Work Text:
It was Remus’ birthday.
And what was more, this year, his birthday fell on the New Moon.
Remus was at his most handsome during the New Moon: not tired, not pallid. The man looked like he’d had a few decent nights’ sleep for a change. But that wasn’t why the new moon was Sirius’ favourite. No. Of course not. Remus was always handsome, anyway, including during the day following his transformation, when he spent most of his time asleep or looking dead tired; cheeks hollow, eyes a tad unfocused. Handsome as fuck.
No, the new moon was his favourite because it was when Remus clearly felt his best. There was a spring to his step, a happy chime to his voice; he moved around like a man who had not a care in the world. The sad thing was, he didn’t even fully seem to realise it, himself.
Under these circumstances, Sirius felt that they must absolutely make the most of his birthday this year.
And so he’d done something he feared may be deeply unwise: he’d let Remus plan their entire day. Exactly as he wished. Without any input from Sirius.
Now, Sirius loved Remus. Of course. He loved him very much. He just also appreciated that sometimes their interests could lie… well apart. They respected this about each other. If Sirius wanted to potter about in the garage all day tinkering on his bike, Remus let him. If Remus wanted to go on a long hike to track down a pond that was supposedly home to some particularly interesting magical fish, he invited Sirius to come along once (sometimes Padfoot quite enjoyed such outings), but if he said he had better things to do, Remus went out on his own without complaints.
Of course, there were many things they did enjoy doing together. Arguing over the crossword. Playing piano (Remus) and guitar (Sirius) together – poorly sometimes, but muddling their way through. They liked days out to visit the kids and grandkids. Liked their holidays to southern France, and Italy, and India, and Canada, and Ecuador. Liked the occasional… roll in the hay, if you will.
All things considered, they spent a lot of time together, and both agreed it was healthy for them to also have their time apart.
But not today. Today was Remus’ day, completely.
That’s why Sirius was up early cooking breakfast – the whole thing: eggs, sausages, baked beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon. The muggle way, of course. Remus preferred his meals slow-cooked and proper. There was strong coffee, too, and orange juice, and of course a little cake for breakfast-dessert (something Sirius had invented for Remus’ birthday about ten years ago, to great success). You married a sweet tooth, you had to play fast and loose with the rules of what constituted a full English breakfast sometimes.
Remus was sleepy as he entered the kitchen. And gorgeous. Absent-mindedly scratching his stomach, lifting his pyjama shirt just enough for Sirius to catch a glimpse of a light-brown fuzzy trail of hair, of hipbones, still sharp, but softened by the distance from the Full.
‘Smells amazing,’ Remus somehow managed to utter mid-yawn, already reaching for the cupboard to grab himself a mug.
‘Happy birthday, love,’ Sirius smiled, interrupting this attempt by wrapping his arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. Then nose. Then lips.
Remus leaned heavily against him, sleep-warm and soft. Sirius loved him like this, the time of day where he was most unguarded: the witty and sarcastic parts of his brain wouldn’t wake up for at least another six-and-a-half minutes.
‘You got me breakfast-dessert?’ Remus enquired, brown eyes large and hopeful.
‘Course I did,’ Sirius nodded. ‘Chocolate-chocolate chip.’
‘Thank you.’ Remus’ voice was dampened by Sirius’ neck, where his head was now nuzzled. Sirius kissed softly into the mess of soft brown and grey curls.
‘Toast and bacon first,’ he instructed.
‘And coffee.’
‘And coffee.’
‘So,’ Sirius began as they’d finally sat down, their plates loaded up high. ‘Have you finally decided what you’d like to do today?’
‘Hmm,’ Remus put down the Daily Prophet he’d been vaguely riffling through (‘another year without major disasters on my birthday so far – good, good.’). ‘Well. I was thinking a nice matinee show at the Sparkle and Stage. But according to the Prophet the only thing that’s on today is The Minister’s Seven Wands. Far too political.’
Ah yes. Of course. One must never mix politics with birthdays – a business far too unpleasant.
‘Then I was wondering – perhaps a nice, brisk countryside walk -’ Padfoot could be up for that, he supposed, ‘- but it’s looking like rain most of the day.’
‘Ah,’ Sirius nodded. ‘Unfortunate. Well, if there’s nothing you really fancy doing, we could always just have a lazy day at home. Go back to bed. Nap a bit. Pursue other… bed-based activities.’
‘- Actually,’ Remus interrupted quickly, still vaguely waving the newspaper about ‘I was just reading about a new exhibition at the Museum for Magical Marginalia. Transport and Travel; from Train to Teleportation.’
Sirius tried to raise his eyebrows in a way that conveyed mild interest instead of shock and horror. The last time they’d gone to the Museum for M.M. they’d had an exhibition on that dealt exclusively with magical herbs that had been extinct for at least 250 years. It had been… well… Sirius had had to escape the museum after about an hour and a half of feigning interest. What had finally broken him was Remus starting a discussion with an employee on a single spore – only visible under a microscope – that was theorised to belong to a family of plants previously only thought to have lived in the far-flung regions of inner Siberia.
‘’scuse me,’ Sirius had murmured, ‘Need to just – for a moment – know what I mean? I’ll be… right back.’ He’d swiftly made his way to the extensive dog park across the road, where Padfoot had spent a pleasant time playing with a German shepherd, a hand full of fluffy Pomeranians, and, for the first time in a long while, two perfectly manicured poodles. Remus had come to pick him up an hour or two later, dog whistle in hand.
‘You know I’ve long been fascinated with flying carpets,’ Remus continued, clearly having interpreted Sirius’ expression as one of mild interest indeed (success!).
‘Well,’ Sirius said, hearing himself sound a tad deflated and quickly rallying a smile. ‘Sure sounds like it’s not to be missed.’
Remus nodded, picking up another slice of toast and buttering it liberally, then licking a stray smidge of butter of his finger (Sirius shivered).
‘Although,’ Remus continued (as if nothing untoward had happened at all). Sirius’ ears perked up in hope – the sensation was almost Padfoot-esque.
‘Although?’
‘Well, I was really looking forward to finally having some time to read this autobiography by Skonktopus Philumaculus Hermione got me as an early birthday present.’ (in spite of his wild name, Sirius would assure you that reading about old Skonk was not, in fact, worth giving up one of your days of annual leave for – by the looks of it, the autobiography mainly dealt with ideas on recycling the fumes of steam-trains to make them run more efficiently) ‘I suppose I’ll do it on the bus,’ Remus added thoughtfully.
‘On the bus?!’ This, surely, was the final straw. ‘Remus, why on earth would we take the Knight Bus when we can just apparate into the museum?’
‘I wasn’t talking about the Knight Bus.’ Remus looked confused, but his tone, to Sirius, simply sounded ominous.
About an hour later – breakfast dessert consumed and thoroughly enjoyed, mostly by Remus – they were hobbling and bobbling along on the Number 82. The bloody muggle bus didn’t even stop at the museum – which, Sirius supposed, made a lot of sense as it was unplottable to muggles. But Remus had been right – it was raining heavily now – and Sirius was not pleased at all at the prospect of having to walk there from the stop.
Still, Remus had ensured him, taking the muggle bus would give them an excellent opportunity to slow down; start the day easy; read a good book along the way. It would also, he’d nodded passionately, give them the perfect vantage point from which to compare muggle to wizard transportation when they’d made their way to the museum.
But if the muggle bus was supposedly so relaxing, then why was Sirius currently sat in front of a very unhappy toddler that seemed insistent on screaming directly into his ear, and across from an old lady that was coughing an extremely disgusting, extremely slimy sort of thing basically non-stop.
‘Aaaah,’ Remus sighed contently, untroubled by earthly annoyances to ears and offences to basic hygiene. ‘Wizards really have no appreciation for slow transportation, that allow you to just relax and focus on your hobbies for a while. I never get the chance to just sit and read anymore.’
‘Uhuh,’ Sirius grumbled, right as the baby sneezed and something suspiciously wet tickled the back of his neck. ‘And how much longer did you say it was?’
‘Twenty-five more minutes,’ Remus smiled joyfully.
The walk to the Museum of Magical Marginalia may have been lovely any other day – cutting through the park, trees whispering the first stirrings of spring – but that was hard to appreciate with how it was still chucking it down.
‘Could we just apparate from here to the museum then, Moony?’ Sirius suggested – kindly, if he did say so himself. ‘You’ve had time to read your book now – so we could just…’
‘Now, now,’ Remus tutted, whispering a rushed non-pluvius spell under his breath to cover them both. ‘You know there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad spellwork.’
To Remus’ credit, his spellwork proved, as always, far from sloppy, and they arrived at the museum fully dry.
‘No, no, let me,’ Sirius said quickly when Remus went to pull his wallet. Nonsense, of course, given that they’d been sharing the same Gringotts account for years now, but it was Remus’ birthday after all. He shouldn’t be the one paying, that was just the law. ‘Two tickets to the… Transport exhibition.’ His voice sounded surprisingly pleasant to his own ears (success).
The museum appeared, of course, deserted, and Sirius had to wonder what was the last time that a living soul under the age of 110 had set foot in it. Even the woman who’d sold them their ticket couldn’t have been a day under 145 years old.
Nevertheless, the first room was surprisingly good: a look at magical transportation methods around the world. Remus got to marvel at the exhibition on flying carpets, and they were both amazed to learn about the lianas in Australia that would transport anyone through a complex network of branches as long as you held on very tightly. Sirius had to admit he was having fun just watching Remus enjoying himself; he looked so content absorbing all the information, his lips moving as he read. Looked so handsome and comfortable in his grey-green jumper, the one with the elbow patches, so fit as he focused his eyes deliberately to read the byline on every single image hanging on the wall.
The second room was great too. It focused entirely on brooms, and Sirius, while more of a Quidditch-watcher and gambler than a Quidditch-player, was fascinated to learn about the improvements various brands had made over the years, and how some ancient trimming techniques had recently become revalued by the makers of the Nimbus-line, theorised to have contributed to the season’s unexpected successes for the Ballycastle Bats.
The third room considered successes and failures of magical animal transport. There were some horrific photographs of people who’d tried and failed to ride dragons (but had somehow lived to survive the tale), and a video to watch where experts debated whether thestrals deserved their poor reputations. As they were sat watching it, Remus kept pushing the sleeves of his oversized jumper back up over his wrists in a way that Sirius had trouble keeping his eyes off. He was also tickled to learn about a nifty bit of magical engineering stemming from the Mughal empire, used enhance the speed of dromedary camels.
By the fourth room, Sirius’ interest started slipping. Here, the Floo network in Britain was explained with long-winded and overly detailed explanations as to why wizards in the United Kingdom and Ireland (alongside wizards in South Africa and Japan) used green floo powder instead of the blue pebbles that were most common across most parts of the world, or the purple ignition bricks commonly in use in North America.
‘Absolutely fascinating,’ Remus commented. ‘It really puts into sharp contrast the disconnect between the UK Floo system and the ones used on the mainland – explaining why many European wizards are able to effortlessly travel such long distances through the fire, including across the Baltic and Adriatic seas, whereas we cannot even Floo from Dover to Calais.’
‘Yes,’ Sirius nodded. ‘Fascinating.’
The fifth room explained all about the science behind apparition. By now, they’d been in the museum for a good three hours, and Sirius’ interest had faded to an all-time low. He loved Remus, truly, he did. And sure, it was nice to see him engaged and interested, and do that thing where he used his hands as he spoke because he got excited. It was just that Sirius was also beginning to consider he might quickly apparate in and out of the room while Remus, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, his better half, was reading some of these particularly descriptive in-depth explanations of apparition, seemingly consisting exclusively of long-winded arithmancy formulas. If Remus read long enough, Sirius may even have time for a quick pint in his favourite pub back home.
‘This is the thing about wizards,’ Remus nodded gravely after finally finishing the third information board (third out of seven…). ‘Everything’s always faster, faster, faster. Faster brooms, faster camels, instant teleportation through fire or air. You don’t get the chance to rest and unwind; to simply sit with a good book, and -’
‘Oh good,’ Sirius groaned. ‘We’re back on that.’
Remus raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you getting bored? I suppose… we have been in here a while. Are you getting hungry at all? We could -’
‘No!’ Sirius protested quickly. ‘Not bored. Not in the slightest. I love learning about -’ (he hastily looked around the room) ‘- circumventing the fifteenth law of thermodynamics.’
Remus laughed. ‘No, really, Pads. We’ve been here for hours, I’m more than happy to -’
‘It’s your birthday,’ Sirius interrupted. Quickly. Sternly. ‘You wanted to come to this museum and in this museum we’ll stay, for as long as you’d like.’
Luckily, this noble sacrifice was vaguely rewarded: when they finally made it to the sixth and final room, it proved to be of some interest.
‘Magically enhanced muggle transportation,’ Remus nodded solemnly.
A purple-draped deep-dive into the history of the Knight Bus, an elaborate exploration of the few magical properties of the Hogwarts express,… the bike would fit right in.
Sirius decided against voicing that: after all, Remus hated the bike and may not want to be reminded of it needlessly today. Well, hate was perhaps a strong word. But there was always that exaggerated look of worry crossing his gentle features whenever Sirius brought up going for a ride, either on road or through air – even still, after all these years. The way he’d grab Sirius’ hand, and frown, and whisper ‘be sure to be careful, darling’. Darling – a word only ever used when Sirius was about to ride his bike off to what Remus surely assumed was his certain death.
Instead, Sirius amused himself in the corner dedicated to some of transportation’s most notorious Misuse of Muggle Artifact crimes: an underground chain of self-riding bicycles, hovering shoes, flying boats and boating airplanes, yellow submarines encapsulated in the bubblehead charm (and the particularly grave tragedy of 1832, when the bubble burst). The greatest muggle-transport criminal? Treighn van der Weel, for crimes committed against the law of physics, 1649.
‘Always faster, faster, faster,’ he tutted knowingly at Remus, who, in response, grinned Sirius’ favourite type of crooked smile and swung his arms around his neck.
‘That’s enough out of you,’ he said. ‘I could genuinely do with a spot of tea, by this point. What do you say we find a pub?’
Some forty minutes later, they found themselves tucking into a generous portion of fish and chips with mushy peas, alongside a pint. Well, half-pint for Remus. Of course.
‘It’s a Tuesday,’ he said. ‘I’d like to be sensible.’
‘It’s your birthday,’ Sirius reminded him (once again). ‘Live a little.’
‘I am living a little,’ Remus protested. ‘A lot, even. I’ve had time to read a book, see a fun exhibition, and now I’m having delicious meal. And I got to do it all with my wonderful husband.’ He reached across the table to squeeze Sirius’ hand, and suddenly Sirius didn’t care very much about the pint anymore, or the chips, or the mushy peas (not that he’d cared about those much to begin with). Looking into Remus’ big brown eyes, sparkling softly above the dusting of adorable freckles that Sirius had been trying – at this point for years now – to nibble and lick off his cheeks, he felt suddenly calm. Happy. Full, at seeing the man he loved be content and feel celebrated, even if it was in this stupidly mundane way.
‘Alright,’ he whispered. ‘You enjoy your little half pint – and then let me take you home.’
Remus’ smile widened and the sparkle in his eye turned cheeky as he leaned over the table to sensually whisper in Sirius’ ear: ‘I hope you’re ready for another forty-five minutes on the bus.’
Remus fell asleep on the way home, his head delicately lolling on Sirius’ shoulder before Sirius wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in safely. Remus made an adorable little delighted noise, and Sirius whispered softly:
‘Skonktopus Philumaculus’ autobiography not such a thrilling read after all, then?’
He softly shook Remus awake when they came to their stop, then put him on the sofa to continue his further nap.
Gifted with this unexpected moment of free time, he made his way over to the garage. There was something he’d seen in the museum that had sparked some fresh ideas for his bike. Something that Treighn van der Weel had mastered – his only mistake, of course, had been getting caught, and Sirius was not going to let that happen to him.
Sadly, he had moved no closer to incorporating Treighn’s brilliance into his own little masterpiece when Remus opened the garage door about twenty-five minutes later, curls adorably ruffled.
‘What’re you up to?’
‘Oh – I was just tinkering with the bike while you had your little nap. Fully understandable that a day filled with this much excitement would wear you out.’ With a mock sigh, he added: ‘although I’m sure you would have been less generous had I been the one to fall asleep.’
Remus just smiled softly. Sirius supposed the long years of exposure meant he was no longer quite as intimidating to Remus as he had been back when Remus had been a boy: nothing but a ball of nerves held together by overly long limbs, freckles and woolly curls.
‘Show me what you’re working on?’ he said now.
‘Really? I thought you hated the bike.’
‘Sirius!’ Remus sounded aghast, his left hand fidgeting with the sleeve of his grey-green jumper. ‘I’ve never said anything of the sort.’
‘You didn’t need to say it,’ Sirius objected, eyebrows raised, before deciding to once again gift him a birthday benefit – a change of topic. ‘Anyway, I was reading at the museum, about someone who’d – err – managed to keep vehicles flying for days at a time simply by taking apart the carborator and amplifying its -’
‘I read that too…’ Remus frowned, obviously putting unwanted puzzle pieces together. ‘Wait – that was in the most notorious transport criminals section -’
‘- It’s a good idea, though… -’
‘Sirius! It’s illegal!’
‘Whole bike’s illegal, innit?’ Sirius grinned, lifting an eyebrow.
Remus deflated a bit. ‘I suppose. And, I do have to say… it’s a stellar piece of magic, really. With everything I learned about magical transport today – well, it really gave me a new appreciation for the bike. Not just the work you’ve put into it, but also… what it represents.’
‘Does that mean you’ll let me take you for a ride on it sometime?’ (Sirius had to take his chance where he saw it).
Remus’ expression hardened a tad. ‘We shall see.’
‘Maybe for my birthday,’ Sirius couldn’t help but smirk.
‘Sure, maybe for your birthday.’ The smile was back, a sincere sparkle in his eyes. A stray curl was dangling in across his forehead, and Sirius wanted more than anything to walk over and stroke it out of his face, bury his hands into his soft hair and kiss him, but Remus was not done. ‘I’ve got to say Pads, in spite of all of your thinly-veiled objections and all your pretending to be bored at the museum today, you have actually loved transportation all along.’
The wrench fell from Sirius’ hand to the floor as he groaned. ‘Merlin, Remus. How do you manage to make even my bike sound boring?’
Remus grinned; something cheeky passed over his features, causing something to stir warmly in Sirius’ stomach. ‘Make it up to you?’
‘How?’ Sirius smiled, eyebrows raised.
‘Well, I may not be ready to let you take me for a ride on the bike tonight… but how about you let me take you for a ride on it instead?’
‘What d’you -’ Sirius started, but Remus was already in front of him, his face close to Sirius, his hands resting on the bike behind him on either side. Well, well – this long day might finally be looking up.
‘I think you know what I mean,’ Remus spoke, softly, still so bloody calm and collected, and Sirius swallowed hard.
Remus was his husband – he should be used to him by now. And yet, the way that his breath ghosted over the skin of his neck just before Remus planted his lips on it made him break out in goosebumps, an involuntary shiver running along his spine. Instinctively, he tilted his head back, exposing more sensitive skin to be traced by those soft but determined lips.
‘Remus -’ he breathed, a little more desperately than he’d have liked, his hands making his way to Remus’ hips, trying to pull him in closer. Much to his displeasure, the lips disappeared from his neck. He shivered when they reappeared close to his ear.
‘Patience,’ came Remus’ voice; entirely too steady. His hands moved to grab Sirius’ wrists, moving his from his waist onto the bike behind him, firmly onto the cold leather of the saddle. ‘You keep those there until I tell you you can touch me.’
‘Fuck,’ Sirius whined, before his breath was stolen again by Remus’ tongue slowly swirling its way from just under his ear, down, down his neck, lips greedier than before. Sirius’ fingers gripped the saddle tightly, forcing himself not to let go, already itching with the need grab Remus – spin him around and push him up against a wall until he was begging for it, but Sirius could tell this wasn’t going to be that kind of night.
When Remus reached his clavicle, softly nibbling on it, Sirius couldn’t help but buck his hips, desperate to be closer to Remus, to feel his warmth, to feel his – to feel friction.
‘What did I just say about patience?’ Remus growled teasingly from the crook of Sirius’ neck. Sirius made a pathetic little noise that could barely even be described as a whimper.
‘It’s my birthday, after all,’ Remus continued, as if no such embarrassing noises had been made, ‘so I’ll decide how and when I’ll unwrap my presents.’
With those words, he lazily moved a hand to Sirius’ crotch and palmed him softly through his trousers. Sirius’ cock, already half-hard, gave a violent twitch and he groaned in a mix of blissful anticipation and desire for more.
‘Fuck, Moony.’
His head still thrown back, his hands moved from the bike, involuntarily. He needed to touch, to hold, to stroke, needed to get rid of layers and layers of pesky clothes, but – Remus caught his wrists again, before Sirius could so much as touch him.
‘Hands on the bike.’ His tone was still unbearably soft and controlled, his mouth still nipping along Sirius’ collarbone. ‘Since you love that damn thing so much – I’d have thought you’d love having your hands all over it.’
‘Love you more.’ Sirius’ head spun with Remus – the feel of his hands on him, his lips on his neck, the way his eyes sparkled with desire and control whenever he looked up.
Remus’ hand went back to stroking the front of his trousers – Sirius moaned with relief as he put more pressure on him – but he was still moving entirely too slowly. It was taking all his efforts not to buck his hips wildly into the friction, fingers scrambling for purpose on his bike, desperate not to repeat his mistake and appear too greedy.
‘Love you more-’ he said again, his breath coming out as a desperate whine. ‘– want to touch you.’
‘All in good time,’ Remus’ lips were smiling against the skin of his chest, following fingers which were rapidly unbuttoning Sirius’ shirt. Sirius closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath, tried to just focus on the feel of that mouth – the mouth that knew all his secrets, all the spots that made him mewl as his knees buckled – trailing down his chest, his stomach. Focused on keeping still, not letting Remus know how wild he was driving him, how much he needed him to hurry up and do something – give him more. Clearly, that would only prolong the torture. Instead, he swallowed laboriously, digging his fingers deeper into the supple leather of the saddle, careful to let only the softest of sounds escape his lips, all in an attempt to appear perfectly patient.
As Remus’ tongue ran over his nipple, Sirius bit back a moan, didn’t manage to avoid thrusting his hips in a gesture that Remus, luckily, ignored. Or maybe took as evidence that the slow teasing was driving Sirius to the edge of his sanity – either way, he finally, finally, dropped to his knees.
‘Is this what you want?’ he whispered softly, mouth ghosting the front of Sirius trousers. His words came almost too softly for Sirius to hear over his own laboured breathing.
Nevertheless, he managed to whimper, ‘Yes. Yes. Please, Remus.’
‘You’ve been quite patient,’ Remus agreed pleasantly, his palm cupping Sirius’ cock through his trousers again, toying with the button in a way that made it quite clear he currently had no intention of opening it yet.
‘So patient,’ Sirius agreed with a groan, his nails so deep into the leather now that he worried it was going to leave marks. And yet, he couldn’t let go.
Finally, Remus undid his button, his zipper - suddenly quickly, pushing the fabric out of the way and down, his mouth kissing Sirius through the fabric of his boxershorts. Sirius was barely able to think straight as he softly trailed the outline of Sirius’ cock through his underwear, suckling exactly where Sirius was most sensitive. The way that Remus managed to drive him so absolutely out of his mind should be studied. But Sirius knew better than to push or plea again; all he allowed himself was the range of small moans still escaping him, only the ones he was unable to keep down.
With a teasing look up at him, Remus hooked his fingers into the elastic of his boxers pulling them down and out of the way in a swift motion. Sirius drew in a breath as the cold air of the garage hit his already overheated skin, but the cold was quickly forgotten as warm breath ghosted the tip of his cock, leaking and twitching in anticipation. He whimpered as a warm tongue started trailing his length, slowly making its way up to where he was most sensitive.
‘Remus -’ Sirius whispered breathlessly. Another moan escaped him as lips wrapped around him and he was sucked into warm, wet heat.
A soft, muffled noise escaped from Remus, a moan Sirius felt vibrate in every part of his body. He was desperate to move, desperate to touch him, the effort of staying perfectly still with his hands behind him as Remus took him deeper and deeper almost unbearable. He threw his head back, scrunching his eyes closed, doing everything in his not to move his hands, not to buck his hips, not to let his knees give out.
There was something so thrilling about the strangeness of getting a blowjob in his garage; cold, vaguely smelling of oil, usually reserved for Sirius and Sirius alone. And yet, garage, bedroom, sofa or kitchen; Remus knew exactly what he liked. He trailed his tongue, applying more pressure exactly over the spots that made Sirius groan, his thighs clench and shiver incontrollably; then, just as Sirius was getting a little too close to the edge, he’d pull off and revert to trailing soft kisses along the shaft and swirling his tongue around the head.
Until, finally, Sirius’ knees did threaten to buckle fully and he
‘Remus -’ Sirius whined, when almost couldn’t take it anymore. He needed – needed to be able to touch him, needed to feel his curls spin through his fingers, needed him to –
Remus let him fall from his mouth, curling long fingers around his cock instead, working him in a slow, lazy motion. And yet his large, glazy eyes betrayed he wasn’t quite as calm as he pretended to be anymore, either.
‘You taste so good,’ he whispered, and Sirius groaned again.
‘Remus,’ Sirius tried again, ‘I need – please.’
‘It’s okay,’ Remus said, his large brown eyes still boring up at him, a hungry smile playing around his lips. ‘You can touch me.’
Sparing not a second, Sirius’ hands moved into Remus’ hair, guiding his mouth back to his cock, weeping in desperation. He didn’t mean to push, or pull, not really, just tried to gently nudge Remus to take him deeper, to move faster. Pleased moans spilled from Remus’ lips as Sirius’ hands worked through his hair, as he let himself be guided to go as fast and deep as Sirius wanted him to go.
‘Fuck,’ Sirius moaned, inevitably nearing the edge far, far sooner than he’d like. He tugged softly at Remus’ hair as he whispered, against his own will and better judgement: ‘Fuck. You have to stop.’
Large brown eyes were gazing up at him again, a soft but cheeky grin playing across those lips.
‘You don’t want to come like this?’
‘No,’ Sirius responded breathlessly. ‘I want to – I want to feel you.’
Remus scrambled back to his feet, his hands on top of Sirius’ as he leaned into him, his breath ghosting his neck again as he whispered: ‘You want me to -’
‘I want you to fuck me,’ Sirius said, voice shaking with need.
Remus’ pupils dilated impossibly further as he let out a soft groan and started kissing along Sirius’ neck.
‘You want me to fuck you -’
‘Here. Against the bike. Yes.’
‘Fuck,’ Remus exhaled heavily, voice thick with lust. The feeling of his breath passing over Sirius’ Adam’s apple sent another shiver down his spine. This man – how even the smallest things he did drove him absolutely out of his mind.
Remus pulled Sirius’ into a long, deep kiss, while Sirius’ hands moved down to finally undo Remus’ belt, pull away the offensive fabric of trousers and underwear, wrap his hands around his hard cock. Remus groaned into their kiss, his hands grasping at Sirius’ arse as he bucked his hips into his hand, and Sirius withdrew to tease: ‘Patience, dearest.’
‘Turn around,’ Remus groaned, fingernails digging into Sirius’ hips as he moved him.
Well. As quickly as his power had come, it had gone again, apparently.
‘Bend over,’ Remus continued in that same demanding tone – controlled, but barely. ‘Hands back on the bike.’
Sirius’ stomach clenched as he obliged, the anticipation overwhelming. He only winced a little at how exposed he felt as Remus moved his trousers and boxers fully down his legs. Even more exposed as large hands moved over arse, spreading his cheeks apart. But he also felt – well, infinitely more turned on, to the point where it no longer seemed to matter. If Remus wanted to look, let him look, as long as he also continued touching, and… oh fuck – push lube-covered fingers inside him. Sirius groaned into the saddle, his breathing hot and heavy as the finger curled.
‘More,’ Sirius whined, trying to push back against Remus’ hand, willing him to go deeper, harder.
‘Patie-’
‘Screw patience,’ Sirius pleaded, ‘Need to feel you… please’
Suddenly, much to his displeasure, Remus withdrew his finger – suddenly, his hands were around his waist, curling and holding on tight; his breath warm on his neck before he kissed him down the back of his neck.
‘Why’d you stop?’ Sirius whined, and he could feel Remus’ smile.
‘I wanted to kiss you.’
‘You have me arse up and out and desperate, and that’s when you decide to be soft and soppy and –? ahhh -’ a loud breath escaped him as two fingers pressed back inside, soon followed by a third, moving hard and fast and stroking exactly the spots that made him whimper.
‘Fuck, Moony,’ he whined. ‘Again -’
Luckily, Remus didn’t seem to be in much of a teasing mood anymore, his own breathing heavy as his fingers moved inside Sirius, his other hand kneading and squeezing his arse with the enthusiasm of a man allowed to touch him for the first time.
‘So beautiful, Pads,’ he moaned. ‘Want you so badly -’
‘Then fuck me already,’ Sirius groaned. ‘I don’t know what you were waiting for. Other than maybe reminding yourself of that whole thing about patience being a virtue…’
‘Shut up,’ Remus laughed, trailing kisses over Sirius’ back, withdrawing his fingers. Sirius would have protested the loss, the feeling of unwanted empty, but instead his toes curled in delighted anticipation knowing what would come next.
He shivered at the feeling of two warm, steady hands holding him open. Then the hot weight of Remus’ cock pressed against him, tried to shift backwards, urging: ‘Moony, come on.’
‘Don’t move,’ Remus said sternly, the edge back in his voice, and Sirius made a noise of protest, but remained still. ‘Good,’ Remus whispered, finally breaching Sirius’ rim. Sirius’ knees buckled again, his fingers searching for purpose as Remus slid into him achingly slowly.
‘I’m not a virgin, as you very well know,’ Sirius groaned, ‘no need to treat me like one.’
‘When I said I was going to take you for a ride, you should have known I was planning the scenic route,’ Remus teased, but more of the controlled edge had slipped from his voice. His breathing came ragged, his fingers digging into Sirius’ hips. He pulled out slowly, before unexpectedly slamming back in hard, punching all the air from Sirius’ lungs in a long, needy, slightly surprised moan.
‘Ahhhhh – fuck – do that again’.
And Remus did – thank Merlin, because he wouldn’t have been able to stand it if he hadn’t. Again and again, he pulled out slowly before slamming back in in one rushed, hard motion, while Sirius moaned and shivered and tried to keep his knees from giving out. The warm, large hands were on his back now, pressing him down, keeping him in place as Remus’ rhythm moved from slow and deep to harder and faster. He didn’t often get this possessive, bossy, needy – but Sirius loved it when he did.
‘You feel so good,’ Remus exhaled, fingers digging into Sirius’ back, ‘so good, Sirius – fuck -’
‘Touch me,’ was all Sirius (barely) managed in response, through shallow breaths. ‘Touch me, please, Moony.’
Luckily, Remus seemed to have moved on from nonsense such as ‘patience’, or ‘slow’, or ‘waiting’ – his hand reached around immediately, heavy grip moving fast and hard in time with his thrusts, while his other hand slid up, landing in between Sirius’ shoulder blades and pushing him down further into the saddle. The coil in his stomach wound impossibly tighter with every snap of Remus’ hips, every deep thrust driving into him, every curse escaping Remus’ lips, every stroke over his hand over Sirius’ cock, steadily leaking precum over Remus’ hands.
‘Fuck – I won’t last,’ Sirius managed to pant.
‘Good,’ Remus breathed, moving his body once more to cover Sirius’, his lips suckling on the sensitive skin on the side of his neck, thrusting into him hard. ‘Let me feel you come, Pads.’
Sirius shuddered, moaned, whined as he stopped trying to resist the inevitable. His orgasm rocked through him, moaning Remus’ name into the leather seat of his poor abused motorbike, mingling with Remus’ own ragged moans into the crook of Sirius’ neck.
‘Fuck,’ Remus groaned, ‘I can’t -’
‘Don’t stop,’ Sirius whimpered. His whole body clenched in oversensitivity and yet he wanted, needed, Remus to continue. ‘Want to feel you,’ he panted, ‘need you to leave me full.’
‘Pads -’ Remus’ voice was a desperate thing now, his hands digging deep into Sirius’ hips, fingernails stinging. ‘Pads – fuck!’
Absorbing one final, deep slam into his body, Sirius Remus’ felt cock throb as he came deep, felt the heat of spread inside him as Remus clung to him desperately, panting his name in short, shallow breaths. His body went slack against Sirius’, head in the back of his neck, hands around his waist, fingers burying into his stomach now.
They stayed like that for a while, catching their breath, entangled. Until Sirius’ back started to complain and he moved in slight discomfort.
‘Sorry,’ Remus whispered, moving away to stand up straight.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Sirius smiled, turning around and kissing Remus lazily, pulling his body against him tightly, the leather of the saddle now digging coldly into his overheated arse. ‘That was amazing.’
‘Yeah,’ Remus agreed between kisses.
‘Happy birthday, baby,’ Sirius murmured against Remus’ lips.
Remus trailed a slow trail of kisses up from the side of Sirius’ mouth, to his cheek, to his temple and his forehead. ‘Thank you for making it perfect.’
‘Perfect? Before we’ve even had dinner-dessert yet?’
‘Well,’ Remus smiled softly. ‘Things can always get even better. And a cuppa?’
‘Coming right up.’ Sirius’ hand ran through the soft sea of Remus’ curls, and he asked cheekily: ‘So which present was your favourite? And if you tell me it’s that bloody Skonktopus Philumaculus book, I -’
‘Well, I mean…,’ Remus started hesitatingly, and Sirius groaned loudly – decidedly not in a sexy way this time. ‘Just kidding,’ Remus smiled, his fingers threading lazily through Sirius’ long hair in return. ‘You’re my best present every day of the year.’
‘Aww,’ Sirius responded, grinning against Remus’ skin and placing kisses under his ear. ‘Now you’ve gone and made it soppy.’
‘No, really,’ Remus insisted. ‘There’s no one else I would rather – go on this journey we call life with. As it were.’
‘Oh no,’ Sirius said.
‘The ultimate slow travel,’ Remus continued stubbornly. ‘The one where the journey really is worth so much more than the destination. The one where we accept what the road brings us, and hold onto each other as best we can as the wheels of time relentlessly keep going round and round -’
‘I get it,’ Sirius interrupted.
‘Alright,’ Remus relented, still smiling. ‘Let’s have some cake, then bed? Have a rest before we continue walking this life path together?’
‘Fine,’ Sirius said. ‘But I need you to know that on my birthday, I’m taking you on a real motorbike ride. Into the sky. And I’ll instate a special rule. No mention of any type of transport allowed. You won’t even be allowed to talk about the bike. Including while you’re on it.’
‘Will I be allowed to eat cake?’
Sirius made a face as if thinking about it deeply. ‘I suppose I could allow that.’
‘Good,’ Remus kissed him again. ‘I’ll be looking forward to it.’