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"Padfoot?" Remus calls as he enters the flat. Relieving himself of his briefcase, coat and scarf, he waits for Sirius' reply.

Nothing.

"Padfoot?" he tries again; worried this time. Sirius should be here; he should be here. His heart racing, his mind bombarded with images of what he might find – or, worse, not find – Remus calls out again:

"Sirius!"

"Sir?" comes the faint reply from the back of the flat.

Remus races down the narrow hall. "Sirius!" he cries out again, as he turns to his left and finds –

"Sirius?" Remus asks, breathless.

"Sir?" Sirius answers, looking over his shoulder toward Remus.

He is seated at the kitchen table, his back ramrod straight, his hands clasped together in front of him. He wears a tattered white shirt and shorts under Remus' old school robes. A Gryffindor tie hangs loosely from his neck.

"Sir?" Sirius says again."Professor Lupin?" He grins at Remus. His grey eyes dancing with mischief, he could almost be sixteen again; almost, save for the taut, weathered skin drawn across his cheeks; and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

"Sirius, what're you doing?"

"Waiting for the lesson to commence, Sir. Waiting for you."
Remus shakes his head. He approaches the table. He takes a seat across from Sirius; and a moment to catch his breath.

He had been so scared.

"You scared the life out of me, you know that?" Remus says. Under the table, he places a hand on Sirius' thigh.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Sirius replies, seemingly determined to maintain the pretence. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," Remus says. "It's fine." With a sigh, Remus eases back in his chair, regarding Sirius. An amused look crosses his face.

"Where did you get all this?" he asks, gesturing to Sirius' attire.

"A good student shows initiative, Sir," Sirius says proudly.

"I don't recall you being this good a student," Remus says. "Or on time for class. Ever." He smiles.

Sirius shrugs. "Sir's class is my favourite," he says in hushed tones.

"Really?"

Sirius nods. "Yes, Sir."

Remus leans across the table. "And why is that?"

"Sir teaches me about my favourite subject."

"And what is that?"

"Professor Lupin. Sir," Sirius whispers in earnest.

"Really?" Remus raises a hand to Sirius' face. With tentative fingers, he brushes long, black and grey hair from Sirius' face, tucking it behind his ear.

Sirius nods.

"Well then," Remus says, his words little more than the merest breath as it crosses his lips; "why don't you show me what you've learned."

Wordlessly, Sirius pushes his chair back. Getting to his knees in front of Remus, he takes the front legs of Remus' chair in his hands and twists him, so that he is no longer seated at the table, but next to it. Placing his hands on Remus' thighs, Sirius eases his legs apart and shuffles between them.

He runs his palms up over the insides of Remus' legs; rubbing around his groin, the place where his cock begins to stir. Bowing his head, Sirius presses his tongue flush against the front of Remus' trousers and licks. He takes a mouthful of fabric; he sucks, drawing Remus to hardness with his touch.

Remus rests his head against the back of the chair, his legs fall open further; inviting.

Accepting, Sirius busies himself with loosening Remus' belt while still mouthing his cock through his pants.

Discarding Remus' belt, Sirius releases his clothed cock from his mouth. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of Remus' trousers and pants, and tugs them down over his hips, freeing his cock.

Running his hands up over Remus' belly, his chest, his neck, Sirius looks up into his lover's eyes as he wraps his puckered lips around the head of Remus' cock. Remus gasps; he moans, as he is enveloped by the welcoming, wet heat of Sirius' mouth.

Breathing deeply, Sirius takes the length of Remus' shaft, inch by inch, consuming him. He licks, he sucks; he runs his tongue flat along the underside of Remus' cock before swirling it laboriously over the straining, sensitive head.

Remus begins to thrust against him; slowly, at first, and in time with the alternating speeds of Sirius' licking and sucking motions. Soon, however, he is on the brink of climax: Sirius can feel it; he can taste it.

He releases Remus' cock from his mouth to whimpered pleas, and sits back on his haunches.

"Sirius," Remus pants, his eyes searching wildly for whatever it might be that has caused Sirius to halt the proceedings. "What're you doing?"

"I'm doing what Sir taught me," he says hoarsely, "what Sir likes." He swallows; he shifts. He is uncomfortable; his own cock strains painfully against the tightness of his shorts, but he tries to ignore it. This, Sirius thinks, is about Remus; about Sir.

Sirius crawls forward on his knees, as close to Remus as he is able. Hooking his arms under Remus' thighs, he drags Remus' forward so that his bum is hanging over the edge of the chair, and rests Remus' legs over his shoulders. He is between Remus' legs, and so close now that he can feel the heat radiating from Remus' cock; he can smell the sex.

It is dizzying.

Motioning for Remus to raise his hips a little, Sirius positions himself between Remus' scrotum and arsehole and with sudden, fleeting movements, begins tonguing Remus' perineum.

"Oh," Remus whimpers, as he tries to steady himself against the chair, the table, and Sirius; "oh, shit. Oh, fuck."

Heady from the scent of Remus and the difficulty in breathing, Sirius begins to lap furiously at Remus' sweet spot. Remus expels a sound like a horse whinnying and Sirius pauses: unhooking his arms from around Remus' thigh and allowing them to drape over his shoulders, Sirius presses his tongue flush to the tender skin and runs it flat and hard in a long, slow line from Remus' perineum, over the rise of his aching balls and along the shaft, still damp with Sirius' saliva.

As Remus whines, Sirius takes his cock into his mouth once more and, Remus' legs still hooked over his shoulders, he reaches a hand between them while he runs his tongue over Remus' slit. Reaching for Sirius, Remus grabs a fistful of his long, greying hair and thrusts eagerly into his mouth, urging him to take him deeper, to take him whole, to take him.

Complying, Sirius takes Remus all the way into his mouth, until he is choking on his cock and, positioning his hand over Remus' perineum, he presses, hard with his thumb; hardhardhard. Losing control, Remus bucks against Sirius; he comes, semen spilling from his cock and into Sirius' mouth; over his tongue, his lips; as he sucks Remus dry, gobs of it trickle over Sirius' chin.

"Fuck," Remus says, letting his legs fall from where they rest on Sirius' shoulders. Catching his breath, he looks to Sirius: to his come-soaked lips and his wide, grey eyes.

"Is Sir pleased?" Sirius asks, gazing up at Remus with an expression begging for approval.

"Oh yes," Remus whispers, bringing Sirius' lips to meet his in a long, slow, wet kiss.

"Oh yes, Mister Black, Sir is pleased."