“Sirius? Are you nearly ready, love?”
Sirius smiles at his reflection in the compact mirror and snaps it shut. “Give me two seconds, Rem!”
He shoves the compact into his bag, making sure his lipstick is in there too, because no one puts lipstick on until right before it’s needed. Especially not if another certain someone has a penchant for smearing it all over both their faces - and they really don’t have time for that.
Finally, he snatches up the perfume on the dresser, misting it lightly over the dress, and then at the pulse points across his collarbones and behind his ears, then his wrists. Perfume is always the last step to his drag ritual, the specific scent of the Bitch’s perfume drops him into the space of her in milliseconds - aromas of sandalwood, rose and vetiver, just toeing the fine line between masculine and feminine, just like her.
Remus laughs from out in the hallway. “I gave you two seconds five minutes ago, Sirius. The car is outside!”
Sirius rolls his eyes and gives his reflection one last once-over in the mirror. It’s jarring being in drag in the day, about to step out to an 11am car, when really it should be 11pm, and he’s stepping out into the club instead. But things are a little different nowadays.
Winning the Golden Lion Drag Race was only the beginning, and his and Remus’ subsequent fuck on the table - he still can’t look at the thing without getting at least half-hard - was the beginning of a whole host of things. A year feels like it has flown by. Sirius still gets on stage on Fridays and Saturdays, still at the Golden Lion, and bartends there Tuesday through Thursday. But in the mornings - and sometimes after work if he’s forgotten a deadline - he writes a column for Wolf Pack Magazine. It’s a candid look at the life of a queen, and according to editor-in-chief Remus, it is wildly popular with their audience.
Sirius wouldn’t know, doesn’t care, he just writes the thing. Usually hands it to Remus on a scrap of notepaper - because dammit Remus, I’m an artist, not a writer, you can edit it can’t you? - and forgets about it until it’s in the magazine and he’s flicking through the thing out of boredom whilst on the loo or something.
He and Remus have settled into a rhythm quite nicely. The morning after the Table Incident - an evening still remembered fondly by them both - Sirius stayed all day, and the day after, and the day after, and only left on Wednesday when Remus absolutely couldn’t take another day off work. Three months later Sirius moved into Remus’ flat, and now spends most mornings giggling at the fact he’s eating his cereal off a table they’ve fucked on more times than he can count. Perhaps it should bother him, but he’s also reminded of how clean and tidy Remus is every time he gets an exasperated look for leaving a pair of eyelashes or - God forbid - his hip pads on the kitchen counter.
Remus is at the front of every drag show Sirius performs, looking up at him with a grin that should be illegal, all sharp and lovely like Sirius knows just what he’ll do to him when they get home. Mostly, Sirius does know, because after a year he can read Remus like the filthy book he is. The Bitch knows every little bit of him, and knows just how to torment him when she’s on stage, sinking down to sing to other men, pulling them up on stage just so she can see that predatory grin from Remus at the edge of the crowd. He knows he’s earned the sharp bite to his collarbone and the resulting bruise that night when they’re in bed, or on the floor, or on that bloody table, but he knows Remus knows she’s only playing.
It’s the Bitch, she’s having fun. Because that’s what the Bitch does - she’s that carefree part of Sirius that doesn’t give a shit what anyone else thinks. Her only priority is to have fun and to look fucking stunning whilst doing it.
“Sirius! For the love of God, please, you look stunning. Can we bloody go already?” Remus pokes his head through the bedroom door to appraise Sirius in a wildly flattering and completely form-fitting glittered black cocktail dress. She's serving Hollywood glamour, starlet-who-dies-of-a-barbiturate-overdose-far-too-young today, classic sultry makeup - if it wasn't going to be topped off with black lipstick, because the Bitch likes her creature comforts - and a 40’s style black lace-front that falls into beautiful waves around her shoulders. Red patent heels, sky-high of course, finish the look with an arresting pop of colour.
Sirius crosses the bedroom with a grin, bag on his shoulder, shoes in his other hand - because only a masochist would wear six-inch heels when they weren’t absolutely necessary - and leans in to kiss Remus soundly on the mouth.
Remus pulls back after only a second - much to Sirius’ chagrin - and thumbs over the lush swell of his bottom lip. “You haven’t got your lipstick on.”
“Because I knew you were going to do that, you animal.” He leans in for another kiss, and knows they couldn’t be running that late when Remus sinks into the soft press of his lips. “Didn’t you just say we had to leave right now?” Sirius shoves on Remus’ shoulder and earns a tight arm around the waist, pulling him bodily out of their second bedroom - part office, part drag haven - and down the hallway. Remus blushes pink across the tops of his cheeks - Sirius knows him so damn well - and urges him out the door and down to the waiting car.
Sirius tries not to think about the uncanny-valley feeling of being in drag in the daytime, in his boots and not his heels, in his makeup but not his lipstick, as he climbs into the car, Remus behind him - probably taking the opportunity to stare at his arse. It’s strange, but he puts it out of his mind - they’ve got a drive to Bournemouth ahead, and a photoshoot at the other end.
It’s more than a photoshoot, actually, Remus has liked to remind Sirius at every opportunity so far this week. It’s a cover photoshoot and interview with the Gay Times, about the two of them, their careers and their relationship. Remus is nervous. Sirius can tell by the way he’s holding himself, the way he’s fussing with the curl of hair just above his right temple, the way he changed his shirt four times this morning before Sirius pointed out they might have a stylist - although they were definitely not getting to style the Bitch. But Sirius isn’t nervous, the Bitch doesn’t know the meaning of the word, and Sirius doesn’t care enough what anyone thinks to be concerned by something so boring as opinions.
Sirius nudges up in the back seat of the car and watches Remus tap away on his phone - it’s one of those absurdly large phones that he can do work on, that Sirius likes to tease that he’s compensating for something , despite the fact he knows that’s not true.
“Your column barely needed anything this week, Sirius,” Remus mutters, pressing a distracted kiss to Sirius’ temple as he leans in to peer over his shoulder at the complicated looking spreads and mock-ups he’s currently working through.
“It’s because you practically wrote it for me, Rem,” Sirius almost-purrs, resting his chin on Remus’ shoulder. He wonders idly whether they’re making the driver uncomfortable, but then finds he frankly doesn’t care because surely a queer magazine like the Gay fucking Times wouldn’t send some homophobic guy to pick them up?
He presses a responding kiss to Remus’ jawline as Remus chuckles. “That I did. It’s a good job I love you, or I might insist they make it my column, with thanks to Sirius the Starlit Bitch. ”
Sirius sits back, mock-gasps and presses a hand to his drawn-on cleavage. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Remus smirks before he puts his phone down and leans forward to nudge his nose along the sharp contour at Sirius’ jaw, huffing a hot breath over his neck. “Try me, baby.”
Sirius can’t help but throw an arm around his shoulder, can’t help but slide as close as the seatbelts allow him, can’t help the soft whine that ekes out from the back of his throat as he turns to nuzzle into the earth-warm of Remus’ hair. “You’re much more amenable when we’re not running late, mister.”
“Mm, tardiness is definitely a turn-off,” Remus murmurs between pressing gentle kisses down Sirius’ neck. “It’s a good job you’re pretty or your lateness would always cancel it out.”
Sirius laughs and shoves him away good-naturedly. He wonders if he’ll ever tire of the wonderful spark in the 70%-organic-dark-chocolate of Remus’ eyes as he runs the pad of his thumb over Sirius’ jaw to blend away the shape of his kisses - the Bitch has trained him well.
“Well, we have a two hour drive ahead of us,” Sirius says after a moment, sitting back in his seat because he’s still kind of tucked - nothing terrifying, no tape, just a lot of specific positioning - and he does not want to have to will away a determined stiffy with visions of his grandparents. “So you start thinking about how late I always am.”
Remus rolls his eyes but chuckles as he looks back to his phone, already tapping away on an email. “See, you shouldn’t play dangerous games when you’re the one with your dick in all sorts of shapes, Sirius.”
“Oh? Dangerous games, huh?” Sirius grins to himself. Even after a year, Remus still hasn’t learnt that Sirius doesn’t back down from a challenge.
By the time they arrive at the Gay Times offices in Bournemouth Sirius has slid on his heels, pulled on his opera-length gloves, and applied his black lipstick with the skill of a master painter. The avid look on Remus’ face from the other side of the car - jaw lax, tongue resting behind his front teeth, eyes flashing molten-hot - didn’t escape Sirius, and he gave his boyfriend a wry grin as he capped the lipstick and stayed resolutely in his seat until they were deposited outside the offices.
Remus’ hand is warm on the small of his back, protective, almost claiming, but he’s also seeking his own reassurance, pulling from Sirius’ confidence, because he’s definitely nervous about the photoshoot and interview.
The photoshoot is held in a room that Sirius instantly knows Remus would kill for. It looks like the headmaster’s room from Sirius’ schooldays, ceiling-high bookshelves, plush burgundy carpet, an imposing mahogany desk and big Chesterfield armchair to the side. It’s an aesthetic the artist in Sirius immediately appreciates - the contrast of the Bitch all in black glitter against Remus in his olive green suit jacket.
“Take a seat, take a seat you two.” Frank - the interviewer - ushers them onto the set and Sirius perches against the desk as Remus sinks into the comfortable looking armchair. Alice - who has already been introduced as the photographer - is in the corner testing flashes and colour balances and many other things Sirius doesn’t really know about. Sirius reaches over to take Remus’ hand, stroking his thumb over the soft skin of his wrist and smiling reassuringly at him.
“So,” Frank claps his hands and sits in a small fold-out chair opposite them, “we thought we’d do the photoshoot first, then a quick little interview?”
“Sure, no problem,” Sirius answers for them both, still stroking Remus’ wrist in a slow, steady beat, happy to take charge for now. This was his playground after all.
“It’s all informal, we want to have fun,” Alice calls from further back in the room, tapping on an iPod in the corner until music fills the space. Sirius grins at the playlist - they probably listen to something similar at home - and squeezes Remus’ hand. “So, just relax, everything is just really fun, whatever you two want to do, alright?”
Sirius nods. He’s been on enough photoshoots, spent enough time in front of a camera in the past few years not to feel intimidated by the lens, but he knows Remus hasn’t. So he slides off the desk and steps in front of Remus, holding both polish-tipped hands out to him. “C’mon, dance with me.” He tugs Remus up to standing, cupping either side of his face in his hands. “Just like at home, in the kitchen, to Elton John.”
Alice does a wonderful job of blending into the background, Sirius barely notices the shutter of the camera beneath the music as he loops his arms around Remus’ neck. The Bitch is just simmering under the surface now, bubbling up beneath his skin, demanding to be let out, she wants to put on a show, she fucking lives for the show, but Sirius bites back, not yet, not until Remus stops freaking out. After a few moments of pressing close, singing Madonna to Remus, wiggling his hips just so, coaxing him to forget everything but them, he's rewarded with a wonderful peal of laughter and ducks to press a kiss to Remus’ cheek.
“See,” Sirius mutters, “just like at home.”
Remus chuckles and squeezes an appreciative arm around Sirius’ cinched waist. Sirius presses a light kiss to the corner of his mouth and delights at the bloom of pink across the high points of his face. It never ceases to amaze him how someone so utterly filthy behind closed doors can blush at a simple kiss, but he loves it anyway.
Satisfied, Sirius turns a little to look at Alice, who is beaming from behind her camera. He winks, lets the Bitch roil forth now Remus is relaxed, now all eyes are on her, now she’s in front of the camera, now Remus is looking at her with that white-hot grin on his sinful mouth just like he always should be. “Where do you want us, dear?”
Alice laughs at that, the atmosphere in the room just lifting and lifting with every second. “I don't know if I'm quite prepared to order you around, darling.”
“Oh,” Remus interjects with a wry smile, pressing his hips back into the desk and folding his arms across his chest. “She responds quite well to orders, actually. Just be firm.”
Sirius scoffs for a moment - Alice and Frank appear to be holding back surprised bubbles of laughter - before she places a hand on Remus’ chest, subtly directing them. “Are you talking about Sirius or the Bitch? Because she's about to be really mad at you.”
“It’s a bit of both I think, don’t you?” Remus purrs right back at him, leaning in to Sirius and tilting his neck to let her nuzzle into the soft spot beneath his ear. Remus turns into her, looping his arms around her waist and pulling her into the sturdiness of his body. Sirius leans into him, playing up the curves of her body for the camera, tilting her head to catch the light, cupping Remus’ jaw to turn him to the light too because for once, the Bitch doesn't mind sharing the limelight with the gorgeous sight of Remus bloody Lupin.
Every so often, Sirius has to remember he's finally with the man he pined over for so long, it’s been that way for a year, and they live together and Remus is categorically his biggest fan. It's mind-boggling, and Sirius thanks his lucky stars every day for the awful set of circumstances that threw him into Remus’ path.
The photoshoot is glorious. Alice eggs them on at every opportunity, until Sirius is sprawled in Remus’ lap on the chair, head thrown back in laughter, hand tangled in the wonderful warm curls of Remus’ hair. She opens her eyes to see Remus looking at the camera, all of his bashfulness forgotten for a moment because he's with Sirius and nothing else matters. He's giving the camera the most glorious you jealous? look Sirius has even seen and it turns Sirius’ insides to liquid honey, the heady mix of proud, possessive and smug that’s so obviously etched into his fine features. Anyone with eyes is probably jealous, the Bitch retorts, because they are the utter power couple of the Brighton queer scene, and she's set her sights on the whole damn country next.
Sirius has to laugh when Remus upends her onto the desk in a wonderful tangle of limbs, earning a yelp of surprise from Frank and a collection of rapid-fire shutter releases from Alice. Sirius pulls him onto the desk, his hands falling to either side of her head to stop him from just pressing against her, and leans up to curl her tongue around the shell of his ear. “This remind you of our table?”
Remus chuckles, presses a kiss against the hollow of Sirius’ throat. “It does a little, doesn't it?”
“Uh, guys-” Frank interjects and Sirius drops her head back against the desk with a laugh- “can we keep it- uh, this is for the cover.”
Remus smiles and sets his hands on Sirius’ hips, pushing her firmly back and giving her a sharp look of enough, baby. Boy-Sirius might - definitely - listen to Remus, but the Bitch doesn't, she doesn't take anything from anyone, and just loops an arm around his shoulders and smiles prettily, lets the subtle warning slide off of her like water off a duck’s back.
Remus doesn't exactly take charge - he lets the Bitch do whatever she pleases, leaning against the desk with a possessive hand on her waist as she splays herself on the mahogany surface for the camera - but he’s oddly in control of the situation. He’s reining her in with a gentle touch to her wrist, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her still for just a fucking second so Alice can get the shot. Sirius loves their dynamic, the part of Remus that comes out between them, his surety and confidence, the way he takes all of the Bitch in his stride, lets her run free - lets that part of Sirius do what she was born to do, the feeling he doesn’t get anywhere else. In some ways Remus doesn’t have a choice, because no one tells the Bitch what to do, she’s the one who has him begging under her six-inch heels when she doesn’t want to leave after a show and Remus is still smirking at her just so. But Remus still brings Sirius back down to earth afterwards with a hard kiss backstage at the Lion when it’s needed, until he’s on his knees for Remus at home, back in jeans and leather jackets. Their power dynamic is intoxicating.
Remus rolls his eyes as Sirius surges up to press the flat of her tongue against his cheek - waiting a moment to make sure Alice captures it - before pressing a defined black-glittered kiss to his cheek. But Sirius can tell he’s proud, he’s preening just as much as she is - the words just lingering under his tongue - look, just fucking look at her, isn’t she stunning? And she’s mine, all mine.
It's something between showing off a beautiful painting, and letting a spoiled child run riot just because they're so precious and you have to indulge them. The Bitch knows she's Lupin’s favourite, glimmers when he looks at her like she's the only thing in the room, preens when he calls her pretty in that tone of voice, squeals happily when he smacks her on the arse as she saunters past him back into the dressing room of the Golden Lion. So she plays up for the camera, thriving off Frank’s mildly terrified chuckles, Alice’s encouragement - yes, perfect, look this way for me, darling? perfect! - and the molten-hot look that simmers behind Remus’ eyes.
“Oi, you,” Remus murmurs under the music, fingers tightening over the corset as Sirius’ fingers stray ‘innocently’ over the head of his cock through his trousers. Sirius laughs prettily to the camera as Remus ducks close to her ear in the pretence of burying his nose in her hair. “Play nice and behave, you're the one whose tucked and you don't want me to be mean…”
Sirius leans back, letting her head fall onto Remus’ shoulder, turning slightly to brush her lips over the slight stubble at his jaw. “Don't I?”
Remus chuckles darkly, squeezing his hand down over Sirius’ waist to her hip, over the slight padding there - because her body doesn’t need all those extras - and down to the deliciously pert line where her thigh meets her arse, just under the hem of her dress. Sirius just laughs, pressing back against him tauntingly, until Remus pinches the back of her thigh and she yelps indignantly, trying not to think of the way her blood rushes south. Alice laughs and Sirius hears the rapid-fire of the shutter but Remus just smirks and looks resolutely at the camera, the picture of sly innocence.
“Oh, oh, we’re playing, are we?” Sirius retorts, voice still just under the volume of the music, only for Remus. It’s easy to forget the camera is there, that there’s other people in the room when it’s just her and Remus, and they’re probably toeing a dangerous line. Sirius wiggles her hips back into Remus’ pelvis and grins wider when she feels his stomach muscles clench. The Bitch knows she’s going to win the game of flirt-Chicken, because Lupin finds her far more attractive - who doesn’t!? - but Boy-Sirius isn’t so fucking sure because that smirk plays havoc with his tuck every damn time.
Sirius is sure the innocently wandering hands look great for the camera. Their relationship definitely plays off well on-screen as flirty touches. The little smirk Remus gives when he’s indulging the Bitch, the reverent fingers Remus touches to the line of her jaw, the exposed flesh of her neck. The way she splays her fingers over his chest, the soft fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, the way she leans into him and looks at him like he hung the fucking moon.
“Guys, guys, this is for the cover,” Frank reiterates when Remus smacks Sirius on the thigh for a particularly deliberate ‘wandering hand’ and she delights at the flash of fiery desire in his eyes.
“Oh you’re a spoilsport,” Alice shoots back, grinning behind her camera. “The readers will love this, and besides you can keep some of the saucy ones for your own back-catalogue if you really like.”
Remus chuckles and Sirius throws her head back to laugh. She can tell Remus is comfortable now, he’s found a role to step into somewhere between his outward persona - Sirius can’t quite believe anyone really takes the shy-and-retiring-bookish-editor Remus seriously - and the Remus the Bitch knows, the Remus Sirius knows behind closed doors.
“We can give you a private show if you like, Frankie?” Sirius purrs, laying on her front on the desk, feet kicked up into the air, chin on the palm of her hand.
“Speak for yourself, Sirius.” Remus quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t share.”
Alice doubles over with laughter and sets her camera down on her equipment table. “Okay, alright. Let’s stop before Frankie comes in his pants.” She looks back as Frank flushes bright red and Sirius laughs anew. “Interview time?”
The Bitch insists on both her and Remus sitting in that damn armchair for the interview, even though Alice’s camera is put away and she’s only staying to give Frank ‘moral support’, so Remus and Frank pull the armchair over to the side of the room, where Frank sits opposite them, phone open to voice record them so he can chat more than write.
Some part of Sirius was mildly concerned the interview was all going to be lurid questions - as much as the Bitch would love that - but he’s glad to hear some serious questions about the Wolf Pack, about Remus’ skyrocketing career, among the tongue in cheek ones.
“So, I have an off-the-record question, I’m curious-” Alice leans forward to interject- “I notice you refer to Sirius as he and she at different times, how does that work? I’m sorry if that’s rude of me, I’m just curious.”
Sirius smiles, somewhere between the Bitch and Boy-Sirius now he’s not quite performing, and fingers a curl of Remus’ hair at the crown of his head. Remus’ hands are cool and sturdy against the small of his back and the crook of his knee. “Oh, no you’re fine.” Remus smiles kindly at Alice and subconsciously leans into Sirius’ touch. “It’s a persona thing, she’s, well, she, when she’s performing, there’s a personality shift, and he’s he when he’s not, when he’s just plain Sirius, regardless of the outfit. It’s an internal thing, if that makes sense?”
“Plain Sirius!?” The Bitch bristles and Sirius laughs disbelievingly at the phrase as Alice chuckles and nods along to Remus’ - as usual - spot on explanation.
“Yes, put your hackles down, love, it’s not an insult. You’re just as pretty as a boy.”
Sirius smiles, content, and leans his head against Remus’ shoulder, listening to the timbre of his voice as he answers another question about the Wolf Pack.
“So how did you two meet?” Frank asks after another round of questions that are far too prim and proper for Sirius’ liking.
Remus grins and dips his head towards Sirius, he can take this one. Sirius laughs. “Well, our friends were holding a Drag Race at their club, the Golden Lion-” that earns a murmur of recognition, the place is almost legendary nowadays- “and Remus was one of the judges. I won - duh - and my prize was a kiss, amongst other things. It turns out we’d been eyeing each other for months , and neither of us had made a move. But that was a year ago, and now we’re here.”
Frank chuckles. “So, Remus, what first drew you to Sirius?”
Remus pauses for a moment, one side of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. That alone does sinful things to Sirius’ insides, to his cock that’s valiantly trying to make an appearance despite his best wishes, never mind the gentle trace of Remus’ fingertips over the inside of his knee, practically tickling the nerves shooting right up to his dick. “His arse in those fishnets, if I’m honest.”
Sirius wiggles his arse temptingly in Remus’ lap as Alice rings another peal of laughter and Frank blushes a little more. Ha, he thinks triumphantly as he feels Remus’ cock swell beneath his trousers. Remus tightens a hand in warning on the meat of his thigh and gives Sirius a wonderfully heated look.
“I mean, I think I’m fighting a losing battle to get this print-worthy aren’t I?” Frank bemoans, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
“Absolutely. You knew who you were interviewing, darling,” Sirius shoots back, trying not to concentrate on Remus’ fingers idly stroking the tender skin just above his knee. He lets out a soft breath because getting a hard-on whilst being tucked is still categorically his least favourite thing in the world and Remus knows it but he won’t lose their game.
“Okay, alright,” Remus agrees, voice startlingly even for the ferocity that his dick is pressing into Sirius’ thigh. “I was first drawn to his energy, he’s so confident and brash and over-the-top. You can print that, can’t you?”
Frank nods, looking relieved, and flicks through his phone for another question. “So when did you realise Remus was ‘the one’, Sirius?”
“Oh, you definitely can’t print that, darling.” Sirius waves a hand dismissively and knows Remus knows exactly what moment in their shared history he’s talking about. Sirius runs his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Remus’ neck, the reassuring heat of him, and boils over with the sudden rush of affection. He never thought he would be in a place like this, careers on the up, wrapped up with a man he loves so dearly, who loves him so dearly too, every single awful bit of him. He leans forward to press a soft kiss to Remus’ jaw.
“Okay, definitely a safe question. Your column in the Wolf Pack is a hit with the readers, why do you think that is?”
“Well, I think it’s an interesting view for most. Drag is getting bigger now, absolutely, but it’s still underground, it’s still not quite understood by the masses, even in queer community. And seeing something so normalised is important. I don’t fetishise things in my column, I talk about the realness of it all, I’m just a gay guy who happens to play dress up at the weekends.” Sirius grins at the bloom of pride that passes over Remus’ face. “That, and sometimes I give a little not-safe-for-work rendition of what Remus did to me the week before, and everyone loves that because they’re filthy bastards.”
Frank shakes his head through a volley of laughter as Alice clings to the arm of her chair for support. “I thought we were doing so well there.”
Remus chuckles and tightens his hand on Sirius’ flank. “Oh, just edit out that last bit. You’re the filthy one here Sirius.”
“Now I know that’s a lie,” Sirius retorts, sliding a hand down Remus’ side to squeeze the top of his thigh. Remus rolls his eyes and snaps his teeth at Sirius between a smile in response, fingers biting into his knee.
“Okay. I think a few readers will be upset if I don’t ask this; you’ve a lot of tattoos, Sirius, do you have a favourite?”
“That’s easy an easy one.” Sirius shifts slightly on Remus’ lap, taking the perfect opportunity to ‘accidentally’ palm his cock through his trousers, and lift one hip to expose the howling wolf tattooed onto his thigh. “This one.” He wiggles his hips a little to let them both get a good look at it - Remus’ fingers digging in a little on his other thigh and Sirius knows his knee is pressing just so between Remus’ legs, and he’s blissfully ignoring the warning look on his boyfriend’s face.
Frank chuckles and nods as Sirius rearranges himself back on Remus’ lap, trying so hard not to concentrate on his touch and just about winning the game, about the interview, about anything to keep him from stripping Remus down where they both sit.
“What about you, Remus, any tattoos?”
“Oh one or two, maybe, but that’s all you’re getting.” Remus grins, absently tracing a finger over the v-line of Sirius’ hip. Sirius tenses and tries not to watch that finger like it’s about to lead him to heaven - which it absolutely is, but he cannot think about that right now, because then he’ll want Remus’ fingers everywhere.
Frank holds up one hand in surrender and laughs. “Last question, then. What’s next for the both of you? The world feels like your oyster at the moment, right?”
“Oh absolutely,” Sirius interjects, voice breathy behind his teeth, the Bitch surfacing again for a moment. “It’s the world, next. Everything is up from here, darling. I’ve a few things in the works I don’t know if I can talk about yet-”
Remus continues seamlessly- “and The Wolf Pack is growing; we’re starting to get a national readership-” Sirius interrupts with a good-natured so watch your back, honey to Frank and the editors of the Gay Times in general- “and the YouTube channel is starting to get off the ground, it really feels like the sky's the limit.”
Remus grins to Sirius, who squeezes an affectionate arm around his middle and plants a loving kiss on his cheek. They felt unstoppable, a tour de force of the two of them together, no hurdle was too great.
“Aw, well then. I think that’s a lovely place to stop. I’ve got everything I need, you need anything else Alice?”
“Nope! I’ve got enough photographs to furnish the whole office with a wildly popular charity calendar and fill the spank bank for the foreseeable future, never mind the actual cover.”
Remus laughs, still stroking Sirius’ leg and looking so damn innocent. “Glad to be of service.”
Sirius chuckles and tries not to breathe out a sigh of relief, because he can get out of drag and maybe he and Remus could go get a hotel, or even just find a quiet bathroom somewhere because he might explode if he doesn’t get to do something utterly salacious with his boyfriend in the next ten bloody minutes.
“Well, this room is basically a set, all the actual offices are downstairs, so you can get out of drag here or something if you like. There’s no thoroughfare traffic and a bathroom through that door. Whatever’s good for you guys. Take as long as you need, and if you’d like to have a look through the images we can do that, go through things together when you’re ready.”
“Perfect,” Remus agrees, standing up and easily lifting Sirius up in his arms bridal-style. He deposits him back in the chair as Alice and Frank head out of the room and leans over to mutter in his ear. “I’m going to see them to the door, and by the time I turn back around I should expect you’ll be at least halfway naked. Yes?”
Sirius bites his lip, fluttering his eyelashes demurely and smiling up at Remus in the way he knows he likes, immediately feeling the blood rush southward. He watches from the armchair, legs still hooked over the side as Remus follows Alice and Frank to the door. He only half pays attention as Remus makes small talk.
“Yes, oh definitely- God knows, she takes long enough to get out of drag, it’s a process, it’s an art she tells me…” He chuckles and Sirius shifts his hips against the chair in anticipation. The first thing he does is untuck, cock immediately springing to half-hard and only worsening. He’s glad he didn’t bother with fake nails, his own are polished and long enough nowadays to get away with most times, today included. “Okay, thank you, we’ll be as quick as we can, I’ll try and hurry her along,” Remus is saying and Sirius has to laugh because he’s still so unflappably polite and correct all the time, even when Sirius knows he’s planning just how to fuck him down to minute detail as soon as the door closes.
Sirius is adamant he still doesn’t kai kai, but the definition is more lax now with the way Remus accosts him after a show, the way Remus’ fingers grip the bones of his corset, the way he enjoys the sight of his lipstick smeared all over Remus’ face - and other places - more than he realised. He leans over to his drag bag, set to the side just conveniently within reach, peels off his eyelashes with one hand and snags up the makeup wipes with the other. He quickly scrubs one over his face and tries his best to leave the lipstick intact despite not bothering with a mirror.
Remus shuts the door with a click, turning a lock that Sirius feels shiver right through him, thankful for these five minutes of privacy they’ve gotten because he feels so wound up he’s fit to burst. Remus leans against the closed door and looks at him curiously, tilting his head. “Does that count as halfway naked?”
Sirius laughs and sits up straighter, pulling the chicken fillets out from his bra and throwing them into his bag. “It’s enough, come here already.”
“Mmm, I suppose. Disagreeing would only deprive me of what I want, wouldn’t it?”
Sirius takes Remus’ outstretched hand and smiles as he pulls him up to standing, then swiftly into his torso. Sirius immediately sinks into him, all pliant and honeyed, taller in his heels, leaning in to kiss him hard, tongue begging for entrance. Remus’ hands are everywhere, stroking over the curves of his body, possessive and firm. The Bitch preens under his attention, arching her back, pressing against him, hands all over his chest, already starting at the buttons of his shirt.
Remus turns and gently prises Sirius away from him as he sits back down in the armchair and Sirius keens at the loss, eyes shuttering back open. Remus tilts his head back and looks up at Sirius with the most wonderful look of adoration on his face that beats right through to Sirius’ heart. Sirius steps closer, between his open knees, swaying his hips to the music that Alice has left playing in the corner.
Off of Remus’ smile, curling at the corners, hot and predatory, Sirius reaches to his back and unzips the dress, wiggling his hips to let it fall in one swift motion to a pool of inky black on the floor. Remus groans appreciatively and runs a hand over the exposed lacing of his corset. He’s been in it for a while now, the bruises already forming, but it’s what comes with drag, it’s worth it for the thrill of it all, doubly so when Remus’ fingers start deftly unlacing it.
“Don’t tell me that was best behaviour today,” Remus murmurs as he works on the corset with one hand, the other still biting into Sirius’ hip above his knickers. Sirius tilts his head back and smiles, unhooking his bra and throwing it aside. “Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean you get away with acting like a brat, baby.”
“You let me get away with it,” Sirius purrs, reaching down to run one hand through Remus’ curls, sighing in relief when he pulls away the corset and presses a line of kisses over each bruise. The kisses stop altogether too far away from his crotch and Sirius whines softly, canting his hips forward.
“That I do,” Remus replies, still in that wonderful molten-hot low register, nipping at the jut of Sirius’ hip bone.
Sirius yelps and steps forward impatiently, staring down at Remus nuzzling a line down towards his cock. “C’mon, you’ve been as good for this as I have since we got here, stop teasing Rem.”
“I’m enjoying it.” Remus chuckles into Sirius’ stomach and brings a hand up to trace lightly over his erection.
Sirius groans, reaching down to undo the top few buttons of Remus’ shirt. “You can enjoy me at home. Hurry up. We don’t have long, do we?”
Remus hums thoughtfully, one eyebrow raising before he tugs Sirius’ underwear down with one swift motion. “No, you’re right.” He smirks up at Sirius for a split second before he wastes no time surging forward and swallowing Sirius down to the root.
Sirius cries out and throws his head back, both hands flying to Remus’ hair to pull him closer as Remus’ hands go to his arse to pull him deeper. “Ah- ah, fuck Rem, fuck, oh God!” Remus hums appreciatively, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as he swirls his tongue and hollows his cheeks. Every one of Sirius’ weak points is ticked off as Remus growls softly and urges Sirius’ hips forward until he feels Remus’ throat, hot and tight, convulse around the head of his cock. Sirius’ hips jerk forward and he claws desperately at Remus’ shoulders, fingers carding through his hair. “Ah- oh Rem, Rem, Remus, st-stop or I-I’ll-”
Remus pulls back with a satisfied smirk, a highlight of pre-come at his bottom lip a moment before he swipes it up with his tongue, and tugs Sirius into his lap. Sirius immediately presses forward and kisses him hard, all hungry tongue and teeth, quick puffs of hot breath against his lips. Sirius licks into his mouth, curling his tongue against Remus’, trying to devour every bit of him with kisses. He moans and grinds his hips forward as his hands fumble with the rest of Remus’ buttons. Together they pull his shirt open and shove it and his suit jacket off his shoulders to pool forgotten around his waist.
“You were so perfect today,” Remus mutters into the cavern of Sirius’ mouth, his own lips already blackened. “So fucking pretty, you know you’re so gorgeous-” he moans softly as Sirius deftly undoes his belt and flies, kneeling up to reach between them and stroke his already rock-hard prick. “Even if you keep trying to embarrass me with all your tricks. I know them too well, baby. You’re always the one that ends up begging in the end… ” He sinks his teeth into Sirius’ lush bottom lip - earning a soft hiss - and grins at the resulting shiver that twitches through his lover’s body. Remus breaks the kiss and trails a messy line of black across the edge of Sirius’ jaw, scraping his teeth and laving his tongue. Sirius drops his head back and grips onto Remus’ upper arms, gasping at every nip of his teeth.
“C’mon, Rem, please,” Sirius urges as Remus’ fingers stroke down the cleft of his arse and he pushes his hips back greedily. Remus chuckles and bites the tender angle of his shoulder in response.
“You put that lube back in your bag from last time?” Remus mutters against Sirius’ shoulder, still worrying the same piece of flesh with his teeth and chuckling at the beautiful noises erupting from his lovers throat.
“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius’ eyes flutter shut at the soft press of Remus’ finger against his arse.
“Go on then.” Remus pulls back and slaps the side of his thigh, grinning at the impatient whine that spills from Sirius’ lips.
Sirius leans back, knees still planted firmly either side of Remus’ hips, grins at Remus’ appreciative moan at the sight, and reaches to snag the bottle from the side pocket of his drag bag. It’s Remus’ fault he keeps it there, the filthy bastard.
Remus’ hand instinctively reaches into the silky black of his wig, intending to pull him back up into his lap by his hair, like they’ve done so many times, but he doesn’t expect the wig. A growl of annoyance slips from his lips as Sirius settles back into his lap with a wry smile, Remus’ hand on his arm instead.
“Off. I want your hair,” Remus mutters the order with a sharp tug to the wig before diving back into the hollow of his throat as Sirius drops the lube next to them.
Sirius reaches up to his hairline, fingers already shaky, thigh muscles already trembling in anticipation. He’s concentrating on trying to unpin the elaborate network of bobby pins and tape when he hears the snick of the bottle cap. Remus sighs softly a moment later when his fingers find Sirius’ entrance like it’s the most pleasurable thing in the world for him too, the tight warmth of Sirius’ body urging him closer.
“Oh, fu-fuck Rem-” Sirius stutters out, finally managing to pull off his wig and drop it in an inky blot next to his dress, hips already automatically pushing back onto the pleasure of Remus’ expert fingers. He shakes his hair out of its tie and Remus immediately reaches up to tangle his other hand into the nape of his neck, pulling hard. Sirius cries out, the warm pull of pain shooting right down to his cock, torn between pushing back onto Remus’ fingers and canting forward to try and gain some friction against his abdomen.
This part always feels like it’s taking forever, Sirius is always wildly impatient for Remus - he always somehow manages to work him into a frenzy with the lightest touches. Remus is holding him still with the hand in his hair, the other steady and slow, easing in and out of the ringed muscle, one finger, then two, then three, curling his fingers just so and grinning widely when Sirius moans so prettily.
“That’s it, baby,” Remus mutters against his throat, moaning softly when Sirius reaches down to thumb over the slit of his cock in a desperate attempt to get him to hurry the hell up. “I love hearing you, baby. Such a pretty voice comes out of that pretty fucking mouth.” Sirius keens and pushes back onto his fingers, Remus moans in response, thrusting up into Sirius’ hand. “Fuck, you’re always so ready for me Sirius, like you were made for me, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Ohhh, oh, Rem, Rem please,” Sirius grits out, pinned between Remus’ hands. “C’mon, what if we get interrupted, I need you inside me right now, right fucking now, I swear. I fucking swear-” Sirius tries to lift his hips up to get Remus’ fucking cock inside him instead of his fingers but Remus moves with him.
“You’re so demanding, baby,” Remus admonishes, and Sirius nearly comes apart with the virulent need coursing through him. But Remus removes his fingers after a second anyway, shifting in his seat and bringing Sirius forward so his cock nudges against his arse.
Sirius immediately sinks down onto his hard length, Remus’ hand still tight in his hair as he cries out, head still tilted back to the ceiling, teeth bared on his lower lip. “Oh thank fu- fuck!”
Remus chuckles into the hollow of his throat, free hand clenching tight on Sirius’ thigh as he moves over him, rising up onto his knees before sinking back down with a cry when Remus’ cock hits his prostate, like it always fucking does. “Christ- ah, look at you Sirius, you’re always so- fuck, so good, you feel so fucking good, your arse is so fucking perfect, ah- so perfect.”
Sirius shudders under the praise, still meeting Remus’ upward thrusts in perfect rhythm, raising up and sinking down. Bracing one hand on Remus’ shoulder, he takes his cock in the other, stroking in long, hard pulls deliciously in time with their thrusts. He leans into Remus’ arm, the one with the hand in his hair, and swirls his tongue over the tattoo at the crook of his elbow. It’s small enough to miss, but Sirius knows it’s there because it’s him. He traces the lines of the Canis Major imprinted over that tender skin with the tip of his tongue, delighting at the soft noise that slips from Remus’ mouth, the pull of the fingers in his hair, the hot flash in Remus’ rich-soil-brown eyes.
It’s been a year and it still feels as wild as the first time. He still keens with every thrust at the fullness of Remus inside him, the sharpness of his teeth, wolfish against his shoulder, his fingers pressing against the corset bruises, the warm tang of his mouth, insistent kisses that riot through him. Sirius is lost to it, he has been since day one, face down on that table, and he’s still hazy with it. He’s never felt anything like the rush of acceptance and warmth he finds in Remus’ arms. The biting fingers and sharp teeth only add to it, increase it tenfold, and Sirius is clinging desperately to Remus’ shoulder, moaning feverishly atop Remus’ stream-of-consciousness dirty talk.
“You’re so fucking good, baby, fucking hell, I’m so close, so close. Fuck, fuck, Sirius, fuck- I love you Sirius, I love you."
Remus twists his fingers just so, pulling Sirius’ hair so he’s is looking down at him through messy dregs of eyeliner and tendrils of sweat-damp hair falling into smoky eyes. Remus stares back up, mouth open, panting hungrily, his brown eyes searing beneath the sinful quirk of one eyebrow, the soft scar there at one arch. God, he’s fucking beautiful, Sirius thinks, fingers digging into his shoulder, he always calls me pretty but he’s the gorgeous one. He’s never known anyone like Remus bloody Lupin.
Sirius tries to eke out the words, but they don’t spring up from his throat, and he just presses his forehead into Remus’, a wordless cry falling forward instead. He clenches the hand on Remus’ shoulder as his orgasm snaps through him with the rap of a flashbulb, searing behind his eyelids, the shape of Remus’ smile etched behind his eyes in sharp relief. “Ah, Remus, Remus , fuck, fu-”
Remus’ fingers tighten on his hip, taking charge of the thrusts as Sirius sinks into the heady no-mans-land of his orgasm, panting into Remus’ black-stained, kiss-bitten mouth. Remus comes in a rush of white-edged ecstasy after one more sharp, spearing thrusts and he captures Sirius’ lips in a bruising kiss through the waves of his own orgasm.
Sirius shudders at the lingering tremors, the shake of his thighs, and collapses into Remus, all boneless, pliant, honeyed in his aftermath. He nuzzles into the crook of his neck and is rewarded with a wonderful glowing chuckle. He sighs happily and replies, “I love you too.”
When they have sunk back into reality, slowly, on the curve of each other’s bodies, Remus gently shifts Sirius from his lap and watches with a muzzy smile as he gingerly stretches his legs - realising he left his heels on. Sirius smiles back, just as muzzy, and reaches for the makeup wipes to rescue the torrent of black over both of their faces and upper bodies. Perhaps it says something to the regularity of these kinds of occurrences that it doesn’t take them too long to recover. The makeup is gone, Sirius’ come cleaned from his stomach - thankfully none got onto Remus’ shirt - Remus’ clothes are straightened, Sirius is in jeans, a t-shirt and his leather jacket, and it’s only a shared look between them that hints at what has just passed.
Sirius takes a moment to straighten out his drag and pack it away properly, a satisfied smile on his face. Remus watches with an equally satisfied smile and takes his hand as they unlock the office and start down the corridor. They find Frank and Alice on the floor below, already flicking through the photographs. They pull up two chairs, and Sirius idly traces patterns on Remus’ knee as they look through them.
The photographs look even better on the big screen, and it’s amusing to see their emotions portrayed in the still images. Sirius can tell exactly in which photograph he has his hand on Remus’ dick, he sees the desire in his own eyes when Remus has bitten his shoulder a little too hard just a moment before the shutter went off. The joy of it, though, is that it’s private, for them, and anyone else who saw the photographs would be none the wiser.
Sirius glances across to Remus and grins at the avid way he’s watching the screen. He knows his boyfriend well enough to know the burgeoning smirk on his face, the way he grasps Sirius’ hand and shifts his hips in his seat. Sirius chuckles and squeezes his hand back, the telltale signs of arousal written across his face for Sirius to drink in like a dying man. You’re insatiable , he thinks before he leans forward to ask, “Hey, can we get a copy of these by any chance?”
They end up getting a hotel room anyway, across the road from the offices, the closest thing they could stumble into, already wrapped in each other and desperately hungry. In the room, the desk is a poor substitute for the one on set, and the table doesn’t look sturdy enough to take their weight, but the bed works just fine, and later that evening, Frank emails them the photographs.
“You know,” Sirius muses as he falls back onto the bed, Remus already sprawled next to him in loose-limbed glory, “maybe a charity calendar would be a good idea.”