Can you see my grin from there?

dying of laughter

I feel like it's my birthday and that was written just for me!! Hee.

Amanda leans down from her lofty position on his shoulders, her little fingers tightening in his hair, and whispers: “Nuts."

I LOLed.

::beams::

Yay! And, yes, still writing like crazy - here's another one:

Cliche #3 - First Times

THE REAL THING

Remus knows it's a bad idea, as his back hits the wall and Sirius's mouth closes over his. He knows that it's going to hurt later, and not just physically - but he doesn't care. Even though Sirius is just playing. Even though Sirius is only doing this because Kathleen Beesom just turned him down and made him look like a fool in front of James, and now he's got something to prove to himself. But there's always good old Remus ready to be dragged off into a dark corner or pulled out into the alley behind the Three Broomsticks and shoved up against a wall. It doesn't mean anything. Remus knows all this, knows that Sirius is the poster boy for no strings sex, and he knows that Sirius hasn't a clue how much each touch, each kiss, each hasty fumble or messy blowjob means to him. And he knows too that, if Sirius ever guessed, he wouldn't lay another finger on him. Wouldn't want to go leading him on and breaking his heart. Because Sirius Black may have a lot of flaws, but once he's your friend, it's for life. No take backs. He might not be in love with Remus, but Sirius does love him quite sincerely, in his way, and he would never intentionally hurt him.

Which makes it all that much more painful, of course.

Remus knows a lot of things. Sirius? Sirius isn't much for reflection. Sirius is more of a man of action, for good or ill. If Remus too often thinks without acting, Sirius too often acts without thinking. It balances out, Remus tells himself, breathlessly, as the bricks dig into his back. Or, if not – he doesn't care. He knows that Sirius isn't always good or kind, knows that Sirius has a Slytherin streak as wide as the Thames, knows that he can be spiteful for the sake of it. But Remus doesn't care. He's ashamed of himself, because he knows better, even if Sirius doesn't, but – he doesn't care. Because he's head over heels in love with Sirius Black, and there's no folly, no compromise, no crazy, reckless gesture that Sirius couldn't talk him into committing. Public sex is the least of it. Remus would out himself as a werewolf is Sirius asked him. He'd follow Sirius anywhere. It frightens him, at times, how he seems to have no system of brakes in place, no lines in the sand. He can't imagine what it would take to make him say no to Sirius Black. He doesn't think he has it in him.

Sirius's mouth is hot and wet on his throat, biting, licking, sucking at his collarbone. It's late autumn, and there's a definite chill in the air, but Remus's body is warm where Sirius is jammed up against him, and where Sirius's hot breath puffs onto his bare skin. His hips are stuttering already, and he's painfully hard - has been hard ever since Sirius gave him that look, over the remains of their butterbeer, and he knew this was the way the evening was heading.

“Lick it.” Sirius presses his palm over Remus's mouth like he's stifling a scream, and his voice is pitched low - filthy and familiar and intense. Remus is shivering as he obeys, and his mouth waters so much that saliva slides down his chin as Sirius snatches his slick hand away and plunges it down between them. Remus bites his bottom lip when Sirius closes wet fingers around his erection. “Come for me, Moonie,” Sirius says, watching his face. And, damn, damn, he knows all of Remus's buttons. “Let me see how much you love it.”

Remus lets his head fall back against the wall, and his lashes flutter shut. He never lasts long with Sirius's hand on him. Sirius laughs about it, takes the piss out of him for having no stamina, but the simple fact of the matter is that it's Sirius that wrecks him. He has been with other people once or twice, and he's enjoyed himself well enough, but it was nothing like this. It feels like Sirius has somehow got his warm, knowing fingers wrapped around Remus's heart, not just his cock. Like he could kill Remus if he wasn't careful. And he's rarely careful, (continued...)

( continues...) but Remus still can't help wanting this.

Sirius leans closer, and Remus can feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek, can smell the familiar mix of butterbeer and illicit cigarettes. “Come for me,” breathes Sirius again, all dark and husky, and then he licks a wet stripe down the exposed line of Remus's neck and Remus makes a strangled, desperate sound that's pure, urgent submission. Both of them understand some nuances of body language that are lost on the other Marauders, and when he feels Sirius's teeth close over his throat, nipping gently, and then less gently, Remus gives a stifled moan and comes in hot, urgent spurts over Sirius's hand.

His eyes are still closed, and Sirius kisses his eyelids and his cheek, laughing softly, and then claims his mouth again for a quick, wet kiss before bringing his sticky hand back up to Remus's mouth and watching as Remus obediently licks it clean.

“Good lad,” says Sirius. His voice is shaking, just a little. He's studying Remus with a hot, hungry intensity, and Remus knows that he's going to demand a blowjob. He always does, with an air of having got away with something – like Remus would have been able to object if he hadn't just been treated to another mind-destroying orgasm. Like he's got to do it because now he owes Sirius. And maybe it's a good thing that he doesn't know that all he'd have to do is ask, any time, anywhere, and Remus would gladly sink to his knees and take Sirius in his mouth. “You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you, mate?” says Sirius, his tone wheedling, and Remus pauses. He knows that voice all too well, and he isn't sure what it means this time, but he knows that Sirius thinks he's going to have to do some fast talking to get whatever it is he wants. Remus has enough of a sense of self preservation to be aware that what he should do, right now, is be a little bit cagey in his answer – but he hasn't the heart for prevarication.

“Yes,” he says simply. Sirius's face lights up, and he grabs Remus by the collar and yanks him forward into a kiss that's more fervent than it is well-co-ordinated.

“Yeah. Yeah, I thought so. You're brilliant, Remus Lupin, d'you know that? Pure dead brilliant.” He kisses Remus again, his hand tangled in Remus's hair, pulling it a little without even seeming to realise what he's doing. And it hurts, but Remus doesn't mind. He lets Sirius pull his hand down to massage his erection through the thick fabric of his trousers.

“What is it that you want, Sirius?” he asks, carefully. Although he thinks perhaps he knows.

Sirius looks at him almost bashfully, through lowered lashes. “Let me fuck you?” he says too fast, and Remus knows he's expected to protest. “Go on, Remus. Please. I really want to. Please? Let me stick it in you? I'll make it good, honest!”

Remus closes his eyes and draws a deep breath, his hand still pulling almost idly on his friend's erection. They haven't done this before. Oh, Remus has thought about it – he's wanked himself silly thinking about it, to be honest – but he hasn't really thought that Sirius would go ahead and take that step. He's pretty sure that Sirius sees what they do as 'messing around' rather than actual sex. Sirius Black doesn't think of himself as a poof. He likes cock, but he doesn't like to think of himself as a poof.

Remus has no such illusions.

“Yes, he says – like there was ever any question. Not that he'd have picked a cold, smelly back alley behind a bar for the first place he let Sirius fuck him; Remus had harboured fond, wistful daydreams of getting to have sex with Sirius in an actual bed, with pillows and blankets and clean white sheets, and acres of naked skin...but beggars can't be choosers. “Yes, okay.”

Sirius's face lights up like Remus has just agreed to do all his Arithmancy homework for a year. Like Remus is letting him get away with something. “God, you're a real mate, Moonie,” says Sirius, reaching down to fumble with his clothes. “You're the best.”

And Remus has been dreaming about this for months, so it's just plain (continued...)

( continues...) stupid that he's on the verge of tears now. He blinks hard and furrows his brow and tells himself to get it together. Stupid. He knew what he was getting into the first time, and he's only got himself to blame if he's been dumb enough to hope that Sirius might eventually start to want him for himself. Might love him back. He knows what Sirius wants, and it's not the same thing that he wants.

“I'm the best,” he agrees softly, blinking at the stars overhead, and he hopes – oh, God, he really really hopes – that this won't be one of those times that Sirius gasps out James's name as he comes.

::speechless::

::loves on Fay madly::

I'll have your babies, Fay, if you can promise that they all will write like you do.

::nods at what Anne said. And what Sail said::

Aw, thanks, people! Glad you like them!