summary: “I think there’s a bit of a difference between last time and now.”
“And how do you mean that?”
They slowly weave a hand into Remus’s hair, fingers scraping against her scalp, and Remus’s groan turns into a whimper as Sirius suddenly tugs. “This time, I’m going to fuck you.”
- - -
Or Remus Lupin should know better than to trust a Dark Mage like Sirius Black. Why, then, can't she get them off her mind?
length: 7,030
tags: Transfem Remus (she/her), Genderqueer Sirius (they/them), Muffing, Face-sitting, Praise Kink, Mind Reading As Gender Affirmation and Kink, Top Sirius Black, Bottom Remus Lupin
Read on Archive of Our Own.
Remus should have known something was amiss when Frank had walked into the library in a daze, his eyes glazed over. He hadn’t seemed quite there, didn’t even notice when Alice talked to him. Just sat himself down and came to, looking around the library like he wasn’t even sure where he was or how he’d gotten there. But exams were coming up, and Remus had assumed Frank had been up all night studying. It made sense; it was easy.
She should have known better. Nothing was ever easy, as it turned out.
- - -
Remus is staring at someone across the bar when it happens. They’d caught Remus’s eye the moment they’d walked in, messy black hair all about them and a feral grin on their face. As they leaned over the standing table and spoke to someone else—perhaps a sibling judging by how similar they looked—she had wondered what their lips tasted like, what sounds they’d make if she pulled their hair.
Two men had walked past them—rich assholes whose parents probably owned apartments in London. (She had been snapped at enough times while filling their coffee orders to know the type.) The men had leered in that way only men could, and one of them—the one in a short-sleeve shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest who looked like he spent Remus’s rent on hair products—whispered something undoubtedly crass to the person’s maybe-sibling.
It was then the energy in the air shifted.
“You’re going to apologize to my cousin.” The person’s eyes glint as they take a step toward the man they’re speaking to.
His friend raises an eyebrow and lets out a taunting ohh for show as he nudges him, beer threatening to spill onto the floor. “I think you need to calm down, sweetheart,” the first man—the one with the ridiculous hair—says, and he turns to walk away, clearly deciding his pursuit isn’t worth the effort, and his friend follows suit.
The person’s expression darkens. Even among the dim lights of the crowded bar, Remus notices as their jaw sets and they stare at the pair in angered concentration. They nod, hair falling in their face, and the asshole duo stops walking.
It strikes Remus that this is Dark Magic just before the second man turns and smashes his glass across his friend’s face.
“Fuck,” she whispers under her breath and shuts the book in front of her, any intentions of studying over a pint long forgotten. The person she’d been watching and their cousin glance at each other with bemused smirks and slip through the crowd as the barman shouts. Remus pulls a crumpled fiver out of her pocket as a tip and sets it by her half-finished drink before standing and following them out.
When she steps out of the bar, she finds the two of them halfway down the block, cackling arm-in-arm. Judging by the fact that they don’t turn around and keep walking, Remus feels certain (or at least hopes) that they don’t see her. She follows, keeping enough distance that they won’t have a reason to suspect her, and is grateful that the streets carry enough drunken people that she doesn’t stand out.
“Poor thing’s going to have scars on his face,” their cousin says, though judging by her delighted tone, she doesn’t seem to mind. “I think his looks were the only thing he had going for him.”
“He behaved like such a neanderthal that I didn’t even notice.”
“Sirius.” Her tone is lightly scolding, and Remus’s brow furrows, the name scratching a strange, familiar itch.
“Bella .” Sirius mimics their cousin’s tone and laughs. (And goddamn, it’s a charming laugh.)
They turn off the main road onto a smaller one, one with fewer shops, away from the center of town, and Remus sighs. It’s harder to blend in without other people. This time, she crosses the street before she turns and increases the distance between them. It’s too far to hear what they’re saying, although the occasional laugh pierces the still air.
The further they walk, the fewer people there are. It’s enough to make her nervous, but she hasn’t come this far to let them slip through her fingers. They turn onto another road, and then again until no one is left but the two of them and Remus. She waits thirty seconds the second time around, each moment stretching out in front of her as worry bubbles in her chest at the prospect of losing sight of them. And then she turns.
She nearly barrels into Sirius, who stands just around the corner with their cousin, waiting for her.
Remus freezes and glances around her, weighing her options. “How did you know I was following you?” she asks. It strikes her that the houses around her all have their lights off—are likely empty or filled with people fast asleep.
“You think I didn’t notice you staring at me in the bar?”
Remus had been so certain she’d been careful, watching only when Sirius’s back was turned. They’d never met her gaze or given any indication that they’d noticed, though she supposes she hadn’t been subtle. (In her defense, she had been motivated by a different sort of interest then, not that it mattered now.) “What of it?” she asks. The back of her neck prickles, and she lifts her chin slightly, trying to keep her expression neutral.
“Look at her, she’s embarrassed.” Bella pouts and nudges Sirius.
But Sirius’s eyes stay fixed on her with a ferocious intensity, and they don’t take the bait. “No need to be embarrassed. I kind of liked it.” Their lips curl upward.
It catches Remus off-guard. If Remus didn’t know better, she’d think they were telling the truth. Before she can come up with a response, however, Bella’s face scrunches up, and she sticks out her tongue. “Don’t be gross. She’s a Dirtling.” (It’s been a while since she’s been called that as an Earth Mage.)
“Now, now, Bellatrix.”
It finally clicks. Sirius and Bellatrix. “You’re from the House of Black.” Remus can’t believe it took her this long to realize it given their reputation—their ancient lineage shielding them from their flagrant uses of Dark Magic.
“Frankly, I’m a little hurt that it took you this long to recognize us,” Sirius says.
“If you squeal about what you saw at the bar to the Elders, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do. Just try me,” Bellatrix spits, baring her teeth. It’s not a threat Remus intends to test; she’s not foolish enough to think Bellatrix won’t follow through.
Dark shadows lurk at the edge of her vision, traces of Dark Magic that she might not recognize if not for her experiences with it. A flare of anger runs through her, and she sends a current under the sidewalk and pushes the ground up under Bellatrix. It’s enough to knock her off-balance, and the shadows disappear. She glares at Remus, all sharp edges, and pushes her hair out of her face.
“And you’ll get out of my mind if you know what’s good for you,” Remus says. The realization belatedly hits her. “How’d you know I’m an Earth Mage?” She tries to think if she’s done something to give herself up before now.
The annoyance on Bellatrix’s face quickly morphs into delight at the question. “Your friend didn’t—” she starts, but Sirius interrupts with a cough. But it’s too late; Bellatrix has given them away.
“Frank.” (Trusting, earnest, and kind—it must have been easy to manipulate him, to breach his mind and loosen his tongue.)
“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Beyond the frustration, there’s something else. In fact, Sirius almost looks impressed. But just as Remus opens her mouth to respond, a light turns on across the street, and a dog barks. Sirius and Bellatrix exchange glances. “I’ll be seeing you again,” Sirius says, ignoring the way Bellatrix rolls her eyes and scoffs as if for show.
“I should hope not.”
“Sirius, come on.” Bellatrix begins to walk away and motions urgently for Sirius to follow.
“You don’t need to lie.” Sirius clicks their tongue disapprovingly against the back of their teeth. “I saw your thoughts when we walked into the bar.” They smirk as their words settle. “Play your cards right, and you might find out.” With that, they turn and follow Bellatrix until they are both swallowed by the night.
The dog barks again. Cheeks burning, Remus pulls her eyes away from the spot where Sirius disappeared and walks in the opposite direction.
- - -
Despite Bellatrix’s warning, Remus tells Lily—the one person she can trust to keep a secret and ward off Dark Magic. (The latter of which is the unfortunate consequence of having had a Dark Mage with little sense of boundaries as a childhood friend.) As expected, Lily bristles. “Why Frank? What information were they trying to get from him?”
Remus shrugs. “No clue, but they struck me as the sort of people who create chaos for the hell of it.” Still, the questions eat at her as she pictures the malicious glint in Bellatrix’s eyes.
After a week, Remus’s nerves are completely shot. She finds herself searching for pale skin and manes of black hair each time she leaves the comfort of her own dorm or the cafe at which she works, grateful that her height lets her see into the crowds of tourists that flock to the town. In fact, she’s jumpy enough that when Lily places a hand on her arm one day as she’s waiting at the crosswalk, Remus jerks and moves the ground under Lily to wrap around her ankles with a swift clench of her fist. She feels it rumble in her hand and travel like a jolt through the earth before it closes around Lily with a crunch.
“Christ, Remus, that hurts. It’s only me.“
Her fingers unfurl and she feels the earth shift once more, loosen as the tension slips from her body and she lets out a shaky sigh. Heat crawls up her cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Still thinking about them, huh?” Lily doesn’t even need to specify who she’s referring to for Remus to know she’s right.
“I don’t want them to catch me off-guard again.” When she closes her eyes, she can picture the way Sirius’s lips (red, pouty) curled into a smirk when they’d imbued the two men at the bar with Dark Magic and sent them after one another. (How would those lips feel against her skin?) The thoughts present themselves before Remus can stop them, and shame prickles at the back of her neck.
In fact, she’s so preoccupied that it takes her a moment to realize that Lily has two coffee cups in her hands. Her eyes widen as she mouths a quiet, “Thank you.”
“You look like shit, my dear,” Lily says.
With the first taste of coffee on her tongue, sharp and bitter, she can’t bring herself to take offense to Lily’s phrasing. “I’m sorry. know I’ve been… too much—but I just can’t shake this feeling.” Remus picks at a cracked cuticle, wincing when a bead of blood forms.
“Don’t be daft.” Lily sighs and places a hand on Remus’s back. “You’re never too much.”
“You’re obligated to say that as my friend.”
“Have I ever held back?”
“No.” Remus’s shoulders drop, and she squeezes her brow as she takes another sip of her drink. “Let’s do this again.” She shakes herself out and puts on a smile that she hopes looks more real than it feels. “Thank you again for the coffee. How are you doing?”
For a moment, she worries that Lily won’t indulge it (the illusion—or perhaps delusion—of normalcy), but then Lily smiles back. “Did you hear about Gilderoy?”
The prospect of gossip cheers her up. “No, tell me about it.”
“So, Marlene went out the other night and said she saw him hooking up in the bathroom.”
“Oh god.”
“Getting pegged.”
Remus nearly chokes on her drink. “In public? What did he do when he saw her?”
“He didn’t.”
“He was loud, wasn’t he?”
“Sure was. Marlene said she heard him before she ever even got in.” There’s little joy in guessing right when this is the image that accompanies it.
“Not sure I ever needed to know all of this about him. And yet somehow, I want more details too?” Her nose scrunches. “Poor Marlene. She had to see it.”
“Oh, you know how she is. Nothing fazes her. He could have been getting spitroasted and covered in come, and she would have reacted the same way.”
“What the fuck? Is that really a thought you needed to put out in the universe?” Remus shakes her head as if it’ll erase what Lily said, yet she laughs nonetheless.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees a flash of black hair. She turns slowly, careful not to alert Lily of her paranoia and ruin the moment, but when she looks, no one is there.
- - -
Sirius appears again outside of a Tesco late at night a week later. Remus nearly drops her groceries when she steps outside and finds them leaning against the wall, hands in their pockets. “You took a while,” they say, so casually, as if it had been a planned rendezvous.
After glancing around to see if anyone else is nearby, she curls a hand, concentrating on the clay in the bricks of the wall and manipulating it to curl around Sirius’s arms, trapping them in place. They roll their eyes as though it’s hardly more than an inconvenience. “How did you know I was here?”
“Magic.” Sirius laughs, delighted by their own joke. “No, but honestly, I just followed you. It wasn’t that hard.”
A chill runs through her. “You were there, the day I was with—” She stops herself before Lily’s name leaves her lips. Considering that Sirius has been tracking her, chances are high they know it already, but she doesn’t want to risk it. “My friend.”
“Which one, sweetheart?”
Remus bristles. (Although whether it’s at the nickname or implication, she isn’t sure. Perhaps both.) “How?” She shakes her head. “Actually, that doesn’t matter. Why?”
Leaning as forward as the confines of the brick let them, Sirius smirks. Despite the strange thrill that runs through her, Remus steps back. “Oh, you really think I’m out to get you?” When Remus says nothing, they must take it as confirmation because they continue. “I’ll grant you that a lot of Dark Mages live up to the stereotype, but I prefer to defy expectation.”
“So then why?” A knot in her stomach forms, bringing with it an odd anticipation that she can’t quite place.
“You know why.”
“I don’t.” Her mouth dries. (She doesn’t dare let herself think it.)
“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” Sirius stares up at her behind long lashes. Even in the dim light of the yellow street lamp, the gray of Sirius’s eyes catches her off-guard.
“I’m not.” (A lie.)
(I know it is.)
Remus stumbles backward, blinking slowly. “Get out of my mind.” Her heart leaps to her throat, and she feels Sirius’s presence retreat. “How did you—”
“Because you let your guard down. Now, I’d undo this makeshift brick bondage you set up before you arouse any suspicions. There’s a human headed this way.”
“Bullshit.” Curiosity gets the better of her. “How do you know?”
“Any Dark Mage who really knows what they’re doing can always sense when a presence is nearby, and I happen to be extraordinary.”
Remus snorts. “Someone thinks rather highly of themself.”
But Sirius doesn’t take the bait. “A slight amendment—I can almost always sense it. That ginger friend of yours is rather slippery. I can tell she’s clever. I can also assume you told her about us if she knows to safeguard her mind from any external… interference.”
Remus blanches. “You leave her out of this.”
“I’m not my cousin. I don’t care. Now hurry. Whoever’s coming will be here soon.” They pull their arms against the confines of the makeshift restraints for emphasis.
It’s a split-second decision. Perhaps this is all some trap, but Remus doesn’t think so. Still, it’s too great a risk to set their hands free. She’s still trying to decide what to do when she sees the shadow of a person out of the corner or her eyes.
She steps forward, blocking my Sirius from view as best as she can. “Try anything funny, and you’ll regret it.” With that, she pulls the wall back into place, and Sirius steps away from it, toward her. From this distance, Remus can feel their breath against her neck and smell it faintly—whiskey that’s been poorly concealed by toothpaste. (Why brush their teeth?)
(In case you wanted to kiss.)
Remus furrows her brow. (Get the fuck out!)
(You’re the one who let me back in. It’s like you wanted me here.)
(As if.) It doesn’t sound convincing, even to herself. Suddenly, she feels self-aware of her own breath. The last thing she’d had before she’d gone to the store was—
(A hot chocolate. How wholesome.)
The stranger passes them by, and Remus holds her breath as though it’ll keep him from noticing the two of them. By some miracle, he doesn’t and keeps walking without as much as a glance their way. “Shut up.” Her voice suddenly sounds strange aloud.
Arousal, sharp and hungry, ripples through her. Only, it isn’t her own.
She searches for the breach in her own mind, as though it's possible to uncover, but Sirius’s presence vanishes. Looking anywhere but at their eyes, Remus takes a few steps backward. “What’s the matter?” they ask and chuckle. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know. I saw your thoughts, and as I said, it’s like you wanted me there.”
It’s absolutely infuriating. She imagines herself telling Sirius off, but the words don’t come as easily. Heat crawls up her neck into her cheeks, and Remus’s heart speeds up. She reaches for a reason not to listen to Sirius, though none come to mind.
“My groceries,” is finally what comes out. It takes her a moment to realize it. The haze begins to clear around her head. It’s not a half-bad reason (excuse), she decides. “My milk will spoil.”
Although Sirius looks amused, they step back as well. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” When the hand goes back into their pocket, Remus flinches, but all Sirius pulls from it is a phone. “My, my, aren’t we jumpy. What’s your number?”
“Why?”
“In case you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“Humor me,” Sirius says. So Remus tells them and tries not to think about the fact that she might as well be admitting that she wants it. Her own phone vibrates in her pocket, sparing her from any further humiliating thoughts. “Had to make sure you weren’t giving me a fake. Ta, darling.”
With that, they pocket their phone once more and walk away. Remus waits until they’re out of sight before her shoulders finally drop, suddenly aware of the weight of the groceries she’s carrying for the first time since she left the store.
(Fuck.)
- - -
By all accounts, she should tell Lily about her encounter with Sirius, but somehow it never seems like the right time, and soon too much time has passed for her to bring it up without it becoming a larger conversation. As much as she’s loath to admit it, there’s a thrill in having something like this all to herself. Still, she doesn’t let herself think of it as a secret, as that would imply that she has something to hide, and she doesn’t.
Except that perhaps she does.
It’s possible to deny it the first two times she pulls out her phone and reads over Sirius’s text, but by the eighteenth, she has to admit she has a problem. She dreams of kisses that taste like alcohol and peppermint and wakes up in a cold sweat.
Sirius (22:08)
Text me when you change your mind.
She tries to remind herself of the image of the man at the bar smashing a glass in his friend’s face. Of Bellatrix’s feral look when she threatened her. The risk in trusting Sirius is too great. But with each passing day that Bellatrix does not appear, hurling accusations at her, Remus feels her conviction slipping.
She slips three fingers in her mouth until they’re slick with saliva and twists a nipple between her index finger and thumb. Text me when you change your mind. (What would it feel like if it was their tongue on her nipple instead?)
Two days later, her will breaks.
Remus (18:24)
How do I know you won’t fuck me over?
Three dots appear, and for nearly half a minute, it looks like Sirius is typing. And then it stops. Dread settles under her skin, cold and clammy, and Remus lets out a shaky breath. Just as she’s at the precipice of a full-fledged panic attack, her phone vibrates twice in quick succession.
Sirius (18:39)
You don’t.
Sirius (18:39)
But doesn’t that make it more fun?
“No,” Remus says aloud to her phone screen. (Yes.)
- - -
Somehow she finds herself knocking on the door of Sirius’s hotel room less than a week later. It’s not entirely true. She knows how. Lack of willpower. She’s lost her mind. (She can’t stop picturing Sirius fucking her.)
When they open the door, their lips curled up in a self-satisfied smirk, Remus almost regrets it. But her eyes catch on their hand as their fingers flex and their tongue as they absentmindedly wet their lips, and any lingering resolve melts away.
“Come in,” they say and step to the side.
Their hotel room is nicer than any place she’s ever lived, which shouldn’t be a surprise given what she knows about the Black family, yet she still finds herself staring at the chandelier in what can only be called a foyer. By the time Remus steps past a kitchen (seemingly untouched) and a sitting room into the bedroom, Remus’s body vibrates with anxious anticipation.
“My, someone’s nervous.” Even though she knows how obvious it must be, Remus can’t help but feel that it’s almost unfair how easily Sirius is able to read her.
“You’re not in my mind, are you?” It’s only half a joke, but Remus fiddles with the strap of her dress as she tries to play it off.
“No, but I was going to ask if I could. If you’ll let me.”
“Why are you asking now? It’s not like you have before.” She waits for Sirius to look annoyed by her blunt wording, but no such reaction comes.
“I think there’s a bit of a difference between last time and now.”
“And how do you mean that?”
They slowly weave a hand into Remus’s hair, fingers scraping against her scalp, and Remus’s groan turns into a whimper as Sirius suddenly tugs. “This time, I’m going to fuck you.”
Just like her dreams. “Okay. You can…” She isn’t sure how to finish the sentence, so rests her forehead against theirs and breathes out shakily.
(Fuck, I can really feel how turned on you are.) Sirius’s eyes darken. Remus flushes, all her thoughts laid bare, exposed. Her eyes shut, and she tries to concentrate instead on Sirius’s presence.
Remus chips away at the final guards in her mind until Sirius’s presence swells from something like a shadow—an intrusion—into something else entirely different. It’s hard to distinguish where Sirius’s thoughts end and hers begin if not for the fact that she intuitively knows they aren’t hers. She can see herself, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, from Sirius’s perspective, and a series of half-formed ideas flicker past her—her neck bruised purple with hickeys, her mouth stretched around Sirius’s fingers, the way her dress would look lifted and bunched around her hips. All Sirius’s desires.
Remus’s eyes open, and she stumbles backward, gasping, as Sirius’s fingers slip from her hair. (You really want me.) She winces at the phrasing.
(Don’t look so surprised.)
Before she can let fear and doubt creep in, Remus closes the gap between them and presses their lips together. Everything about Sirius is soft and sharp all at once. They moan into the kiss, full lips parting slightly as they cup Remus’s cheek, responsive to her touch. But just as she begins to drift—eyes closed, lost to a sea of expensive cologne and calloused skin—they pull her lower lip between their teeth and nip. Remus’s heart jumps to her throat. There’s no use denying what she wants to someone who can see her thoughts.
And why should she?
They kiss down her jaw to her neck and pull back, their breath hot against her. “You’re a filthy little whore,” they say between deep, unsteady breaths. (You just want to be used.)
“Yes.” Hot, terrible desire gnaws at her, leaving her undone, and a flush crawls up her neck. (Use me.) An unfamiliar, possessive thrill—one not belonging to her—runs through her, and she sees a glimpse of herself in Sirius’s mind, bent over and—
Sirius slips three fingers in Remus’s mouth.
She sucks because what else is she supposed to do, and Sirius breathes in sharply through their nose as their head falls back. “Oh, fuck.” (Turn around and get undressed.)
She doesn’t need to be asked twice.
Remus places her dress over a chair and stands, feeling suddenly exposed as she waits in nothing but her socks. As discreetly as she can—which is not discreet at all considering Sirius can hear her thoughts—Remus covers herself under the guise of crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s cold in here,” she says. Even without their abilities, Sirius would be able to spot her lie, but they say nothing. Trying to drown out a sea of anxious thoughts, Remus closes her eyes.
(Turn around, sweetheart.)
Remus takes a deep breath, opens her eyes once more, and turns. Sirius stands facing her, the front of their short, black skirt turned upward as a purple strap peeks out from underneath it. Up top, they wear nothing but a binder. And fuck if they don’t look hot. Remus’s hands slip from their position across her chest, and she reaches one out to grip the chair.
The absurdity of the situation hits her all at once. She shouldn’t be here, yet the thought of refusing herself this indulgence makes her body ache—to meet someone and not have to explain what she wants (or doesn’t want), to have them simply know. She doesn’t mind the process. It’s become second-nature for her and her partners to have a conversation about their respective boundaries and turn-ons—as it should be—but the thought of relinquishing trust without having to map out her dysphoria makes her head spin and her body feel lighter.
Sirius must hear every thought running through her mind, but, to their credit, they don’t show it (or think it). Instead, they reach for her hand and pull her closer. The strap brushes against Remus’s thigh before they pull slightly back and bend down.
Their lips close around her nipple, and they suck. Remus gasps, hands falling to Sirius’s hair. When their teeth scrape against it, her hands tighten into fists, her nails dig into their scalp, and she gasps. She feels small sparks of pain—Sirius’s—ripple through her, and they grunt as their tongue flicks over sensitive skin. They suck again, harder than before, and Remus keens. It’s almost too much, and when they pull back, the wet pop of a broken seal fills the space between them. On her breast, is a splotchy purple mark, already sore.
Her fingers slip from Sirius’s hair and drop to their thighs, and she runs them up until she feels the leather of their harness. (Fuck me.) It’s more of a plea than a demand, and when Sirius pushes her, roughly guiding her toward the bed, she can’t tell where the line between her pleasure ends and theirs begins.
She feels the edge of the bed against the back of her legs just before she topples backwards, hands at her shoulders, pushing her down. (On your stomach. ) Even in her head, their voice sounds gruff and breathy, so she rolls over, propping herself on her elbows and knees, and glances over her shoulder. Sirius stares at her with pupils blown, breathing heavily. ( Look at you. So obedient.)
There’s no use denying it, despite the indignant thrill that runs through her. Sirius laughs and cocks their head to the side. (I knew I wanted to fuck you the moment I saw you staring at me in that bar.)
They say—think —it so simply, as if describing the weather, so that it takes a moment for the words to sink in and disarm her. So fucking casually, it’s unbearable, makes her fucking ache to feel them inside of her, and she can’t even bother to hate herself for it.
(I’m glad you don’t hate yourself, but if you’re looking for an excuse to feel guilty, I can help with that. Tell you how— ) They pause and hum, as if mulling over their choice of words— thoughts —though the twinkle in their eyes gives them away. (— bad you’ve been.)
(Fuck.) How could she forget that there is no part of her they aren’t privy to? (Do what you want with me.) And she means it.
She can feel them, wet, like she’s dripping from her own cunt. She hears the whistle of Sirius’s hand moving in the air, and an image flickers in her mind, of herself, poised and ready for them. And then their hand strikes her ass. It’s not enough time to steady herself, so she jerks, her elbows slipping and giving a bit until she falls, chin against the comforter. She can only imagine how she looks now, with just her ass in the air.
(Practically presenting yourself for me.)
(And yet, you tease.)
(It’s half the fun, sweetheart.) As if to prove their point, they run their fingers up the inside of her thigh and brush against the swell of her ass. Remus whimpers—the sound muffled against the comforter—and rocks her hips back.
(Patience is overrated.)
Sirius chuckles. (And here I thought you were made of tougher stuff.) They don’t even disguise their attempt to bait her, and much to her displeasure, it works. She huffs and does her best to quiet her thoughts—with limited success.
(Good girl.)
Remus’s throat dries, and she hears the rush of blood between her ears. Carefully, she shifts her knees further apart and bites the inside of her cheek. Heat pools in her stomach, and she slips a hand down between her legs. (What if I touched myself?)
Behind her, Sirius’s breath hitches. The bed rustles as they bend forward and place a knee on the bed, flush against Remus’s hip. The cold silicone of the strap and the fabric of their skirt slides against her ass, and their breath runs hot against her neck. “Not yet.” They accentuate the demand with a sharp tug of her hair. All it does is make her want to touch herself more, but she holds back, restless as she is, and nods against the bed.
Her body aches, desperate for more. The bed shifts once again as Sirius gets off it, and Remus hears footsteps as they cross the room. She doesn’t dare look up, but her heart jumps to her throat, and she sucks in her lower lip in anxious anticipation. Whatever they have planned, they keep their thoughts sealed off.
(It’s unfair that you can see everything I’m thinking, but you’re so guarded.) It’s not entirely true. If she really wanted to, she could guard her mind as well. But there’s something thrilling about being so exposed, about every bit of her being seen.
Sirius approaches the bed once more, and Remus hears the sound of a lid uncapping. Lube, she supposes. Her suspicions are soon confirmed when she feels two slick fingers slide against her taint. She sucks in a sharp breath and scrunches her eyes closed as she resists the urge to grind back against their touch.
(Look at you, learning some self-restraint .) She flushes. ( Such a pretty little slut.) A choked moan leaves her lips.
(Sirius, please.)
(Beg so I can hear you.)
“Please. Fuck me. I’ll be good for you. I’ll do anything you want me to.” The words come tumbling out before she has time to think them through, yet they don’t feel false in her mouth. “Please.” She lifts her head and looks over her shoulder. Sirius’s lips are parted, cheeks flushed. They stare at Remus like they’ve never seen anything hotter. Like they’ve never wanted anything more.
(I’m not sure I have.) They lean forward, their fingers teasing around her hole, and Remus gasps, though the sound is cut short when they wrap their other hand around her neck and squeeze. She can feel their breath again as they remove the wall around their mind.
She’s never seen herself like she can from their mind. Never knew she had a mole on her back, never seen her curves from this angle. She waits for the voice—the one that lives in the back of her mind and always finds something wrong—to chime in, but before it can, she’s met with a burst of anger. ( Don’t you fucking dare.) The grip around her neck tightens, and she closes her eyes and lets Sirius’s desire wash over her.
They press two fingers in, down to the second knuckle, and Remus keens. Sirius’s hand drops from her neck, and she takes in deep, ragged breaths. (Good behavior gets rewarded.) They take their time, stretching her out before they begin to rock their fingers in and out. It’s too much, all at once. Sirius’s arousal bleeds into hers until it feels like they’re just one body—the fullness of their fingers inside of her no more hers than the wet heat between Sirius’s legs is theirs.
She lets them work her open, first with two fingers and then with three. Each time, she feels herself tipping closer to the edge, they ease up, careful never to give her too much. And when she tries matching their rhythm, they stop and click their tongue against the back of their teeth in faux disappointment. (Patience.)
Fuck patience, she wants to say, but she doesn’t. Doesn’t even let herself think it fully, Sirius’s promise echoing in her ears—good behavior gets rewarded . A wave of pride washes over her—Sirius’s, she supposes. ( That’s right, sweetheart. And you’re doing such a good job.)
When their fingers slip out, Remus whimpers, her legs nearly giving out under her, trembling from the effort. She sees herself, hazy, through Sirius’s eyes, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed in concentration. Hears the bottle uncap and feels the cold slick of the lube against Sirius’s hand as they run their hand along the length of the strap.
Sirius positions themself behind her, and then they push in.
They bottom out and give her a moment to adjust before they begin to fuck her in earnest. The position is somewhat awkward, not quite enough, and they must sense it in her or perhaps feel it themself—it's impossible to distinguish between the two anyway—and wrap an arm around her waist. They pull her until she's flush against the edge of the bed, threatening to fall off of it. It's just a slight shift in position but enough for her to feel the deep drag of the strap inside of her. Their hand stays around her, holding her steady, and she submits as pain and pleasure blur and pressure builds steady in her gut.
(You can touch yourself now.)
Despite how they phrase it, it’s clearly not a suggestion but a demand. Remus nods and tries to sort through the haze as she reaches a hand under her and slides it between her legs. Her muscles ache and her body rocks with each thrust, so she moves slowly, until her fingers find an inguinal canal. She works her way around the opening, gasping at how sensitive it feels, gently massaging it before pressing in. She’s more careful than she might otherwise be, mindful of the way her body moves when Sirius rocks into her. It’s almost too much, to be fucked and finger her cunt at the same time.
(You said you wanted to be used.) They punctuate their thought with a sharp tug to her hair.
It doesn’t take long for Remus to come. She waits for Sirius to slow down, but they don’t relent, working her until her finger slips out of her cunt and she whimpers against the cotton sheets, raw and oversensitive. (So obedient.) She whines as the strap slips out, and her legs slide off the bed as Sirius’s hand drops from her waist.
In fact, she’s begun to float when Sirius’s voice draws her back into her body, bringing with it a sudden awareness of how sore she is. “Lay on your back.” She doesn’t bother questioning them—simply moves mechanically, grunting as she pulls herself back on the bed and rolls over.
The strap and harness fall to the floor, and Sirius climbs on the bed as well, making quick work of straddling Remus’s face. “Don’t you want to know what I taste like?” they ask, and Remus nods, heart pounding against her chest as she lifts her hands to their hips and ease them down until they’re sitting on her voice, cunt against her lips and clit against her nose.
Sirius buries their hands in her hair, nails slide against her scalp, as they rock against her, desperate for friction. For her part, Remus does what she can, lapping eagerly, relishing in their taste and the fact that the tops of their thighs are sticky. Her hands wander, up their ass and past their skirt, letting the fabric fall over their her face as she traces up their back until she hits their binder.
When she closes her eyes, she drifts, marveling at the way she can feel what Sirius feels—how her tongue enters their cunt and drags along their clit like it’s her own.
It doesn’t take long for Sirius to come, squeezing their thighs around Remus’s head and pulling at her hair with enough ferocity that her eyes burn. They work themself through their orgasm, rutting against her mouth with such force that all she can do is lay there and take it. Only once their body twitches, oversensitive, do they collapse with a low whine. And although Sirius stays on top of her, they adjust positions slightly so Remus can better breathe. She gasps for air, throat burning. After a minute, Sirius lifts a leg and falls to the bed beside her, their face buried against her neck.
They stay in silence briefly, only the sound of their breaths filling the space between them, before Sirius finally speaks. “Next time, I’ll bring my magic wand.”
Remus can’t help but laugh. “Next time? Isn’t that awfully presumptuous?”
“Given that I’ve seen your thoughts...” Remus doesn’t have to look at them to know they’re smirking.
She rolls her eyes. Still, they’re not wrong, and there’s no use in denying it. “Fair enough.” Remus lifts a hand back to the small of Sirius’s back and dips two fingers—just to the first knuckle—under the elastic of their binder.
“Fuck that itches. Can you scratch right there?” Remus chuckles but obliges, and Sirius sighs, content, and wraps an arm around her waist. “What are you thinking?” It’s only when they ask it that Remus realizes that she doesn’t feel a trace of them in her mind anymore. Nor can she tell what they’re thinking. An odd sense of loss fills her, but she pushes it aside. It’s too much to deal with now.
“That you feel nice.” Her stomach rumbles. “And that I’m hungry.”
Sirius presses a kiss to her neck. “Want to grab a bite to eat? My treat.” Their voice vibrates against her skin.
Fucking is one thing, but this is something else. Her thoughts drift to Frank and Lily, and she lets out a hum as she sinks once again into her body and the reality of the situation hits her. Sirius sits up.
“It’s just food. Doesn’t have to mean anything more if you don’t want it to.”
Although she knows her expression gives away, Remus weakly jokes, “I thought you’d gotten out of my head.” But Sirius doesn’t laugh. She opens her eyes and stares up at them. Her stomach clenches as she takes them in.
“I did. You’re just more of an open book than you realize.” They stand and make their way toward the dresser where they left their shirt.
Remus sits up and takes in a deep breath. She holds it a moment, and when she lets it out, she pictures it like a wave, washing away her fears and anxieties. She stares at the hardwood floor of the hotel (stupid, fancy room), and concentrates on the wood. A ripple goes through it and under Sirius’s feet, sending them tumbling forward. They yelp as they lose their balance and turn to glare at her.
“Hey!” Lost is the commanding tone they’d used earlier, replaced with a childish indignation. Remus can’t help but smile, oddly relieved to find some proof that they’re something other than perfectly polished.
"Fine, let’s go eat, but you're answering all of my questions about your cousin and Frank and anything else I feel like asking.” Remus stretches out a hand and looks them directly in the eyes.
They consider her words. When they reach out a hand, Remus expects them to shake, but instead, Sirius pulls her to her feet and smiles. "Deal."
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Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Mary Macdonald/Lily Evans Potter
Characters: James Potter, Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon, Mary Macdonald, Lily Evans Potter, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Minerva McGonagall
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, add tags later, Regulus Black Needs a Hug, Regulus Black Lives, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Past James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Past Regulus Black/James Potter, Regulus Black & Remus Lupin Friendship, Regulus Black and Sirius Black Reconciliation, New map is being created, War, Mostly Canon Compliant, First Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Regulus & Sirius & Remus are friends, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Sad Ending, How Do I Tag, this is just one giant side quest
Summary:
What happened if Regulus Survived? What happened if Walburga and Orion decided not to give up Grimmauld Place?
Turns out that's whats happening, Regulus survives and get taken to the new Order Headquarters in a countryside mansion called Gildres Manor, owned by the Black Family and passed down till it ended up in the possession of Sirius Black.
James and Regulus were once happy, then it was James and Lily. Now everyone is struggling with emotions of the past while trying to unravel the secrets of the house they are in and trying to find the hidden secrets, magic, and pain hidden in the corridors of the house that moves every night. Remus and Sirius are trying to keep their relationship together while cooped up in a 200 year old house, one gets to leave while one is locked in for his own "safety."
