#james's arse in quidditch trousers

[lulublack90]

Prompt 25 - Future

@jegulus-microfic February 25, Word count 310

Previous part First part

Technically, he was supposed to be in Potion’s, but as he was already brewing past N.E.W.T level, Slughorn rarely batted an eye that Regulus wasn’t in his classroom. Going to his little Slug Club also helped Regulus get away with doing as he pleased. 

He watched James flying around the quidditch pitch. He’d always known James was a good flyer. He was the bane of the Slytherin team. But watching him on his own without the rest of his team and the opposing team, he could see just how outstanding he really was. A vision of James’s future floated into his mind. Pro Quidditch player. The World Cup. Quidditch coach to their kids.

James swooped around, completely focused on his broom, and Regulus got the most perfect view of James’s arse in his tight quidditch trousers. The next twenty minutes were torture for Regulus. 

He’d been about to grab one of the schools and fly up there and drag James back down, but James finished a lazy lap and dipped his broom handle towards the ground. He alighted in the most elegant landing Regulus had ever seen and started walking towards the changing rooms with his broom over his shoulder, shooting Regulus and walking towards him instead. 

“You shouldn’t be allowed to wear those trousers,” Regulus smirked appreciatively. “Far too distracting.” James apparently appreciated Regulus’s words as he swooped in and kissed Regulus on the lips. It was sweaty, but for some reason, Regulus couldn’t find it in him to care. 

“Wanna help me get out of them?” James asked as he straightened up. It was Regulus’s lucky day. 

“Hmmm, I suppose I could be persuaded.” Unable to help himself, he grabbed James’s arse as he sauntered towards the changing room, a smile spreading across his face when he heard James stumble behind him to catch up. 

Next part

[forestdeath1]

Cruelty

@prongsfoot-microfic

wc≈1000, tw blood

A Slytherin Beater pulls a forbidden move, undercutting James’s broom with a Bludger, while the crowd and referees are busy with a fight at the other end of the pitch. James falls from his broom, and he’ll definitely blame himself later — typical James, always believing he should have held on, no matter what. Even though it was impossible for anyone to stay on in that situation, he’ll probably say, "It doesn't matter that no one else could have stayed on. I should have."

What follows is a blur: shocked gasps, the game stopping, medical attention, the hospital wing. The search for the culprit.

No one saw how Wilkes did it. No one, that is, except Sirius. Sirius always keeps a watchful eye on James during games. But in Quidditch, there’s a golden rule — if the referees didn’t catch it, it might as well not have happened.

After the game, as everyone's dissecting the match, Wilkes casually passes by Sirius, giving him a cheeky wink and a smug grin.

Wilkes thinks he’s got away with it.

—

Sirius heads into the boys' bathroom on the fourth floor and slams the door behind him. His shoes echo on the stone floor, the sound filling the empty room, which carries a faint smell of soap and stale air.

Wilkes, completely unaware, whistles a tacky old Celestina Warbeck tune as he stands in front of the loo.

"Didn't expect me?" Sirius whispers into his ear, pressing his wand against Wilkes's back. It’s a pointless move in a real duel, but good for a bit of a scare.

Wilkes flinches. He looks ahead and sees Black in the mirror, his eyes lighting up with realisation.

"What do you want, Black?" Wilkes responds, casually finishing up and slowly pulling his trousers back up over his pale arse. He doesn't look the least bit scared. "Can’t sleep, haunted by your wounded Gryffindor sense of justice?"

"Of justice? You think too highly of me," Sirius replies, his fingers deftly searching through the pockets of Wilkes's robe for his wand.

Wilkes, caught off guard, reacts swiftly, snatching the wand back. A flurry of bright magic flashes shoot between them, until the tussle ends with the wand in Sirius’s hands. With a mocking gesture, Wilkes raises his hands as if to surrender, then leans casually against the sink, crossing his legs and grinning broadly. Sirius quickly takes a look at the wand.

"Oak, eight inches," Sirius comments matter-of-factly. "So short.” He twirls the wand carelessly in his hand and tosses it into the loo. The splash is followed by tiny droplets scattering around.

Wilkes laughs loudly, his eyes gleaming with wild joy and mockery. What a sick bastard, thinks Sirius. The Slytherin pushes off from the sink and steps towards Sirius.

"Alright," Wilkes says, coming up close and deliberately pressing his chest against the wand aimed at him. He has never been one to back down. "What do you want?"

Sirius smiles slightly.

"Since you’re so curious," he replies coolly, "I’ll take a bit of roast beef, some time with Katie, and...," his voice drops just a touch, "the pleasure of hearing you moan in pain."

Just like James moaned, dealing with serious injuries from the fall you caused.

Wilkes chuckles, unflustered, "While I can’t help with all your desires, with the second one... Actually, I’m not Katie, but I certainly can fuck you." He suggestively grabs his balls through the robe, his grin widening, "And you'll see that the length of the wand doesn’t really match up with this."

The smile slids off Sirius's face, his hand instantly reaching for Wilkes's hair, his fingers tightly gripping the black strands. Sirius yanks Wilkes's head down sharply and knees him in the nose. The sound of the impact is dull; a bloody print remains on Sirius's trousers.

Wilkes gasps, pressing his hand against his bleeding nose. Blood seeps through his fingers; he glances at it, then locks eyes with Sirius. With a raspy growl, "You fucking bastard," Wilkes lunges at Sirius. Wilkes is bigger, bulkier; there’s no point testing fate. Sirius's strong suit has always been his quick reactions, and the only person with faster reflexes is Bella.

Sirius flicks his wand, and the Incarcerous spell immobilises the boy. Wilkes falls to the floor, face down, thudding against the cold floor, his coarse groan echoing in the empty space.

Sirius kneels beside him, grabs Wilkes by the hair, and harshly lifts his face off the floor, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"I’d better not ever catch you even glancing his way again," Sirius says, his voice low. He always speaks quietly in tense moments, probably something he picked up from his father ��everyone knew the quieter Orion spoke, the graver the situation.

Wilkes clearly understands whom he's talking about.

"Or what?"

"Curious? Try to dig deeper, but don’t whine when the grave turns out to be yours."

Wilkes spits out, then lets out a hoarse laugh, blood and saliva dripping from his chin.

"You’ve got no backup anymore, mate. You’re on your own now. Attacking me and throwing threats, are you thick?" He throws out roughly, "Or just insane?"

"I think," Sirius, tightening his grip on Wilkes's hair, making him wince in pain, his face so close that Wilkes can surely feel his breath, "you know the answer."

Sirius lets go, and Wilkes’s head crashes down onto the stone floor. The echo of the impact briefly fills the empty bathroom.

Sirius moves towards the door, his hand reaching for the cold metal handle, when he hears a raspy voice behind him:

"It's him, isn't it?"

His hand freezes on the handle, but Sirius doesn’t turn around.

"You left your family because of him, right?" Wilkes repeats, somehow managing to keep a defiant tone.

Sirius stays silent, his grip on the handle tightening.

"You left your family because of him." Regulus says in a contemptuous, icy voice, cutting through the silence as they speak for the first time since Sirius ran away from home.

The handle turns fully, and in a moment, Wilkes is left lying alone on the stone floor.

[prongedwords]

"I thought you were paying for the pose by having to be in that pose at all, Wormtail," James laughed, the sound lighter and easier now that it was clear there wasn't any lasting damage to his friend. He worried, of course, though he tried to mask it under jokes and the iron-clad belief that his friends could look after themselves. "Oh Merlin, you've jinxed us," James groaned. "Anytime anyone mentions rain in relation to Quidditch, it always fucking rains! Every bloody time, mate, and I know we live in Scotland but it happens every time, and you've gone and cursed me to a wet arse running Amos' bloody drills." James sighed, lowering his hands from where he'd found them over his head.

"My pretty face is working as brilliantly as ever, and you know it," James said with a tone full of a fake threat that was betrayed by the grin across his face. "Leave my dry spell out of this, I know full well my face remains perfect." He checked it often enough in the reflections of armor and the lavatory's mirrors to be confident in saying that.

Frowning at the pride comment, James swallowed that natural block he had to discussing feelings and shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "Look, mate, your pride's the only thing I've not been able to beat into submission into matching how brilliant you are as a person, so tell it to fuck off, eh? You're fine, the camera's going to be fine with just a reparo, and I don't tell my secrets to any old bloke. Nope, only Peter Pettigrew will do. First secret? My mates are the best in the world, and that includes you, Wormy."

@offtotheratraces

Peter groaned, a slight laugh escaping in the process. Using his two hands to push himself back up into a sitting position. "Seems like i'm paying for the pose now, mate." Getting himself back to his feet in one final push. "I might be able to make it through one of those drills after that." He teased, "especially if it's raining, the rain does make those drills really fucking miserable" A grin

"I'm alright - my pretty face is still in tact. Can't say the same about yours, Prongs." A joke, of course. "My pride is a bit bruised, but I can't remember a time when it wasn't."

[greyeyedmonster-18]

a letter to you

“I’ve been thinking. You’re not exactly an easy person to shop for.” Remus offered, looking up from Sirius’ hand to meet his eyes, “Mostly because you...can buy yourself anything you’d like. And do for the most part for the sole purpose of no one else having to spend money on you. So...I’m asking what you want. Anything at all?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Baby,” Remus stressed and Sirius smiled at him, making his heart do somersaults instantly.

(a wolfstar christmas drabble that is fluffy and stupidly romantic)

about 3k words.

--

"I'm sorry, what the bleeding hell am I supposed to get the richest prat in the wizarding world for Christmas?"

"Wow. Richest prat. You must really love him," Lily said dryly and Remus just blinked in her direction.

"You are unhelpful. At best." Remus put his head down on the table, "I've been brain storming for weeks because Merlin knows he's going to do something terribly romantic and thoughtful and--"

"Sounds awful."

"--he'll probably break up with me and go find someone else who can come up with a single gift idea--"

"Probably have a bigger dick too. Should I have Carole King on stand-by when this happens or...?"

Remus picked his head back up to glare at Lily, "And just when I thought you couldn't get anymore unhelpful...you exceed my expectations."

"I am top of the class," Lily shrugged.

"LILY."

“Okay, okay, okay, touchy,” the red head said putting her hand underneath her chin, “Have you asked him what he wants?”

“Hm no. I simply didn’t think to ask my boyfriend what he wanted for Christmas and I’ve been banging my head against the wall for weeks just for fun. Whatever would I do without you,” Remus responded sarcastically and Lilys mouth twisted into a cheeky smirk.

“This is fun for me. I’m enjoying this.”

“He said he doesn’t need anything.”

“Well, then it sounds to me like you have a pass.”

Remus stared at her blankly  and slowly shook his head, “Unbelievable. What’re you getting James then?”

“I had Mary take photos of me in his Quidditch jersey,” she said easily, “Don’t need to spend money when you’ve got an arse that doesn’t quit.” She slapped her hand down on the table, looking at him with fake enthusiams, “Hey! You could do that. You have a cute butt somewhere. I think.”

Remus’ eyes narrowed, and Lily continued smirking, enjoying this way more than she had any right to, “This has been the least productive conversation we’ve ever had. And yes, I am including the time we were supposed to study for Runes together and ended up playing MASH for two hours--” Lily finally broke, laughing quietly to not signal Madame Pince in the library, “This beats that.”

“Sirius is one of the easiest people to please, Remus. You know this more than I do. Just...ask him again what he want’s and if he tells you nothing then...I think he means it and that he’d be happy with...you holding his hand while he gets another tattoo. Or a box of his favorite tea.” She said, “I once brought him a stupid book on muggle-astrology after Easter hols because I thought he would like it and he was over the moon. Pun intended.”

Remus snorted, “You’re right.”

“I know I am.” she said, “And I stand by your hidden butt pictures would--”

“Jump off a bridge, please.”

-- 

Later that night, Remus was outside the castle with Sirius, the two of the sharing cigarettes and body heat on the ledge they had claimed theirs since fifth year. Sirius sat with his hand on the inside of Remus’ thigh, thumb along the inseam of his trousers, a place so intimate had become so casual. As always, Remus found himself transfixed by the vastness of Sirius’ hands. How something so big could be so delicate at the same time. Nails that were never bit out of nerves, cuticles that were always neat; never an ink stain or a chocolate stain, not even yellowing from nicotine. Only a wide palm with long fingers and gold jewelry. 

“I know I already asked you this,” Remus started, his own fingers playing with the gold ring on Sirius’ index finger, “But...is there anything you want for Christmas?”

“We’re about two weeks away from the holiday and you’re just now thinking about what to get me?” Sirius asked, but his tone was light and teasing.

“I’ve been thinking. You’re not exactly an easy person to shop for.” Remus offered, looking up from Sirius’ hand to meet his eyes, “Mostly because you...can buy yourself anything you’d like. And do for the most part for the sole purpose of no one else having to spend money on you. So...I’m asking what you want. Anything at all?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Baby,” Remus stressed and Sirius smiled at him, making his heart do somersaults instantly.

“Except that...I want that,” Sirius said, “Figure out how to bottle up you calling me baby and I’d take that in a heart beat.”

“That’s advanced magic and a tall order.”

“Then I’ll take you saying it over and over,” he said back without missing a beat, “I have everything I could possibly want. I’m telling you, you don’t need to get me anything.”

“I can’t do that though.” Remus told him, “What kind of boyfriend doesn’t get their boyfriend a Christmas present?”

“A very good one.” Sirius said, taking a drag from his cigarette, smiling around it and blowing smoke into the air before handing it to Remus, “Love, you...could...get me a piece of lint from your pocket as a present. Put it in a box, tie it up with a bow, and I would be amazed and love every bit of it because it meant someone as brilliant and lovely as you even thought of me. I would have that lint bronzed or plated and put it on a shelf so I could look at it every day and think to myself son of a bitch, you must be doing something right because you’re still here and gifting me lint and at the end of the day, I get to call you mine and that’s....all I’ve wanted.” 

Remus had to close his eyes, the combination of Sirius’ words and handsome face a bit too much. Thankful they were only surrounded by starlight and faded castle lights; hoping Sirius couldn’t tell he was blushing profusely (even though he also knew Sirius definitely could). It was all he could do to put his hand on the side of Sirius’ jaw, leaning forward to kiss him. Tobacco, peppermint and love had become his favorite combination. 

“Did you prepare that speech or...?” Remus asked after the kiss, Sirius laughing close to his face, immediately pulling Remus in for another one. He loved it when he could feel Sirius’ laugh against his mouth. “So...I can get you lint?”

“Yeah.”

“Should it be...fancy lint? Like from a nice pair of cashmere socks?” 

“Don’t kiss me with that dirty mouth. You don’t wash--” but Sirius stopped, noticing Remus’ smirk, catching Sirius terribly concerned about high-end fabric maintenance, “You’re a shit.”

“No more than you.” Remus told him gently, taking a drag from the cigarette slowly, intertwining his hand with Sirius’ that was still on his thigh. “I...can’t actually get you lint.”

“I...I dunno, Remus. I love you. That’s it. You know?”

Remus snubbed out the cigarette on the ledge, dropping it there so he could have a free hand to palm the back of Sirius’ head, pulling him into his lips once more. He knew. 

--

It was the night before they were set to take the Hogwarts Express back to London for the holidays. Fresh snow on the ground, and exams finished had everyone gathered in the common room as Remus returned from uneventful prefect rounds, with a mission in mind. Sirius was sitting with Marlene and Dorcas when Remus walked in and his boyfriend immediately lit up, not unlike his Animagus form. Sometimes Remus swore he could see a tail wagging at his arrival even when Sirius was just Sirius. Remus walked over to where Sirius was sitting, Sirius tilting his head back along the couch for an expectant kiss, just as they had been doing forever. A greeting that Remus always gave. 

Remus looked down at him, his hand resting on Sirius’ shoulder, “Dorm?” he asked quietly and Sirius smiled, the dimple on the right side of his face appearing as Sirius clambered off the couch, jumping over the back, and wrapping his arms around Remus’ waist. Usually dorm meant something else, which was exactly why Remus had said it in the first place. Surprising Sirius (something that was deceptively difficult to do) was one of his favorite activities, and Remus laughed, letting Sirius usher him up the stairs unceremoniously, letting Sirius kiss the back of his neck, and take his robes off his shoulders. Letting Sirius push him against the door of their empty dormitory and kissing him soundly before Remus, put a hand on his chest. 

“I have presents for you.”

“Interesting way to describe your cock but--”

Remus couldn’t help but grin, “No, actual presents. I wrapped them and everything,” He told Sirius, using temporary moment of surprise to push Sirius gently towards Remus’ bed-- the one they usually slept in, the one that Sirius made every single morning. Sirius looked put out at the prospect of not receiving the gift he expected, but sat on Remus’ bed nonetheless, watching intently as Remus went to the trunk at the foot of his bed, pulling out a wrapped present that was buried under sweaters and an array of messy papers he knew Sirius wouldn’t touch. Remus moved to sit on his bed across from his boyfriend, magically closing the curtains of his fourposter and casting a silencing charm. Nothing was going to interrupt this. 

“I told you you didn’t need to get me anything.”

“It’s nothing.” Remus said, even though it felt like the exact opposite.

“And it’s early. It’s not Christmas yet.”

“Says the person who has been celebrating the every day for the past week.” Remus responded, giving Sirius a pointed look. They weren’t celebrating Christmas together, with Remus being in Wales and Sirius staying with the Potters, and Sirius had taken it upon himself to give Remus gifts for the past seven days. 

“That’s....different.”

“Mhmm,” Remus rolled his eyes at his stubborn, beautiful boy, handing him the wrapped present, “This one first.”

Remus watched with anticipation as Sirius delicately opened the square package, sliding his fingers under folds to tear the tape, the wrapping paper coming off like it hadn’t been used at all, and Sirius unveiled a simple black frame. 

Sirius smiled, looking up at Remus, “This is great,” he said, holding the frame as if it was a delicate sculpture and not a cheap thing Remus picked up on a Hogsmeade trip when Sirius wasn’t looking, “I needed one of these, I’ve been wanting to frame that picture of the four of us? The one where Prong’s looks like a banshee and you look like a piece of art?”

Remus snorted, Lily’s words echoing in his mind: Sirius is so easy to please. “Prongs will murder you if you do that.” Remus responded and took a breath, handing Sirius the folded piece of paper he was holding as well, “But...I thought it could also be for this.” 

“Is it your Charms notes with the coffee stain that looks like a whale?” Sirius asked, taking the letter, smiling as he opened it with the same care as he did the wrapping paper. This massive boy with big hands and big knee caps and big shoulder, having the softest and gentlest touch Remus had ever experienced.

“Just read it, baby.”

The letter was unfolded in Sirius’ hands now, and he looked down to begin reading what was written in Remus’ not-quite-so elegant handwriting, black curls falling over his shoulders. Remus waited as he read with baited breath, something like this way out of his comfort zone. 

This was Sirius territory. This was something his boyfriend was good at. The romance with the flowers, and the I love you like an ocean keeps coming back to the shore said over coffee and firewhiskey; the nice dinners and the jacket that always went around Remus’ shoulders when he got the slightest chill. Sirius Black put Jane Austen to shame, really. And Remus often found himself scrambling to return the efforts, much better at just telling Sirius everything under the sun and then shagging him into oblivion. The showing was a different story. This was both. 

Sirius looked up finally, the slightest bit of pink permeating olive skin, and he watched Sirius’ Adams apple slide down his throat in effort to control his emotions that had just gotten all too big, “This,” Sirius said quietly, his voice thick with tears that were just there and Sirius refused to let surface, “Isn’t nothing.”

Remus leaned forward to put his hand on the back of Sirius’ neck, and kissing him softly. “One more thing.”

“Kiss me, again?” 

And Remus did. Before taking the last envelope in his hands and opening it, pulling out a piece of frayed yarn. 

“It’s not lint,” Remus started, catching Sirius’ eyes in his, “It’s...a string from that sweater you like the best? The one you won’t wear because you says it’s your favorite on me and you don’t want to ruin it...even though it already has like eight holes,” Remus grabbed Sirius’ left hand, bringing it towards him, “But...I’m hoping you look at it everyday, and have a framed letter every day to know how...stupidly I love you and will be yours until this falls off.” 

“You’ve had that sweater for years...”

“That’s the plan.” Remus responded and Sirius appeared unable to say a single word, watching as Remus wrapped the thread around his wrist, “Now, close your eyes and make a wish.”

“What?”

“It’s a muggle thing. When it falls off, the wish is supposed to come true.”

“Well, that’s stupid. You have to wish for the long-term,” Sirius said, recovering from the hit of unbearably love quickly, “You just said it’ll take years to fall off and I’m supposed to make wishes on this for when I’m 50? Seems like a waste of a wish. Birthday cakes are much more satisfying. Shooting stars even.” 

“I’m trying to be sentimental and romantic here. Just humor me,” Remus told him and Sirius smiled the way he did when he knew he was being impossible. He closed his eyes slowly, Remus taking a moment to admire the dark eyelashes on Sirius’ skin. He knotted the string quickly, making sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose or it would drive Sirius crazy and this gesture would be nulled. Remus kissed him again when he finished tying the knot, Sirius opening his eyes slowly. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“What’d you wish for?”

Sirius mouth turned up in a half smile, finger running along the thread on his wrist before finding Remus’ hand, “Same thing as you.” 

.....I used to write lists to Santa Claus as a kid. Lists of the things I wanted, but what I actually wanted I never had the courage to write down. Because I never thought I would get it or deserve it. Especially after I was bitten and the idea of having someone just got so much more complicated. 

And my Mum is...delusional and still makes me write letters to Santa. Sends them off in the post and everything, as a way of sending off my wants and wishes into the universe. 

But...I’m not writing a letter to Santa this year, because they’ve never once delivered. And I’ll send this letter to you instead. 

Because you’ve made all my dreams come true, Sirius Black. 

My wishes and my hopes and everything else...

My sweetest love. 

My darling, my starlight. 

I don’t usually agree with you, and it annoys me when you’re right, but on this one thing? I think its okay.

At the end of every day I can call you mine and that’s all I need.

Forever. 

[spiltscribbles]

Ahh I've always wanted to send a prompt. How about “Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” with some sleep intimacy. Can I just say I love you and your writing.

~Notes: 😭😭 OH KY GOD SUGAR!!! You are so beyond adorable! I love you to pieces! And I do not deserve such kindness💜😘😘 So I at first read this as sleek Becs i am an idiot... so honestly this is 4700 words of pure smut😳😌😌 but uts early morning so it’s stilly sleepy intimacy kvdjhj Thank you for the prompt! But if smut isn’t your jam plz lmk and I’ll write you something else😣😣😘💜

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Send Me A Prompt  |   A Reblog Is Like A Huge  

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If asked to choose his favorite feature of Remus’s, Sirius reckons he’d have a difficult time with it, like to a ridiculous degree. It could easily be the dimple that shows up right on the apple of his cheek when he sports that glowing, reluctantly amused smile that only appears after Sirius or James have hexed a Slytherin prat right in front of him, and not even his Prefect sensibilities prove strong enough to scold them for it. Or maybe it’s the splatter of freckles that dance on the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose right after summer hols, and he looks gloriously golden and it’s all Sirius can do not to kiss each one right in front of all the wizards congregated in nine and three quarters. Or maybe it’s simply the way he gnaws on his bottom lip whenever he’s thinking particularly hard on a subject— a habit usually reserved for potions lessons and when it’s a late night in the library and they’re both tucked away in a dark nook and Sirius has pushed Remus up against a bookshelf while stroking him in his trousers with intense precision. One corner of his mouth curled in challenge, dipping down to lick at that hollow on Remus’s long neck, tacitly reminding him that he best keep quiet lest Madam Pince has their heads on a couple of stakes she surely keeps beneath her desk for opportunities just like this.

Alright, if Sirius is being at all honest, it’s a frequently alternating list of all of Remus’s most splendid attributes, but at the moment, Sirius thinks there’s no question that in fact it’s Remus’s eyes that can ruin him with just a glance. His eyes that are a deep, vibrant green with flecks of amber that dance in their depths. Eyes that look like September, like the very start of their school term. Eyes that make Sirius think of the forest where Padfoot and Moony roam. Eyes that make Sirius think of fire lit common rooms and the taste of butterscotch on Remus’s lips, and such an overwhelming sensation of adoration that it could very well suffocate him if Sirius isn’t careful. It’s such a contrary color from the crisp and cool shades of emerald that accent the regality of 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus’s eyes are something warm and wonderful and where Sirius would gladly choose to get lost inside of for the next eon to come— Most especially if it’s a moment like this, with one of his hands knotted in Remus’s hair while the other one is busy thumbing small circles into his bare stomach. Where Remus is enthusiastically kissing Sirius back— fervent and famished and so fucking gorgeous— His arms loosely tangled around Sirius’s neck from where he’s lying beneath him, long legs bracketed on either side of Sirius’s narrow waist, and yeah, Sirius has always had three inches and two stone on Remus, but he often forgets that Remus’s lithe stature isn’t just for show— he’s got discrete strength beyond a normal wizard, and he chooses to fall under Sirius. Chooses Sirius who’s all hard edges and marble planes. He chooses Sirius simply on the merit that he’s him, and they’ve always been at least somewhat drawn to one another, even before either one of them really knew what it meant.

Sirius inwardly preens, presses more forcefully down against Remus and revels in the slight whimper Remus lets out just then, hands grappling Sirius’s broad shoulders just that bit tighter, keeping him close just that bit more desperately.

It’s remarkable.

The dormitory’s blessedly quiet this Saturday morning— James is off being a ponce on the quidditch field in preparations for their match against Slytherin in a couple weeks— the final one before they graduate and leave Hogwarts’ hallowed halls for the final time— And Peter had kindly buggered off after some not particularly well veiled threats waged by Sirius so he could get some alone time with his sodding boyfriend for Merlin’s sake. They have all morning to stay like this. Sirius can spend hours on end watching as the early light unspools in Remus’s hair— lacing into his curls and turning them a lovely tawny color— and he gets to revel in how Remus’s breath quickens every time Sirius bucks down and rubs their barely clad, already hard cocks against one another. And Sirius can whisper sweet nothings into Remus’s still sleep supple skin— sometimes filthy, and occasionally wicked, and always exultant— letting himself drown into the sounds that Remus moans out in turn, poetry if anyone were to ask him. And they don’t have to worry about nosey roommates or trying to keep quiet or staying inconspicuous from prying eyes that threaten to snatch this snapshot of bliss away from him.

If Sirius could stay in the slice of eternity for the rest of their days and beyond, he’d choose it every single time. And maybe that could be their future, their life after Hogwarts— far away from this looming war beginning to ravage their world as they know it, and divorced from the whispers of the Order that Dumbledore has created to fight against those barmy, blood crazed lunatics.

A future that’s normal and safe and glittering like the silvery film around their patronuses.

Remus would probably get a Muggle job, maybe in a University of some sort. Sirius always thought he’d make such a brilliant professor, make all the school kids mad with how he’s so brilliant and beautiful and compassionate. Sirius and James already know that they’ll both end up in the Ministry as Aurors, because of course that’s the job for a couple of dashing young lads such as themselves. He supposes by then Evans will have been convinced to stop the on again, off again nature of her relationship with dear Prongsie, but he knows that even if not she and Remus are as thick s thieves, she’ll never just let him get away from her friendship after graduation. So maybe she’ll come visit in their flat after her internship at St Mungo’s, and of course Pete is always terrified that if he doesn’t spend every waking minute with at least one of them that he’ll be forgotten, so he’d be there too. The five of them, bombastic and bright and babbling on a lazy weeknight with glasses of fire-whiskey and plates of take out and Remus perched securely into Sirius’s embrace, and everything being just as it should be. Something golden, something wonderful, something splendid.

But as he begins to nip at that point against Remus’s sharp collarbone that’s become his favorite through the duration of their nearly year and a half of dating, he wonders not for the first time if Remus has the same prospects— if he wants to spend countless mornings just like this and endless nights in a similar way, if he wants to pick up Sirius’s discarded socks and eat the dinners Sirius makes for them, if he wants to tumble so thoroughly with Sirius that they don’t even know where one begins and the other ends anymore. Sirius wonders if he wants any of that, or if Remus is planning to go back to Wales with his parents instead of taking up Sirius’s casually thrown around offers for him to stay in the London flat that Alphard had left Sirius along with the gold and the watch and all the expectations of doing better than the Black name has always meant.

And the possibility of that— the possibility of Remus not dreaming of the same forever as him— cuts Sirius to the quick, and he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead sits up on his forearms, so that he’s peering down at Remus now, and he cups the length of him over the cotton, squeezing to hear the melody of Remus’s gasp and grounds himself into the moment once more.

“You’re in a mood this morning,” Remus intones, more than a bit breathily while Sirius moves his hand to push beneath Remus’s pants from behind, cupping one of his cheeks for a good and proper squeeze.

“Mmm, careful, or else I’d think you don’t like this method of being woken up,” Sirius counters, feels himself preen at how Remus’s face dusts scarlet, though it doesn’t last long when Remus retaliates by tugging at his hair, beyond mulish looking at Sirius’s glee.

“You know, I do have to do some more research on that final paper for charms that Flitwick gave us,” he muses— the unrepentant tease.

“Are you sure of that,” Sirius asks, dipping back down to worry the skin of Remus’s earlobe between his teeth, while the pads of his fingers make a pedal soft trail to the cress of his arse, lighter than breath while he circles the small, tight entrance of him— just grazing around the hole with languid intent, occasionally dragging over the opening with a dry finger, never delving any deeper than that. And it gets it’s intended effect— namely, the balls of Remus’s heels pressing up against Sirius’s back, and him gasping out these guttural, maddening mewls as he tries to buck down, tries to finally get some penetration.

“Merlin, are you going to just tease me till those wankers get back, or will you finally fucking do something, Black.”

“I think I like keeping you on the edge, sweetheart.” Sirius retorts, punctuating the point with a small wiggle of the top of his pointer finger, the one now comfortably nestled inside of him.

“Absolute prat,” Remus fumes, though when he begins to try moving once more, Sirius stunts the action by lying his forearm against hiss lightly muscled stomach, pressing most of his weight there while he gives one final, goading push with his finger and drags his hand to instead rub against the expanse of Remus’s pale, thin thigh, wants to lap at the skin there but also doesn’t want Remus to win this little battle he’s waged— not yet at least.

“Well Maybe if you ask nicely?”

The twist of Remus’s features tells Sirius that he’s absolutely fuming, but also he won’t leave because he’s gagging for it just as much as him. “You’re the dog, if you don’t recall. Maybe I should make you beg to hump even my leg.”

“No need for such a wicked tongue, Moons,” Sirius sneers, hitches Remus’s legs higher on his waistline so that the head of his cock can graze at the concealed hole. “Just a please would suffice.”

Remus scoffs. “You’re mad.”

“I’m also very patient,” Sirius leers, begins thrusting only slightly, nudging at him and delighting in the flicker of emotions that flashes over Remus’s face— going from indignant to wanting to abashed and landing on a cool sort of resolve.

“Oi, if you’re all talk, I’m sure I can poke around in the library, see if Leon is still—“ The rest of Remus’s sentence is swallowed up by the frenzy of movement that clashes inharmoniously from one moment to the next. And suddenly Remus is lying flat on his front, with one of Sirius’s legs pressed unswervingly between his legs, an accioed bottle of lube in one of his hands while the other nearly tears Remus’s pants trying to drag them off.

“You’re such a little arse, Lupin.” He hisses, tossing the garnet to the side along with his own before he begins palming his prick with the Muggle lotion type substance Remus had brought along from after easter hols, when they had visited that brilliant little shop in Soho— and Sirius isn’t sure if he should be proud or simply smug at how it’s already emptied by half.

“You like how little my arse is, Black,” Remus retorts from where his head is now squeezed partially onto his pillow, punctuating the point with a small shake of his bum.

“Right, so that means I’d rather not think of the other plonkers who’ve seen it before I got my hands all over you,” Sirius snaps, not actually irritated— even if he hates the sight of Leon sodding Bennett more than anything else.

“It was just a joke,” Remus tells him, soft and sincere and away from that playful tone he was using from before.

“Yeah, you better have been,” Sirius says, but then dips down to kiss between Remus’s shoulder blades— to the left of where he’s got a hand spread across his back— just to assure him that he’s not actually upset.

“You’re brilliant you know. The best in every way, I hope you understand that,” Remus tells him, a bit quieter and a bit more reserved, in a voice that wavers only slightly with the nerves of the admission. “I’ve only ever been in love with you— And I know that it’s probably not the same, I know that you’ve had others and we’re only eighteen and—“

Sirius cuts him off with one single, quick smack against the width of his arse— an arse he can probably write a thousand sonnets and a million more odes about— and he returns to kneading at the muscle there. “Don’t be an idiot, Remus. You know I love you like mad, more than anything— you’re everything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good— Erm, I mean—“ Sirius can only see half of Remus’s face from this angle, and most of it is obscured by his curly fringe, but he can detect the pinkish flush feathering over his sharp cheekbone and the way he’s begun to gnaw on the end of his mouth, eyes half lit and hooded. And God, sometimes Sirius thinks that it’s the blind leading the blind with them as they dance along this precipice of the most precious thing either of them has ever held in their quivering grasps.

“Right convenient if you ask me,” Sirius says instead of something from the stream of soppy poetry he’s thinking about— the love sick lyrics dedicated to Remus and Remus alone. He doesn’t want to potentially fracture this single understanding that they’ve finally revealed to one another. Rather, Sirius scrapes another chunk of the slick, Muggle substance into his hand and cloaks himself completely before taking a bit of it against Remus’s arsehole, his insides melting like molasses once he feels the warmth of Remus cloaking him, the way Remus’s entrance is practically fluttering, practically trying to swallow Sirius whole.

“Oh, yeah— Just a bit more.”

“Shh, let me take care of you, Moony,” Sirius reproves with absolutely no heat, instead sounding more than a little horse as he adds another digit and watches as Remus expands beneath his touch, watches his long fingers being devoured by him— the bronze tan Sirius always sports during the warmer months melding into the pale patches of Remus that rarely sees sunlight— watches their jagged edges piecing together like a sacred tomb, and Sirius knows right then and there that he’d want to be lost in every facet of Remus for every eon to come, even when they’re nothing but cinders and ashes and wisps of starlight. He’d want this, he’d crave this. He’d always need this, need Remus in any way he’d take him.

“Oh— Sirius, please, right there.” Remus suddenly squawks, jolting forwards and grappling for either end of his fourposter’s wooden bars. “Pl— Please.”

Always beyond eager to watch his lover come undone, Sirius adds one final finger before crooking them inside of Remus, skimming the little nest of nerves found there, and repeating the action twice more before he hears Remus’s choked off demand, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Will you just give me what I want!”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Sirius absolutely beams, gingerly pulling out from his gaping and empty entrance so to lather himself one final time, kisses the freckle behind Remus’s left ear as he snakes a hand beneath his stomach to raise him up slightly. “Can you stay like this, baby.”

His arms still slightly shaking from when Sirius had been teasing his prostate, Remus nods resolutely, shuffling around so that he’s resting his chin on his forearms, and his back is arched so beautifully with his pert arse stretched back in an inviting fashion. “You just worry about making this last hour worth my time.”

Sirius sniffs, pats Remus’s behind with a tad bit more intensity than strictly needed. “You and that lip is gonna get the best of you one of these days, Moony.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when you actually begin proving as much,” Remus barbs, and God Sirius loves him so fucking much— feels his chest absolutely contract with the ferocity of it.

“Right, well, you just sit there, looking pretty. All right?” Sirius intones, cards a hand through Remus’s hair and tugs just slightly before letting go completely to adjust his position from behind him— both hands on either end of Remus’s waistline and his dick poking at his hole— and God the throbbing is becoming painful with how badly Sirius just wants to plunge inside, to fuck and pound and thrust into Remus until he hears his boyfriend— his partner— absolutely sing with pleasure. “You are beautiful, Remus, you know that, right? Know that I think you’re the most bloody gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, that the scars just show how otherworldly you are?” Sirius emphasizes that final point by thumbing across the one skirting across the the side of his neck, stretching from the bottom of his ear and ending at the point of his collarbone. It’s the most prominent one, the only scar besides a scratch on his pinky that can’t be covered up by a trusty jumper or pair of corduroys. The one Remus is most sensitive about, and the one he probably hates nearly as much as the bite marring his inner thigh.

“Sirius, please. Just not now,” Remus implores, sounding like a blown out candle all of a sudden, and Sirius can’t have that. Doesn’t want him to feel anything close to shitty while they’re doing this, while he has him this way. So with an obedience he only has if Remus asks him for as much in his more cautious of cadences, Sirius clenches his jaw, and keeps the adoring words stuck to his teeth, and he distracts himself by finally moving forwards, and it’s like a blink of the eye wen suddenly everything around him goes hazy, feeling like a disillusionment charm has been cast with how everything feels intangible, floaty, feels unsubstantial in comparison to the hot, tight pressure of Remus wrapped around him, made all the more etherial by the sounds of Remus’s melodic moans and gorgeous gasps and the way he moves in tandem with Sirius, how he cants back to meet the electrical current of Sirius fucking into him.

And he isn’t sure who says what in the gargle of words being spilt between them, is pretty sure he’s saying something about how beautiful Remus always is for him and then Remus replying with something about Sirius giving more to him, giving him something harder, deeper, quicker, and then, somehow, Sirius has got both of remus’s wrists in his hand and he’s pressing them against the small of Remus’s back, and he’s slowing down, suddenly wants this to last so much longer, wants to keep Remus this pliant and open and uninhibited for him for just that bit more.

“Merlin, I love you,” he says, focussing on the sweat collecting into the divot of Remus’s pinched shoulder blades and leans down to lick over the spot. “So fucking much.”

“Me too, Sirius! Sirius, I love you too! Please don’t stop, please.” Remus begs, canting back and twitching his fingers, obviously needing some sort of friction, though Sirius doesn’t think he’ll give it to him quite yet.

“What if I do though?” He asks, affecting an innocent tone while he slowly pulls out of Remus, pushing inside with shallow thrusts now, giving him hardly more than his tip. “What if I keep you like this, wait to see how long it takes you to come off of this alone, untouched. Just by my cock teasing you like this?” Remus makes another, strangled sort of noise deep in his throat, and he shutters in a way that convinces Sirius he’s not completely opposed to the offer. “You’d like that, yeah? You’d like me holding you down like this and watching you absolutely go feral? Go unraveled beneath me? Hell, I bet you wouldn’t even mind if I kept you like this for the rest of the morning. If I fucked you stupid and didn’t let you come even then. Just plug you up with that naughty toy we got from that Muggle shop when you visited me over Easter in London. Trap my spunk inside and just keep you nice and open until I decide to give it to you once again— drag you to a bathroom stall or an empty cupboard and fuck you senseless. Bloody hell, Remus, you probably wouldn’t even last a minute, hmm?”

Remus stays quiet, doesn’t unclench that taught muscle in his jaw, but his pupils are blown and he’s completely flushed, and Sirius is so thankful he can read the smallest nuances of him, loves knowing how absolutely wrecked just the idea of that has gotten his beautiful Moony, the side of him that no one else could ever see. The side of him hidden by his aloof exterior and measured words when around others. No one else gets to see this hauntingly beautiful, desperate little thing he becomes under Sirius’s hand, how he’s strung to vivid colors by Sirius mumbling such wicked contemplations into the expanse of his warm, golden skin.

“Are you going to answer, love,” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin, pounding into him with a lack of delicateness from before, only twice, only enough to get Remus writhing again. “Do you not want that?”

Remus squeaks as the top of his head grazes against the headboard from the impact, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut while his thin lips fall open. “I reckon— Erm, I reckon that would be all right. Just to try.”

“My lovely academic, has to give everything a go,” Sirius crows, returns to thrusting measuredly in and out of him, kisses the nape of his neck with soft reverence. “But you know, we wouldn’t have to sneak around like that in only a couple weeks. We’ll be graduated,” he twists his hips slightly and presses down a bit more viciously than the slow paces probably would’ve entailed, and Remus quite literally groans at the feeling of it. “I’ll have that bloody huge flat, and you could be there too. We could spend every morning like this, Moony my love. We could christen every sodding room on the first day alone, and then I’d make you some of that veggie curry you like and you can sit there with an ice pack on your bum after I’m done with you.”

“Oh— Hah, you think you’ve got that sort of stamina,” is all Remus manages out in response, his features going tight with hunger when Sirius retorts with a staccato of uneven thrusts inside of him, stopping only when he feels the release willing up his own body, doesn’t think he’s ready to end this conversation quite yet.

“With you in one of my T-shirts and nothing else?” Sirius asks, watches the way Remus’s toes quite literally curl when he slides inside his used hole once more, shaking Remus slightly with how he moves and thrusts and squeezes his wrists hard enough to bruise. “I bet I could get it up an infinite amount of times! THere will be studies invoked for the phenomena of my cock, Moony. Potions inspired that’d never work, because they could never get it right when I tell them it’s the sight of you waiting for me looking wide eyed and teasing— waiting to be debauched— that’s got me so erect. I’ll be a household name, you watch.”

“You— Oh, oh. Yes like that please Sirius just a little more— Hah, you’re a madman.”

Sirius leers, does as told and grabs forcefully against Remus’s biceps and pounds him flat on the mattress, fucking into him and thrills with all the different noises he’s dragging out of Remus, the way he can’t even form words amidst his groan. “Then you best stay with me, who knows what a madman could do all on his lonesome.”

Just because he’s always been a bit sadistic, Sirius stops his graceless rutting, lies nearly entirely against Remus instead, tugging on the back of his curls so that he’s got a better view of Remus’s gaze. “Wha— Oh, yes, fuck yes you plonker. Of course I want to move in with you, just wanted you to ask properly instead of beating round the bloody bush!”

Sirius feels his brows hike up, absolutely gleeful. “You wanton little slag, you just wanted me to use my manners, eh?”

Remus huffs, looking beyond grouchy. “Yes, yes, and obviously, like the contrary bastard you are, you decide to actually do as much when I’d rather you be beating inside of me., but thus is my fate being stuck in love with such a wanker.”

Sirius can’t help but cackle at the incredibly cross expression Remus has got painted over his features, and he pecks a path down his temple and down to the dip of his shoulder muscles in apology. “You know I’m not one for subtleties, Moony.”

“Humph, well how’s this for subtle. Will you just ruddy fuck me and keep this discussion on the back burner for afterwards?”

Always eager to please his boyfriend, Sirius gently presses him back down on the sheets and rises only enough so to continue the easy rhythm between them, only increased by one of his hands circling Remus’s blazingly scarlet cock, pushing him through the loop of his fingers every time Sirius rocks harshly into him, going speedier and speedier with every choked out plea coming from Remus.

“What about this for a wanker?” He asks snidely, snapping forwards especially roughly, and twisting remus’s prick only slightly in turn, knows how much he enjoys the contrast of that.

“Yes— Yes, yes, yes Sirius! Just keep going, please, love, please. God, I love you. Holy fuck.” 

And it’s not another thrust inside before Remus is spilling into Sirius’s palm and the contracted muscle pumps the orgasm out of Sirius himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sirius groans in a voice that’s nearly completely faded, and totally pious, careful to move outside Remus’s overly sensitive hole, and still panting while he absentmindedly grabs for a spare vest. He mutters a labored aguamenti before he brings it to Remus’s behind and begins to dab gently at the skin there, smattered with lube and Sirius’s come and a good amount of wetness from his sweat.

“Oh,” Remus shakes, sucking in a breath and tensing at the sensation of the intrusion.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Sirius assures him gingerly, tossing it to the corner when he’s finished, and can’t help but kiss the small dimples found right against the skin that cups over his arse.

“The, mmm. The house elves, Sirius. They don’t deserve that to deal with.”

Sirius only barely manages to hold back the roll of his eyes at Remus’s tendency not to understand how much those buggers enjoy any and all cleaning. Merlin, leave it too Moony to feel bad about something that someone wants to do for him. “I’ll grab it later, promise. Bin it o whatever.”

Remus only replies with a soft sound of consent, letting himself be gathered into Sirius’s arms properly, his head cradled against Sirius’s chest and Sirius’s arms wrapped around him while he kisses the crown of his tawny curls.

“You want a kip then?” Sirius asks amusedly, feeling his own eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hmm, yeah. That’d be nice. Then we can talk about that hideously orange breakfast table you’ve got in the flat. I bloody well won’t be living in any proximity of that monstrosity, Padfoot.”

Sirius can’t help the laughter that spills out, and he agrees to the conversation but demands that Remus call Winifred by name, lest she gets her feelings hurt.

“Madman,” Remus reiterates, completely fond as he dozes off, and when Sirius feels the breaths falling out of Remus’s lips even out, he thinks that them nestled into one another like this might be the only salvation he ever wants to know, the only sensation he could ever crave— The only sunlit snapshot he ever needs for the rest of his days.

[drarryruinedme7]

kinktober, day 29. masturbation/getting caught

:D This is a personal fave, to be honest. I wrote my first Scorbus!!! And they’re 16, so there’s my warning. Also, thanks to the best @coriesocks for the beta. 😍

Albus never wanted any of this. It was his sixth year at Hogwarts and still, he couldn’t bear being sorted into Slytherin.

He hated everything about it.

Hated the way everyone looked at him with pity, as if they were sorry the Hat had got it so wrong with him. Hated the fact that both James and Lily had been sorted into Gryffindor, like his mother and father, for that matter. Hated that his fellow housemates snickered at him, made fun of him and generally avoided him for being Harry Potter’s son. 

Albus went as far as to hate the colour green, despite it being his eye colour. 

But above all, he hated Scorpius Malfoy. No, well. That wasn’t entirely correct. He hated the way Scorpius’ arse looked in his Quidditch leather; hated the way his much-loathed colour looked vibrant and joyful when Scorpius wore it; hated the way one of Scorpius’ smiles could make Albus’ guts twist.

Scorpius had meant well at first, Albus remembered. When he’d been freshly sorted into Slytherin, Scorpius had held out his hand and welcomed him with a big smile. Albus had been so sour he had just scowled and sat in the farthest possible seat from him. 

What an idiot. And now, of course, he couldn’t do anything but stare at the perfect curve of Scorpius’ lips, at the way he curled into a small ball every night when he read in the common room as if trying to conserve as much body heat as he could— all the while pretending to dislike him. He owed it to his father, lest people start saying Potters and Malfoys could get along.

Merlin, Albus seriously hated everything, these stupid prejudices and grudges too, but sometimes wondered if the Hat had been right about him, after all, judging by the cowardice that overpowered Albus every time he thought about trying to speak to Scorpius without sneering or cutting remarks. 

That was how Albus Severus Potter, age sixteen and hormones running wild, found himself wanking furiously every night to fantasies of Scorpius Malfoy, hating the way things turned out, hating the fucking green curtains of his bed.

Tonight was no different. Albus drew the hideous curtains closed around his bed, laid on the mattress and slipped a hand into his pyjama bottoms. He was already hard, images of perfect Scorpius Malfoy curling in on himself in front of the fireplace damning his mind.

He took his time, slowly rolling the skin down his glans, hissing when it brushed his frenulum, immediately bringing a finger to slide over his slit until beads of pre-come leaked, coating his fingers.

A moan escaped Albus’ lips and he gripped his cock, circling it tightly, finally conjuring lube. It was a spell that every bloke at Hogwarts learnt around their third year. He kept his teasing, wandering lower, massaging his sack in earnest. The vein that ran through Albus’ cock throbbed, making it twitch. 

Drops of perspiration started to form on Albus’ temples and anticipation made him clench his stomach: he quickly stripped from his trousers and pants, drawing his legs up to his chest, finally slipping a finger to his rim, pushing steadily until it went all the way in. 

Albus groaned, shifting on the sheets to adjust his position, arching his back at the burning feeling in his arse. He needed more, he wanted more, and just as he started fucking himself, his mind supplied him with glorious images of Scorpius flying, elegant and confident, scanning the sky.

“Fuck, Jesus.” Albus’ entire body was trembling now. He added a second finger, all teasing forgotten. He set a frantic rhythm, desperate to find the spot to his prostate. 

It was between his groans that a shock of blond hair appeared through the curtains, Scorpius’ face peeking in just as Albus found his prostate and started writhing with abandon.

“Salazar, Potter,” Scorpius murmured, quickly stepping into Albus’ personal space and closing the curtains behind himself.

Albus’ eyes flew to him, widening impossibly, but he didn’t remove his fingers from his arse. He was frozen. 

“I-I, s-sorry, but you were… Albus, for fuck’s sake, you know how to cast silencing charms, yes?” Scorpius’ eyes were trained on his feet, his cheeks bright red.

The sight made Albus’ cock harden even more if that was possible. He couldn’t help the tiny moan that slipped past his lips and Scorpius’ eyes snapped to him. 

“I don’t care, Scorpius,” Albus said, panting. “Couldn’t you just cast it yourself from outside? I’m… busy.” Albus kept his eyes on Scorpius’ and pushed his fingers further in to prove his point.

Scorpius seemed frozen to the spot, clenching the curtains behind himself, eyes still fixed on Albus’. He swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bouncing. 

“Fine,” Albus murmured. “Stay, then.” 

“I could...” Scorpius finally found his voice again and it was low, rough and it sent shivers down Albus’ spine. He cast a quick silencing charm, climbing into the bed with Albus. “...help you with that.”

Albus’ mouth opened in shock. “I thought Malfoys and Potters weren’t supposed to be… fraternising.” 

Scorpius smirked, tentatively brushing a hand down Albus’ chest. “You thought wrong,” he murmured, securing his hand around Albus’ shaft. 

[lqtraintracks]

Prompt: repeat customer

Ahhhh, thank you! This one went a bit long. Repeat Customer (working title) Teddy/James Rating: Teen? 1,035 words Working at a Muggle coffeeshop over summer hols before seventh year is fucking rubbish. “Really?” I ask through gritted teeth as a customer aims his still-half-full latte in the general direction of the bin but misses and then doesn’t look back, leaving a lukewarm pond of beige to gurgle out of his super-mega-huge cup and onto the floor as he sails dickishly through the door. Laughing.  “I got it,” sighs Gail, for which I’m thankful. It is her turn after all. I got the last dickweed who saw fit to leave his chewed up gum on the edge of the table as well as a used tissue. People are fucking gross, is what I’ve learned here, rather than the ‘work ethic’ Dad may have preferred. Hi, I’m James Sirius Potter, insult to the names I was given, solid D student in everything except Quidditch, and you don’t get a bloody mark for that, now do you? I hear the slap of the scuzzy mop, Gail not-so-hard at work, and then the twinkly, happy bell of the door as I’m wiping down the counter of perpetual crumbs. It’s a group of blokes, I can hear that much, and that alone makes me not want to look up. Groups of blokes are the worst. I check my watch, but my next fifteen is a good two hours away. Bugger. “Could I have a big-arse dirty Chai, three shots of espresso, with a shot and a half of vanilla syrup and just a trace of foam on top, thanks.” It’s Eric Nott, which doesn’t explain why I’m now practically panting with anticipation. Nott’s an arsehole. Most of Teddy’s friends are.  “Don’t listen to him. He’ll have a medium coffee, black.” Teddy Lupin. My god-brother. My hero. My every stiff boner and wretched pining moment. One of which is right now. (The pining, not the boner. Thank fuck. Though give me a minute.) “Hi,” I say. “Hi,” he says back with that smile of his that seems to suggest he and I share a lovely little secret. We sort of do. He kissed me once. Though he was pissed at the time and likely doesn’t even remember it. We certainly haven’t ever talked about it, and it’s been since I was home for Christmas hols—so, six excruciating months of wanking. “And this one,” Teddy indicates his other mate, Joey, who is not nearly the dickface that Nott clearly is, “will take a London Fog. And I’d like a double espresso. Please,” he says, and means it. Fuck knows why a Hufflepuff through and through like he is would want to hang out with a surly crapfest of Slytherins (sorry, Al), but he does. Although I suppose that’s a right Huffley thing to do. Gail is still slopping away with her mop, so I take Teddy’s payment and get going on the drinks. I try not to, but I can’t help sneaking looks at him as he waits, talking to his friends, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, hair flickering a deep blue that he flips off his face as he laughs at a joke. Gorgeous. I decide I really need to concentrate on the drinks or I’ll end up tenting my apron like a lovesick fool. I let the loud sccrrrrrrrrrwahwahscrrrrrrr of the machine lull me with its soothing white noise until I get my penis under control and then slide their drinks across the counter at them. “Going back to work?” I ask Teddy, just to maybe keep him here with me a moment longer. And I am quite the scintillating conversationalist, can’t you tell? I don’t know why he hasn’t fallen for me yet. “Yeah,” he says with a quiet smile as his mates move off toward the door. Gail, bless her, flops the mop back into the muddy grey water of the bucket (I don’t have to see it to know it’s that colour, trust me) and pushes it wearily into the back. “Will you be at the house later?” he asks me. “Which one?” One must always ask when one’s parents are newly divorced after all. Teddy gets a sort of sadly resigned look on his face and doesn’t answer. But then he says, “You could come to mine.” “I could?” “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.” Then he just stands there and blinks once, his throat working on a swallow, looking like every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had. I can feel the heat blaze onto my cheeks. “Your coffee’s getting cold,” I note stupidly. He nods. “So I might see you later then?” “I… Yes.” The word gushes out, like I’ve answered a marriage proposal rather than— “What… what are you…?” He’s leaning over the counter toward me, and I lean in instinctively, thinking he’s going to confide something. Thinking I need to be in whispering range. But then he takes my stupid tie, the blue and brown striped one the company makes us wear, and he wraps it silkily around his knuckles, holding me there as my eyes widen. “Thanks for the coffee,” he says, to my lips. I answer by swallowing a mouthful of saliva. And then he leans in… Teddy leans in, slowly, giving me the chance to say no (AS IF), and he seals his lips to mine. Distantly, I hear a howl of appreciation from near the exit. And then I don’t hear anything but the rush of blood through my body, the answer of my magic to the rise I can feel in his. And I dwindle to that connection; I become my own tingling lips as he gently pries them open, touches his tongue to the bottom one, and then, almost regretfully, like he doesn’t even want to, pulls away. He unwinds his fingers from my tie. He licks his lips thoughtfully and then smiles, like he’s won a bet with himself or proven a particularly tricky theorem. I can’t tell if I manage one in return, because I can’t feel my face. I watch him walk out, the slight sway of his perfect arse. And I taste him. Again, after months of only residual memory, I taste him. And my heart feels like the sound of a bell.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 24 - Field

@jegulus-microfic February 24, Word count 293

Previous part First part

After his confrontation with Snape, James had a lot of excess energy that needed burning off. He’d tried to calm himself by looking across the hall at Regulus, but he had to look away when Dorcas turned around and blatantly looked at him. Had Regulus said something to her? Regulus had then kissed the other girl, Pandora, and walked out, munching on his toast. 

He’d gone to his morning lessons, but he had a free after lunch, so he decided to grab his broom and go burn off the energy so he didn’t blow his eyebrows off in potions. 

He wandered down to the quidditch pitch and practised the routine he’d put together over the summer in the field behind his parents' house. Weaving, rolling, diving and many loop-the-loops. He threw in a few sloth grip rolls and then practised his braking. As a chaser, sometimes he needed to break suddenly, and it was no good if he just flew over the top of his broom. 

By the time he was finished, he was sweating, and his muscles ached, but he felt calmer and ready to deal with a few hours brewing potions. He flew lazily back to the ground and spotted an onlooker waiting for him beside the stands. He flipped his broom over his shoulder and sauntered over to Regulus. 

“You shouldn’t be allowed to wear those trousers,” Regulus smirked. “Far too distracting.” James swooped down and planted a sweaty kiss right onto his lips. 

“Wanna help me get out of them?” He asked. He felt like he was still flying. 

“Hmmm, I suppose I could be persuaded.” Regulus hummed, walking around James and grabbing his arse as he passed. James didn’t waste any time following him into the changing rooms.

Next part

[siriussly-serious]

(So remember that story. You asked for it to continue...so here’s part II)

Sirius is doing his best to manage after the wolf attack at the school and Remus doesn’t know how to help.

Words: 2558

Remus had never thought that Sirius’ ability to mask his pain was admirable. It was infuriating. The only things he ever chose to complain about were stupid little things, a stone in his shoe or a paper cut in the bend of his finger. At a time like this, when Remus was moments away from falling to his knees to beg the other to know how he felt, Sirius kept his face motionless, only occasionally slightly squinting one eye to show that he felt anything at all. He refused to let either James or Remus help him back to the school, batting them off with his one good arm and muttering something about how he hadn’t damaged his legs. They didn’t have time to argue. Fenrir was laid motionless mere metres away from the boys and all any of them wanted to do was leave the forrest. The sun was already starting to peak through the branches and when it wasn’t pitch black, suddenly the surrounding trees seemed so much less intimidating. Sirius had the broken arm wrapped around his midriff cradled by the other, and all James and Remus could do were exchange glances every few steps. His exhaustion only made itself obvious in how fast he fell asleep when they’d gotten him to a bed in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had only turned her back for a second and he was already snoring, the broken arm resting limp on his stomach. She’d always been confident in her ability to mend broken bones in barely any time at all, but she didn’t have the heart to wake him and send him back to his dorm. Later he’d wish that she hadn’t been so polite. While his body craved sleep, his mind wanted to recount the last few hours in vivid detail, some of which hadn’t even existed. In the first instance, it hadn’t been the first year that Fenrir had grabbed. It’d been Peter, and Sirius was paralysed. Not with fear, that might have been a little more understandable. He just couldn’t move. His brain was telling him to move, and his muscles burned with the effort, but he just couldn’t shift. Then Fenrir had ripped his throat out in front of him. His eyes had snapped open in the darkness of the Hospital wing, and he couldn’t breath. While he’d wished he’d been able to keep his eyes open for a few minutes to erase the image from his mind, he was drifting back off to sleep before he had a chance to. Then he was in the woods. Remus hadn’t gotten there in time and Fenrir had him pinned in the mud. Had it been raining? He hadn’t thought so, but his memory had convinced him that it was pouring. He could still smell Fenrir’s breath as he leant in close and grinned. When Remus finally got there, Fenrir was gone and all Remus could do was hold him. Drenched from sweat and rain, trying to convince Sirius that everything would be fine, when they both knew that the young wizard was staring death in the face. Fear wasn’t a word he could use here. Pure, unadulterated terror barely covered it. Again, eyes snapped open, chest aching from the frantic breaths he’d been drawing in, and all he could do was stare up at the ceiling. The final time, James had taken his place. He was running through the trees and he didn’t even know why until he heard his name screamed like nothing he’d ever heard before. James had been scared before. He’d fallen off his broom during quidditch training and the sound that fell out of his mouth was something like Sirius had never heard before, and while he knew he wouldn’t make it across the pitch in time to catch his brother, he still burst into a sprint. This was different though. His voice sounded strained as though he couldn’t shriek any louder if he tried and Sirius was too late. When he opened his eyes again, he was drenched in sweat. Hair stuck in loose curls to his forehead, and he didn’t even want to look around the room to know if what he’d dreamt had actually been true. Maybe he’d turn his head and see that all three boys would be in a bed with Peter left alone to try and manage it. Peter was too mild mannered to deal with something like that. He’d need someone there. Someone to tell him it was alright. When he finally worked up the courage, he was greeted with the sight of James asleep, curled up uncomfortably in a wooden chair pulled up to the side of his bed. Remus had hunched himself over to lay his head down on folded arms, resting awkwardly on at the bottom of the mattress. Peter was slumped in a final seat head tipped backwards over the back fo the chair, forcing his mouth open to let out the most unholy rasping breaths. For a moment, Sirius didn’t want to move. Didn’t dare risk waking any of these boys, so he sat perfectly still and just let his eyes roam. They’d stayed. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from his band of brothers, and yet here he was, surprised. He could still remember his first broken bone. Regulus hovered over him frantically signing ‘Oh my God’ over and over again while Sirius did his best not to make a sound. The Black house had always been quiet. While it’d have been easier to put a silencing charm on the rooms, Walburga just said that she expected better. The loud crash from the hallway had been so sudden that Sirius’ heart had practically leapt up into his mouth. He snapped a hand over to his bedside table to grab his wand and unravelled himself from his bedsheets, only to find Regulus stood in the hallway, both hands clasped over his mouth while he stared down at a broken vase. Sirius’ movement had caught his attention and he stumbled backwards expecting to see his mother.

“Regulus -”

In his state of shock, the sign for his brother’s name had entirely escaped him and he stood stock still for a moment before swiftly tucking his wand into the back of his trousers to free up his hands to communicate.

“What the hell?”

“It was an accident, I tripped over that stupid bloody rug.”

Hands had lifted as he moved to sign something else, but what would be the point? Contrary to popular belief, his mother never yelled. It was hard to explain, but somehow that made her all the more terrifying. Hearing her slow footfalls up the stairs would be enough to cause him to swallow thickly, and in those moments he almost envied his brother for not being able to hear it.

“Go to your room, I’ll sort it.”

Signed quickly while he ushered the youngest sibling away with a brush of his hand. He retrieved his wand again and stood in his brothers place, pulling in a few quick breaths in a failed attempt to calm himself. Despite what Regulus had thought, she hadn’t pushed him. Equally she didn’t attempt to catch him when he lost his footing on the stairs as she dragged him along by the hair. While it would have only taken a minute to cast a spell and heal the arm, she had it put in a cast to heal it the muggle way. It was supposed to be a lesson, and for some reason he’d expected to look down and see his arm in a cast again. Fingers flexed reassuringly before his attention snapped over to Remus who’s head lifted sharply from the pillow. There was a brief moment of silence while the two stared at each other, Remus’ mouth hung open in astonishment.

“Fancy you lot sleeping the day away when I’m the one who got mauled by a -”

He didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence, because Remus was hurtling toward him, arms outstretched to wrap around his neck. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs, but he lifted both arms to wrap around the other regardless. Remus’ voice was muffled into the space between Sirius’ neck and shoulder, but the commotion still awoke the other two members of their friend group.

“Siri?”

“Fuck sake, Wormtail. Y’know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Jesus, Pads.”

“Alright, Prongs?”

“No, I’m not bloody alright. My best mate almost got himself killed.”

“Oi! He threw me over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes. How is that my fault?!”

“Juliet Horn dropped you off some chocolate to say thanks for saving her life.”

“Who the...oh...the first year. Right. Alright, might’ve been a little bit my fault.”

“She said you were being a smart arse.”

“So maybe more than a little my fault. Bloody hell, can you stop berating me. I’m a fucking hero and I nearly died!”

Remus and Peter had taken to silently sitting back and watching the conversation go back and forth between the two. Once upon a time, one of them would have jokingly said something along the lines of ‘Oi, I thought I was your best mate’, but the bond was undeniable now. Sirius had moved in with James’ family earlier in the year, they were practically related at this point and the way they bickered about trivial things had siblings written all over it. Even now Sirius had a smug smile on his face and James looked as though were seconds away from giving his unofficial brother and punch for the trouble.

“Who said something about chocolate then, or has Moons eaten it all?”

The rest of the day consisted of people patting Sirius’ shoulder and wishing him a well done. Apparently Juliet Horn didn’t have the ability to keep anything to herself and while he was glad of the house points and the gratitude, he’d rather just forget the whole thing. With every blink he saw one of the boys doused in blood or heaving out heavy sobs. Just a dream. Remus was the same. Every now and again he caught himself staring across the room at the friend he almost lost and it left him unsettled. He felt as though he should say something and the guilt that gripped him at not knowing what to say was astounding.

“Rem?”

“Alright, Pads?”

“Me? You’re the one staring.”

Dumbledore had decided that it was a better idea to send the students home for a few days while they scoured the woods. They all had somewhere to go, but James had begged his mum to let all the boys crash for a few days. She hadn’t even blinked before agreeing and when they all piled off of the train at Kings Cross, she’d practically crushed all four of them in a tight embrace. Each of them got a kiss pressed to their foreheads and Sirius, Remus and James each got a swift swat to the back of their heads.

“What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?”

“Mum...”

“You could have been killed, James.”

“But Sirius -”

“Don’t get me started on you, Sirius!”

“But -”

“In the car, all of you.”

The entire drive she’d berated them all, occasionally pausing to congratulate Peter on being the only one to make sure he was kept safe. Fleamont was no help. Every now and again Euphemia would whip a hand out to smack his arm when he reminded her just how brave the boys had been, and each time she did, he lifted his eyes to the rear view mirror to wink at the boys in the back seat. Once they’d arrived, she sent them all inside to drop off their belongings and wrapped Sirius in another long hug, pushing out a slow breath to quash the worry and anger that’d built up the second she’d gotten Dumbledore’s owl.

“You know it’s just because I worry about you, don’t you.”

“I know.”

“Never scare me like that again.”

“Sorry, mum.”

If there was ever a sure fire way to calm her down, it was Sirius calling her mum. She hadn’t enforced it, but a few days after she’d taken him in, it’d slipped out in conversation and tears had sprung up to her eyes. All he could do was silently beg James to help with his eyes as she peppered kisses over his cheeks and forehead. From that moment on, he’d never let it go. She was, after all. She took care of him. Made sure he had everything he needed when he went back to school, and she was the one Dumbledore had contacted about the wolf attack. Not Walburga. He’d never felt love like the love that she gave. Blood be damned, she was his mum. Madam Pomfrey had done everything she could to set the broken bones and heal the wounds, but his entire body ached. When Euphemia called them down for dinner, Sirius was still wrapped in a duvet in his room, blanket pulled up over his head, staring blankly at the wall again.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“I’ll be down in a minute, Moons.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah...no, yeah.”

“Well, which is it?”

There weren’t many things that knocked Sirius off his stride, though when something did it forced a knot to tie in the pit of Remus’ stomach. It took a lot for him to even raise his voice, always so keen to turn his emotion into comedy instead, but at a time like this, he got quiet. Silent in fact. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of the lump beneath the blanket, it’d be easy to forget that he were even there. Stood in the doorway, Remus lifted one hand up to rub at the back of his neck. His eyes momentarily glanced up and down the hallway as though the script to ‘what needed to be said to a friend who’d almost died’ were written somewhere. Instead, he opted to move into the room and perch on the edge of the bed.

“Pads.”

“I’m fine, Rem.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m just...tired, I guess.”

Sirius’ hand lifted from beneath the blanket to press the heel of his palm into one eye. He’d disguised it as a rub, but Remus was almost certain he’d caught a glimpse of wetness spilling from one corner. He knew better than to mention it, and abruptly tore his eyes away to deny that he’d seen anything at all. The silence was heavy, only mildly disturbed by the rest of the household downstairs arguing over who was getting more potatoes. On another day, Sirius would have snorted out a laugh and shoved Remus down onto the mattress only to jump over him and sprint down the stairs. On more than one occasion, Remus had heard the words “If you’ve not had mum’s roasties, you haven’t lived, mate”, but today wasn’t that day. Floorboards creaked as he pushed himself up again, pushing his hair out of his face.

“I’ll go and tell them that you’re not ready to come down just yet.”

“Cheers, mate.”

A moment and then -

“Moons?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you just...lie here with me for a minute? If it’s weird or whatever you don’t have to just -”

“Move over then.”