shirt clung to the curve of his neck, and sooner or later the skies would open up grey-purple and the rain would chase him back inside.
When he opened that letter, though, the uncommon heat all but evaporated, save for the flush in his cheeks. The news made him slightly dizzy, and he felt the way he did when all the faces in a crowded room suddenly turned to him. A frost sensation spread through his palms, and then into his wrists, and then curled up to his elbows. With a kind of dull horror Remus realized this letter was going to bring him untold grief: they were going to do everything they could to make his life miserable, and it was never going to end.
It was August 28th.
:::
Precisely two months after Remus Lupin was made prefect, he found himself in detention for the very first time.
McGonagall called him to her desk, and after nearly a full minute of chagrined staring on the professor's part, she finally spoke. "What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?"
This was possibly his least favorite question in life. "It won't happen again, Professor."
"No, it won't." There was a sort of amused glint in her eye, but Remus often confused this glint with lunatic rage, so he didn't dare make a move. McGonagall began to speak again. "I hope you can appreciate your position, Mr. Lupin."
"Professor?"
"What I mean to say is, there were certain...factors taken into account when you were named Prefect. The company you keep, for one."
"I understand," said Remus, though he wasn't entirely sure he did. Or rather, he did understand, but to further acknowledge it would give further incentive to actually do something about it. For this he was not quite prepared, even though it was at least 85% his “company’s” fault that he was even having this conversation.
McGonagall began to shuffle papers on her desk and Remus prayed that this was a sign he could go. Oh, but of course things couldn’t be that simple: "I would never have guessed," the professor said mildly, without looking up, "that I would ever have to speak with you about your attendance. I expected better of you, Lupin."
"So did I," Remus thought, except he didn't so much think it as say it out loud. When he realized he could have kicked himself, but instead he added this slip to a rapidly growing list of reasons to immigrate to Burma, posthaste.
The professor was smiling faintly. "Whatever it was that drew you from my classroom, I do hope it will be worth spending the evening in detention. You may go now. I'll speak with Mr. Black personally, and I expect you both at eight o'clock."
Remus fled.
:::
It was precisely 8:47.
McGonagall's precise words had been, "I will be stepping out for a few moments. Both of you are to remain seated while I am gone. You will not switch chairs. You will not move a finger. You will not speak. Is that understood?"
It was. And that is precisely why, the moment her footfalls faded, Sirius launched himself across the room to kneel directly before Remus's spread legs.
He was not surprised, and he did not stop him, though he tried very hard to convince himself that he wanted to. "I hate you," Remus moaned.
"No talking, Mr. Lupin." Sirius grinned up at him through his pale eyes, which had gone a dark, glossy grey in the last few minutes. "A prefect should know better." And without another word he whipped Remus's robes up over his legs, over his hips even, and then he guided the folds of fabric to Remus's hovering hands so he could hold them up himself. Then Sirius cupped his palms around either of Remus's knees and spread them further, as far as they could go, which was more than they needed.
Remus's heart began to pound so hard he thought he might be sick.
A dry gasp caught in his throat when Sirius licked him through the fabric. "Don't," he said, and the words cracked. "If you’re going to, don't waste time. Please, if she comes back…."
Sirius's hands stilled where they were on the insides of Remus's thighs. He shrugged, and then he tugged the zip down with one swift motion. He pulled Remus's pants aside and then he was holding Remus's already half-erect cock in his fist. Sirius raised an eyebrow and Remus was going to offer an explanation-Sirius deserved to know it was his fault Remus had been hard half of detention-but then Sirius opened his mouth and touched him with just the tip of his tongue.
Remus hoped the moan had only echoed in his imagination.
It was obscenely wet. Remus could see a faint string of saliva stretched from the tip of his cock to Sirius's lower lip, glinting in the faint glow of the classroom. And then Sirius did it again, and again, these quick little swipes over the head of his prick, laving his precome away, but it left him wetter than before. Remus began panting.
Sirius smirked.
The licks came longer now, up and down the length from base to tip. All Remus could do was watch, and gasp, and tangle the fingers of one hand through Sirius’s hair. He imagined it had only been a minute or two but he wasn’t optimistic, and when a sound came from the hall he went completely rigid. His cock went even stiffer. There were no footsteps though, and he relaxed the grip on his robes, which were becoming damp in his clutch.
Sirius kissed the head wetly, his mouth open and his tongue smoothing over the slit.
“Hurry,” Remus said.
“Impatient?” Sirius murmured, and he licked him again, deliberately slow, exaggerated. He swirled his tongue around the tip, almost lazy. Their eyes met. Sirius looked completely debauched; his lips were swollen and red like cherries and for a moment Remus forgot how completely and utterly fucked they were.
He groaned softly. “Oh.”
Before he knew it Sirius had wrapped his lips around him and was sucking furiously, his head bobbing, and Remus began to cry and shake. With his other hand he let go of his robes and grabbed Sirius’s hair, his fingers sticking and pulling. Sirius made a small noise like pain, maybe, but it was muffled around his cock, and that just made Remus harder. He guided Sirius’s head up and down to this frantic rhythm, his lips gliding smoothly over his cock.
He wanted to be fucked. He wanted Sirius to yank him out of his chair and bend him over the desk, but McGonagall was coming soon, he knew she was, she had to be, and so he began to thrust into Sirius’s mouth as fast as he could. They could hardly keep up, and Remus’s lungs began to burn and he realized he was barely breathing, now. Again he gasped for air that wouldn't quite come.
All Remus could hear were faint little smacks and damp sounds as Sirius sucked, faster and faster, and the breaths that were coming broken and noisy through his nose. Remus made himself watch: Sirius's cheeks caved in and he moved as if possessed. He lapped his tongue. He groaned when Remus did, and took him deeper with each thrust, and finally he reached down with one hand and began stroking himself through his trousers.
It was just motion and heat and rustling for seconds, or moments, until sweat was prickling the back of Remus's neck, and at his temples, and under his arms. It couldn't last. The more frightened Remus got the harder he shoved Sirius’s head down on his erection, which made Sirius moan helplessly and rub himself between his hand and the chair leg. She’d hear them before they heard her, he thought, but only seconds later he found that wasn’t true.
He heard the even click of footsteps.
His stomach went icy cold with terror, but his face was warm and his cock was burning and wet and aching. Sirius looked up at him. It seemed to happen very slowly, the gradual roll of Sirius’s eyes, looking drugged with pleasure.
Remus came, shooting down Sirius’s throat. He slumped helplessly as his hips thrust of their own accord, but Sirius held him there until he was finished, finally, and then he pulled away quickly, swallowing visibly.
Sirius was tucking him back in because Remus’s hands were shaking and he kept fumbling, but Sirius’s fingers trembled too and that was when Remus noticed the stain on the front of his trousers. Sirius-idiot-didn’t leave then but swept down and kissed him once, messy, and there was come on his tongue and then it was between their tongues and then it was in Remus’s mouth, his taste. Their taste.
He started breathing again.
It was twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three seconds that they were safely seated again before the door opened. Out of the corner of his eye Remus saw Sirius’s tongue dart out and catch the last hint that anything was amiss. He winked.
It was not missed. McGonagall watched, and frowned, and did absolutely nothing, except give Remus one of those searching you know better looks.
Remus smiled because she could never guess.
He hardly minded that he was a dismal failure.
end.