(no subject)
Title: Obscure Science, or: Porn!
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC17
Warnings: rimming, pretentious lack of capitalization
Total PWP. MWPP era. 1872 words.
a boy is like a scientist, he says, with the curiosity, and the theorems, and the explosions, and the whatnot, and it's through this line of reasoning, in a burst of spontaneity, that they conduct the Grand Experiment, which consists of one's tongue down the other's throat - basically - and when it's over they pat one another on the back -figuratively - and mark the whole thing a successful endeavor, pleased, proud, satisfied they know what it's like, and content to carry on with the rest of their lives like the professionals they are, until remus fucks up and they do it again.
:::
sirius is wandering, somewhere in the region of bewildered, and his trousers are crumpled at the foot of the bed. (ah, he thinks, so that's how it is.) it is fourteen-and-a-half days After (not that anyone's counting).
at his side, remus smiles reflexively, a tiny pink dawn rising easily over his face. then he sits up, brushes his swinging hair out of his eyes and kisses sirius softly, tongue curling against sirius's in a wet arc. a foreign taste spills between their teeth, bitterness swallowed with a shock of recognition. sirius groans as a bead of sweat rolls down his cheek and the lines in his palms glisten.
when he opens his eyes he sees that during their kiss remus watches him under a dusty fan of lashes, lowered so they reveal a curving slice of eye; pupil - by textbook definition - dilated, iris sepia and cunning. sirius steels his fingers. he clutches the back of remus's neck and opens his mouth in a yawn, wide, wide, wide. like the dam opening: their lips pulse in the lash of tongues and against the crenellation of teeth. someone's tongue strays to a palate, then to an iron-tasting burn in the other's mouth, and back to his tongue in broad strokes, as if painting his taste again and again, slippery, spurred on by the steam in their breath.
the pattern of their bodies shifts; he crawls atop remus and with his thigh strokes remus's erection through layers of cotton. a febrile moan cracks deep out of remus's throat. "my," sirius whispers, brushing a nipple through remus's shirt. remus groans, on the hinge of laughter. sirius says, "you are - forgive me - quite serious about this."
"what" - (here remus gasps; sirius has bitten his ear) - "what ever made you think i wasn't?"
"come now. let's think," sirius says. he adopts a voice thick as cherry syrup. " 'sirius, did you ever...i mean have you ever, would you ever...? a person has to wonder what it's like, don't you? ah, boys, you know. oh sirius let's.' "
"i don't sound anything like that," remus says. "not to mention it wasn’t like-"
" 'sirius, why don't we just -' " sirius leans closer so his lips and tongue graze the whorls of remus's ear in the rhythm of speech; his mouth is desert-breeze hot rustling remus's hair. he continues his imitation: " 'oh, now that was interesting, sirius, an education, even, now if you'll excuse me i have to analyze the content of this atlantis algae for the professor and let's never speak of it again....' " he skims his hand down remus's stomach and draws circles around his navel, teasing remus's shirt further up his body. sirius's stare is intent. "understand, remus, i thought the Grand Experiment was through."
"if you want it -," remus offers, frowning. absentmindedly he curls his hand around sirius's and drags it roughly southward.
"aha," sirius says, "no. no, i hate to interfere with all your plans, for surely you plotted, moony; oh here we all thought you were such a good boy.... " he shakes his head. "the question, i think - what do you want?"
sirius allows their hands to wander, guided by remus with a destination his hand has not relayed to his mind. they reach the waistband of remus's trousers, and when he feels the flitting touch of fingernails against the dark patch of hair, all the wiry corkscrews he finds vaguely distasteful, remus starts violently. (as pathfinders they are not always graceful.)
"like that?" sirius says.
"ah, fuck," remus pants. "anything. anything."
"oh?" sirius says: o-h-h-h, a curious, teasing syllable. remus shoves at him in frustration. then sirius watches as remus loops his thumbs through his trousers and slips them down his hips in one clean pull, exposing his cock, bobbing, red. remus kicks out of his trousers and a sock with the fervor of a swimmer treading foaming waters. sirius snorts before he reaches out to pluck remus's pearly buttons loose, their arms threading in and out of one another, and brushing electrically with the thrill of their respective tasks.
"you shouldn't," he says conversationally, when remus is naked. "you really shouldn't, you know, it isn't you..."
remus answers, sucking his neck hard, permissive, dusky pink smudges across sandy-colored skin. he pulls back with a light smack, the pursed, budlike imprint of his kiss shining on sirius's neck. they smile.
then sirius's tongue and teeth flit across the landmarks of remus's body in slideshow progression: lapping at an earlobe, a square kiss to the hollow of his throat, nipples bitten and tugged sharply by teeth, navel delved, tongue swirling in the tiny crevasse, a promise. he licks six spots in the basin of remus's stomach between the rising slopes of his hipbones, below the navel, above his damp cock. the muscles quiver reflexively with rubber band vibrations and remus giggles helplessly, teeth shining, before he cries out at a kiss to the head of his erection. his leg knocks sirius's shoulder and sirius shoves his knees apart so they fall into a diamond shape. leaning back down he licks tiny ribbons back and forth across remus's cock.
sirius hesitates, then, slows to tiny flitting licks, and pulls back entirely. he rests his head on the junction of remus's thigh and hip, the bone-blade digging into his cheek. he strains his ears as if listening for signs deep within remus's body. then sirius rolls back between remus's legs, rising up on his elbows, his spine curled in crescendo and before him remus arching his back; their bodies a wave in skin, rising and falling.
for one moment sirius is poised over the tip; he swallows, once, (wholly, wonderfully unsatisfactory) and drags his tongue back up remus's cock in one long stripe. released, his prick bobs stiffly and a tiny drop of precome streams out of the tip, straight onto sirius's tongue. remus groans.
"'m'not done," sirius assures, nuzzling against remus's thigh and biting it in afterthought. sirius has plots of his own. he is considering remus: a grey, early-morning boy with unnaturally neat-clean handwriting, who mourns over missing charms notes, and studies at 7 o'clock every night, who sounds distinguished even when he swears, and what he wants, what sirius wants to give him -
he tongues remus's opening, a quick, plunging series of thrusts (he jumped naked into the lake in may; it was the same philosophy) before he pulls out entirely, and waits.
a cold something sweeps over sirius, and when it subdues his sweat is twice as searing, a human spice dripping almost delicately down his body. his heart beats staccato. ripe, pungent thoughts, carnival-bright, swirl through his mind, sweeping so fast his head stings in the brief tinge of a headache, a prong on either side of his temple. remus is shaking, not speaking or moving. he is staring straight ahead at the canopy.
"tell me to stop," sirius says, his own daring and fear a catalyst. "or is this it, this what you think about when you have yourself off, oh, i bet, i'll bet you..." he punctuates this stream with another dip of his tongue, lapping an oval around remus's entrance as remus shakes around him, one hand fidgeting in the sheets beside his thigh. (fingers tapping 1-2-3, 2-3-1, like a clumsy typist.) blindly sirius reaches over to still remus's hand; it turns into something else and remus is gripping sirius's palm hard, his fingers skittering up and down the blue pulse in sirius's wrist. sirius attempts the most complicated maneuver yet: mouth hovering in an O around remus's hole as he slowly guides remus's hand to his own cock, securing his fingers over the flesh, all orchestrated by his clumsy breathing (remus shivers, a little, during sirius’s cold inhales).
"sirius," he moans.
"do it," he says. "fucking do it, if you want this." he glances up.
"christ," remus says, and with sudden understanding he curls his fingers tighter around his cock, lapsing into an oft-practiced pose, familiar but for sirius between his legs (Something in this Picture Does Not Belong). their eyes catch, remus's wide and dark, the same polish of spilled india ink in sirius's letters. his cheeks are dappled pink as he begins to stroke himself. they watch as another tiny drop of come starts its snow-melt course at the head of remus's cock; after a moment remus's thumb smoothes it over the shaft, leaving an opalescent streak.
"you," sirius starts, "you're so -"
remus grabs him by the chin, suddenly, and dips his thumb - with the light, glittering sheen of sweat and come - into sirius's mouth, and groans.
when he bows back between remus's legs his mouth is working furiously in wordess communication, kissing the stretch of skin above the ring, lapping at the hole itself, catching the rim with his tongue, and circling it in clumsy curlicue licks. just above his head remus strokes himself in a quickening pace, losing the rhythm in an erratic yank every time sirius's tongue darts into him. when sirius nudges the stretch of skin with his nose, something on the inside sparks, and remus slips, smacking sirius's forehead with the back of his hand.
"do it," he says, "fuck, just, if you're going to -"
sharp taste hardly registers; it's all heat, something outrageously warm wrapped around sirius's tongue. his thrusts match the rhythm of his heart, the swill of blood rushing through his body, pulsating in his hands, swelling again in his cock as he rubs against the sheets. wet smacks permeate his hearing, all obscenity, as he plunges into remus, again, again. he saturates the dry hole with the frenzy of the act, and remus cries and gasps. he has risen up on one elbow to watch, to see what they're doing to him, and he wails; he grabs a fistful of sirius's hair in his damp red palms, and just wails.
:::
they're back at the start, having switched places; this means sirius's head pillowed on remus's stomach, remus gasping with a milky mess in his hands, and sirius casually saying "you're too nice a boy for this" and refusing to elaborate, so that later they fight in the library, and remus doesn't come to the quidditch match, but it's all the same in the end because sirius slips to his bed in the middle of the night and flings his arm across remus, saying well, you know, all things considered it was quite good, the Experiment, and as it happens sirius kicks in his sleep.
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC17
Warnings: rimming, pretentious lack of capitalization
Total PWP. MWPP era. 1872 words.
a boy is like a scientist, he says, with the curiosity, and the theorems, and the explosions, and the whatnot, and it's through this line of reasoning, in a burst of spontaneity, that they conduct the Grand Experiment, which consists of one's tongue down the other's throat - basically - and when it's over they pat one another on the back -figuratively - and mark the whole thing a successful endeavor, pleased, proud, satisfied they know what it's like, and content to carry on with the rest of their lives like the professionals they are, until remus fucks up and they do it again.
:::
sirius is wandering, somewhere in the region of bewildered, and his trousers are crumpled at the foot of the bed. (ah, he thinks, so that's how it is.) it is fourteen-and-a-half days After (not that anyone's counting).
at his side, remus smiles reflexively, a tiny pink dawn rising easily over his face. then he sits up, brushes his swinging hair out of his eyes and kisses sirius softly, tongue curling against sirius's in a wet arc. a foreign taste spills between their teeth, bitterness swallowed with a shock of recognition. sirius groans as a bead of sweat rolls down his cheek and the lines in his palms glisten.
when he opens his eyes he sees that during their kiss remus watches him under a dusty fan of lashes, lowered so they reveal a curving slice of eye; pupil - by textbook definition - dilated, iris sepia and cunning. sirius steels his fingers. he clutches the back of remus's neck and opens his mouth in a yawn, wide, wide, wide. like the dam opening: their lips pulse in the lash of tongues and against the crenellation of teeth. someone's tongue strays to a palate, then to an iron-tasting burn in the other's mouth, and back to his tongue in broad strokes, as if painting his taste again and again, slippery, spurred on by the steam in their breath.
the pattern of their bodies shifts; he crawls atop remus and with his thigh strokes remus's erection through layers of cotton. a febrile moan cracks deep out of remus's throat. "my," sirius whispers, brushing a nipple through remus's shirt. remus groans, on the hinge of laughter. sirius says, "you are - forgive me - quite serious about this."
"what" - (here remus gasps; sirius has bitten his ear) - "what ever made you think i wasn't?"
"come now. let's think," sirius says. he adopts a voice thick as cherry syrup. " 'sirius, did you ever...i mean have you ever, would you ever...? a person has to wonder what it's like, don't you? ah, boys, you know. oh sirius let's.' "
"i don't sound anything like that," remus says. "not to mention it wasn’t like-"
" 'sirius, why don't we just -' " sirius leans closer so his lips and tongue graze the whorls of remus's ear in the rhythm of speech; his mouth is desert-breeze hot rustling remus's hair. he continues his imitation: " 'oh, now that was interesting, sirius, an education, even, now if you'll excuse me i have to analyze the content of this atlantis algae for the professor and let's never speak of it again....' " he skims his hand down remus's stomach and draws circles around his navel, teasing remus's shirt further up his body. sirius's stare is intent. "understand, remus, i thought the Grand Experiment was through."
"if you want it -," remus offers, frowning. absentmindedly he curls his hand around sirius's and drags it roughly southward.
"aha," sirius says, "no. no, i hate to interfere with all your plans, for surely you plotted, moony; oh here we all thought you were such a good boy.... " he shakes his head. "the question, i think - what do you want?"
sirius allows their hands to wander, guided by remus with a destination his hand has not relayed to his mind. they reach the waistband of remus's trousers, and when he feels the flitting touch of fingernails against the dark patch of hair, all the wiry corkscrews he finds vaguely distasteful, remus starts violently. (as pathfinders they are not always graceful.)
"like that?" sirius says.
"ah, fuck," remus pants. "anything. anything."
"oh?" sirius says: o-h-h-h, a curious, teasing syllable. remus shoves at him in frustration. then sirius watches as remus loops his thumbs through his trousers and slips them down his hips in one clean pull, exposing his cock, bobbing, red. remus kicks out of his trousers and a sock with the fervor of a swimmer treading foaming waters. sirius snorts before he reaches out to pluck remus's pearly buttons loose, their arms threading in and out of one another, and brushing electrically with the thrill of their respective tasks.
"you shouldn't," he says conversationally, when remus is naked. "you really shouldn't, you know, it isn't you..."
remus answers, sucking his neck hard, permissive, dusky pink smudges across sandy-colored skin. he pulls back with a light smack, the pursed, budlike imprint of his kiss shining on sirius's neck. they smile.
then sirius's tongue and teeth flit across the landmarks of remus's body in slideshow progression: lapping at an earlobe, a square kiss to the hollow of his throat, nipples bitten and tugged sharply by teeth, navel delved, tongue swirling in the tiny crevasse, a promise. he licks six spots in the basin of remus's stomach between the rising slopes of his hipbones, below the navel, above his damp cock. the muscles quiver reflexively with rubber band vibrations and remus giggles helplessly, teeth shining, before he cries out at a kiss to the head of his erection. his leg knocks sirius's shoulder and sirius shoves his knees apart so they fall into a diamond shape. leaning back down he licks tiny ribbons back and forth across remus's cock.
sirius hesitates, then, slows to tiny flitting licks, and pulls back entirely. he rests his head on the junction of remus's thigh and hip, the bone-blade digging into his cheek. he strains his ears as if listening for signs deep within remus's body. then sirius rolls back between remus's legs, rising up on his elbows, his spine curled in crescendo and before him remus arching his back; their bodies a wave in skin, rising and falling.
for one moment sirius is poised over the tip; he swallows, once, (wholly, wonderfully unsatisfactory) and drags his tongue back up remus's cock in one long stripe. released, his prick bobs stiffly and a tiny drop of precome streams out of the tip, straight onto sirius's tongue. remus groans.
"'m'not done," sirius assures, nuzzling against remus's thigh and biting it in afterthought. sirius has plots of his own. he is considering remus: a grey, early-morning boy with unnaturally neat-clean handwriting, who mourns over missing charms notes, and studies at 7 o'clock every night, who sounds distinguished even when he swears, and what he wants, what sirius wants to give him -
he tongues remus's opening, a quick, plunging series of thrusts (he jumped naked into the lake in may; it was the same philosophy) before he pulls out entirely, and waits.
a cold something sweeps over sirius, and when it subdues his sweat is twice as searing, a human spice dripping almost delicately down his body. his heart beats staccato. ripe, pungent thoughts, carnival-bright, swirl through his mind, sweeping so fast his head stings in the brief tinge of a headache, a prong on either side of his temple. remus is shaking, not speaking or moving. he is staring straight ahead at the canopy.
"tell me to stop," sirius says, his own daring and fear a catalyst. "or is this it, this what you think about when you have yourself off, oh, i bet, i'll bet you..." he punctuates this stream with another dip of his tongue, lapping an oval around remus's entrance as remus shakes around him, one hand fidgeting in the sheets beside his thigh. (fingers tapping 1-2-3, 2-3-1, like a clumsy typist.) blindly sirius reaches over to still remus's hand; it turns into something else and remus is gripping sirius's palm hard, his fingers skittering up and down the blue pulse in sirius's wrist. sirius attempts the most complicated maneuver yet: mouth hovering in an O around remus's hole as he slowly guides remus's hand to his own cock, securing his fingers over the flesh, all orchestrated by his clumsy breathing (remus shivers, a little, during sirius’s cold inhales).
"sirius," he moans.
"do it," he says. "fucking do it, if you want this." he glances up.
"christ," remus says, and with sudden understanding he curls his fingers tighter around his cock, lapsing into an oft-practiced pose, familiar but for sirius between his legs (Something in this Picture Does Not Belong). their eyes catch, remus's wide and dark, the same polish of spilled india ink in sirius's letters. his cheeks are dappled pink as he begins to stroke himself. they watch as another tiny drop of come starts its snow-melt course at the head of remus's cock; after a moment remus's thumb smoothes it over the shaft, leaving an opalescent streak.
"you," sirius starts, "you're so -"
remus grabs him by the chin, suddenly, and dips his thumb - with the light, glittering sheen of sweat and come - into sirius's mouth, and groans.
when he bows back between remus's legs his mouth is working furiously in wordess communication, kissing the stretch of skin above the ring, lapping at the hole itself, catching the rim with his tongue, and circling it in clumsy curlicue licks. just above his head remus strokes himself in a quickening pace, losing the rhythm in an erratic yank every time sirius's tongue darts into him. when sirius nudges the stretch of skin with his nose, something on the inside sparks, and remus slips, smacking sirius's forehead with the back of his hand.
"do it," he says, "fuck, just, if you're going to -"
sharp taste hardly registers; it's all heat, something outrageously warm wrapped around sirius's tongue. his thrusts match the rhythm of his heart, the swill of blood rushing through his body, pulsating in his hands, swelling again in his cock as he rubs against the sheets. wet smacks permeate his hearing, all obscenity, as he plunges into remus, again, again. he saturates the dry hole with the frenzy of the act, and remus cries and gasps. he has risen up on one elbow to watch, to see what they're doing to him, and he wails; he grabs a fistful of sirius's hair in his damp red palms, and just wails.
:::
they're back at the start, having switched places; this means sirius's head pillowed on remus's stomach, remus gasping with a milky mess in his hands, and sirius casually saying "you're too nice a boy for this" and refusing to elaborate, so that later they fight in the library, and remus doesn't come to the quidditch match, but it's all the same in the end because sirius slips to his bed in the middle of the night and flings his arm across remus, saying well, you know, all things considered it was quite good, the Experiment, and as it happens sirius kicks in his sleep.