Untitled Remus/Sirius fic
Title Untitled #3
Fandom Harry Potter
Pairing Remus/ Sirius
Rating R
Summary ...the two of them give themselves over to each other, since bodies can articulate things their tongues and teeth struggle with and the bed is the best way to make up for lost time in years and hearts and fucks.
Below Sirius's palms and below Sirius's mouth is a mess and a series of pulses and palpitations-- skin slick and saline with sweat as Remus is conquered by sensations. There is something here that inspires a brief vibration of pride if it takes considerable dexterity to break Remus's self-ascendancy and remind him of things like emotions and devotions. Absence aside, Sirius likes to assign himself that role, and he can't imagine Remus imagines it otherwise. It's a vibration of arrogance, but no one views it as such. There is no one to do so, as annexes and connexions are all salient like some private and barely self-sufficient ecosystem.
The sheets are coarse and their fists-- holding tight to their parallel's hair-- are rough. But Remus's flesh is fluid and fair enough to act as copious contrast to keep Sirius entertained and enraptured by him-- the way he always has been, even with the unspoken and overspoken break between time and between the two of them. There is never an appropriate opportunity for regret and this is far from the appropriate opportunity for thoughts of that nature, and so the two of them give themselves over to each other, since bodies can articulate things their tongues and teeth struggle with and the bed is the best way to make up for lost time in years and hearts and fucks.
This is the easiest thing for Remus to allow himself to give in to. It is where he can let go of the control he clings so tightly to in himself-- thoughts and actions. That mind that habitually and cleverly organizes thoughts to tables and charts, highlighted and dog-eared for easy reference, is gone, reduced instead to a clutter of endearments and curses in a perfect balance of nonacceptance and indulgence.
And what is chaos for Remus is, in turn, order for Sirius: patterns and rhythms his body sets into-- joyous at the allowance from his mind his body sets itself into synchronization: hips and heart and breath all moving along in some flawless harmony and regulation, slowing themselves down or speeding themselves up to fit in, to allow Sirius to simultaneously lose himself and find himself in the moment and the contradictions that come with it.
Sirius digs and dips his dexterous tongue into the concave of Remus's collarbone, where he proceeds to prod and moisten and feel, because it is something he is rather skilled at, and Remus responds by bucking and arching-- hips and chest and throat pulling off, away from the bed, because the bed is just too far away from Sirius, and even with Sirius inside him, Remus doesn't feel close enough to him. He won't feel close enough until they have meshed together like liquid or light or some other abstract thing that their bodies are not, but long so strongly to be.
With the humidity that hangs in the air, it is close-- they are nearly liquefied. Sweat and come and saliva, sticky and puddling at they disintegrate, but soon enough they will be forced to pick up their atoms and return to their solid and separate forms to fake smiles and to fight and to die.
Fandom Harry Potter
Pairing Remus/ Sirius
Rating R
Summary ...the two of them give themselves over to each other, since bodies can articulate things their tongues and teeth struggle with and the bed is the best way to make up for lost time in years and hearts and fucks.
Below Sirius's palms and below Sirius's mouth is a mess and a series of pulses and palpitations-- skin slick and saline with sweat as Remus is conquered by sensations. There is something here that inspires a brief vibration of pride if it takes considerable dexterity to break Remus's self-ascendancy and remind him of things like emotions and devotions. Absence aside, Sirius likes to assign himself that role, and he can't imagine Remus imagines it otherwise. It's a vibration of arrogance, but no one views it as such. There is no one to do so, as annexes and connexions are all salient like some private and barely self-sufficient ecosystem.
The sheets are coarse and their fists-- holding tight to their parallel's hair-- are rough. But Remus's flesh is fluid and fair enough to act as copious contrast to keep Sirius entertained and enraptured by him-- the way he always has been, even with the unspoken and overspoken break between time and between the two of them. There is never an appropriate opportunity for regret and this is far from the appropriate opportunity for thoughts of that nature, and so the two of them give themselves over to each other, since bodies can articulate things their tongues and teeth struggle with and the bed is the best way to make up for lost time in years and hearts and fucks.
This is the easiest thing for Remus to allow himself to give in to. It is where he can let go of the control he clings so tightly to in himself-- thoughts and actions. That mind that habitually and cleverly organizes thoughts to tables and charts, highlighted and dog-eared for easy reference, is gone, reduced instead to a clutter of endearments and curses in a perfect balance of nonacceptance and indulgence.
And what is chaos for Remus is, in turn, order for Sirius: patterns and rhythms his body sets into-- joyous at the allowance from his mind his body sets itself into synchronization: hips and heart and breath all moving along in some flawless harmony and regulation, slowing themselves down or speeding themselves up to fit in, to allow Sirius to simultaneously lose himself and find himself in the moment and the contradictions that come with it.
Sirius digs and dips his dexterous tongue into the concave of Remus's collarbone, where he proceeds to prod and moisten and feel, because it is something he is rather skilled at, and Remus responds by bucking and arching-- hips and chest and throat pulling off, away from the bed, because the bed is just too far away from Sirius, and even with Sirius inside him, Remus doesn't feel close enough to him. He won't feel close enough until they have meshed together like liquid or light or some other abstract thing that their bodies are not, but long so strongly to be.
With the humidity that hangs in the air, it is close-- they are nearly liquefied. Sweat and come and saliva, sticky and puddling at they disintegrate, but soon enough they will be forced to pick up their atoms and return to their solid and separate forms to fake smiles and to fight and to die.