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“What do you mean?!” Remus shrieks—far louder than he intends.
Behind the desk, the woman releases an unbelievably long sigh.
A little over dramatic, Remus thinks, as though this is the fifth time she’s had to explain something painfully obvious.
“You do not have all your credits,” she says—for the fourth time—enunciating each word.
“But I’m a triple major,” Remus insists, gesturing helplessly to himself as if that should explain everything. “How could I possibly not have all my credits to graduate?”
Her expression does not shift. “You never completed your physical education general education requirement.”
“There’s a phys ed requirement?!” he shrieks again.
“Yes,” she replies evenly. “And you never took it.”
“So I can’t graduate?” he asks, his voice cracking as a tight lump forms in his throat.
“Not necessarily,” she replies, already turning back to her screen. “We’re still in the add/drop period for the semester. You have time to adjust your schedule for your final term.”
Remus exhales shakily. “Right. Yes. Fine. I can do that.” He clears his throat. “Is there something like… Bowling I could take?”
The woman stares at him.
Then she dissolves into laughter. Not a polite chuckle. A full-bodied, wheezing cackle that forces her to grip the edge of her desk.
“That’s the first—” she gasps, clutching her side, “—class to fill up. You’d think—” another wheeze, tears forming at the corners of her eyes “—that would still be available?”
Remus waits, face carefully blank, while she attempts to recover what remains of her professionalism.
“Will you let me know what is still open?” he asks at last.
“Hmm,” she hums, typing. “Let’s see… Everything appears to be full except…”
Remus holds his breath.
“Ice Skating.”
His stomach drops so abruptly he’s certain it’s visible.
“But I don’t know how to ice skate,” he says, horrified.
“They teach you,” she replies. “That is, in fact, the purpose of enrolling in a class.”
“And there’s really nothing else?” he presses, clinging to a desperate hope.
“No.”
Remus leans forward, elbows on the desk, and buries his face in his hands.
“Okay,” he says into his palms, voice muffled and tragic. “Please register me for Ice Skating.”
“Certainly,” she replies. “Good choice.”
⛸️
“How’d it go?” Lily calls as soon as Remus pushes through the door of their shared flat, the hinges giving their usual tired creak.
He shuts it with more force than necessary and drops his bag by the entryway.
“It didn’t,” he says miserably, dragging himself to the sofa and collapsing onto it with a dramatic huff.
“You didn’t register for graduation?” Her brows knit together as she crosses the room and sits beside him.
“No,” he groans. “I’m apparently missing a gen ed.”
“What?!” she blurts, genuine shock lighting her face. “Which one?”
“P.E.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Lily presses her lips together so tightly they blanch white. Her eyes widen to an almost alarming degree, her entire body going rigid with the effort of containing what is very obviously imminent laughter.
Remus slowly turns his head and levels her with a flat stare.
“Sorry,” she manages, though the grin stretching across her face suggests anything but. “So,” she adds, clearing her throat and failing to compose herself, “what are you going to take?”
“Ice Skating.”
That does it.
She doubles over, laughter bursting free in helpless peals. One hand flies to her mouth, the other to his shoulder for balance as she wheezes against him.
Remus closes his eyes and waits.
“When’s the first class?” She asks, finally settling, but with tears in her eyes.
“Tomorrow.”
She straightens. “But tomorrow’s Friday. We’re seniors. We don’t take classes on Fridays.”
He fixes her with an unimpressed look. “It was the only one still open.”
“What time?”
“Eight-thirty in the morning.”
“No!” she gasps, clutching his arm. “That’s inhumane.”
“Yes,” he agrees gravely. “It is.”
“But you can graduate on time now, right?”
“Yes,” he sighs. “Once the add/drop period closes, I can officially register for graduation.”
“Well.” She pats his arm in exaggerated sympathy. “At least it’s mostly sorted.”
“Mostly,” he echoes darkly.
A beat passes.
“We going out for Thirsty Thursday?” she asks brightly.
Remus exhales through his nose. “Yeah. Alright.”
⛸️
“I am not well,” Remus mumbles to himself as he literally rolls out of bed and lands on the floor with a dull thud.
He lies there for a moment, staring at the underside of his mattress, taking stock of his pounding head and the distinct sensation that his tongue has been replaced with sandpaper.
Thirsty Thursday was, in hindsight, a mistake.
He drags himself upright and pulls on a pair of joggers, one of his softest oversized jumpers, and a beanie to tame his unruly hair. He downs the Gatorade from his bedside table, brushes his teeth with the focus of a man completing a heroic trial, and stumbles out the door.
The moment he steps outside, he hisses like a vampire caught in daylight.
Who knew the sun could be so offensively bright at this godforsaken hour?
He pivots immediately and retreats back inside. Without turning on the lights, he rummages blindly near the door and comes up with a pair of Lily’s oversized sunglasses.
He squints at them.
“Better than nothing,” he mutters, sliding them on.
Outside again, he exhales in relief.
“Much better.”
He makes his way toward the university ice rink, grateful he had the foresight yesterday to look up its location.
Stepping inside, a blast of cold air hits him square in the face. He shivers. A small cluster of students hovers near the skate rental counter—clearly all freshmen.
“Is this the ice skating class?” Remus asks as he approaches the group, voice coming out rough and raspy, as though he’s swallowed gravel.
The children look at him like they’ve seen a ghost. But then again, there’s a non-zero chance his face is so white that he looks like a ghost.
“Uh—yeah,” one of the toddlers squeaks out.”
“Cheers,” Remus replies with what might generously be described as a smile. He slides down the wall into a seated position to wait, letting his head tip back and his eyes drift shut for just a moment.
“Welcome to Ice Skating!”
The voice booms across the area.
Remus is deeply grateful for the sunglasses. No one needs to know his eyes are still closed.
“We’ll start by getting everyone fitted for skates,” the voice continues, smooth and confident. “Then we’ll do a quick skills assessment. See what we’re working with.”
There’s movement around him. Shuffling. Nervous laughter.
He assumes this means he should move as well.
He opens his eyes.
And his mouth opens with them.
Standing directly in front of him is not like any professor he's ever encountered.
The man is already wearing skates, which makes his tall frame positively tower over Remus, still seated on the floor. Black athletic trousers cling to lean legs, and a fitted black long-sleeve top outlines a toned chest, sculpted arms, and a frankly distracting stomach. His dark hair is pulled into a loose knot high on his head, exposing sharp cheekbones, a nail-biting jawline, and striking grey eyes that gleam with unmistakable amusement.
“Oh, good,” the man drawls. “You’re alive.”
“Barely,” Remus croaks.
“Are you here for Ice Skating?”
And, well, even if he hadn’t been before, he certainly is now.
“Mhm,” Remus manages, still staring, sending thanks to Lily’s absurd sunglasses for blocking his eyes.
“Do you need help getting up?” the man asks, extending a hand.
It takes Remus a full second to process the question. He could probably manage on his own.
But he’s not an idiot.
“Yeah,” he says, placing his hand in the man’s.
The grip is warm and firm. Remus enjoys it entirely too much as he’s pulled smoothly to his feet.
“Thanks,” he says, realising with quiet delight that with his skates, they’re nearly the same height.
If he’s not mistaken, the professor notices too. Grey eyes dip briefly, sweeping down Remus' frame before returning to his face.
“You’re a bit older than my usual students,” the man says with a slow smirk.
“You’re a bit younger than my usual professors.”
The man barks out a bright laugh. “I imagine so.” He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I’m a graduate student. I coach skating and figured I’d make a bit of extra money teaching.”
“I’m a senior with poor understanding of the required curriculum,” Remus answers, equally conspiratorial.
That earns him another delighted laugh.
“I’m Sirius.”
“Remus.”
Sirius smiles, and it softens his entire face into something breathtaking and unexpectedly warm.
“Let’s get you fitted for skates, Remus.”
Oh right. He’d almost forgotten.
“How is anyone meant to walk in these?” Remus mutters as he shuffles across the rubber matting, legs wobbling like a newborn fawn’s.
“You get used to it,” Sirius chuckles beside him.
Remus startles slightly. He hadn’t realised Sirius was that close.
“Before we get out there,” Sirius adds, eyeing his face with a smirk, “as much as I’m enjoying the bright pink sunglasses, you should probably take them off on the ice. Safety hazard.”
They’re bright pink?! He’s been ogling this man while wearing bright pink sunglasses?
“Er—yes. Right. Forgot,” Remus mutters, sliding them off.
They are aggressively pink.
He blinks against the flood of light, face scrunching. When his eyes adjust, he finds Sirius watching him.
“I’m not going to fall,” Remus says quickly. “You don’t need to wait for me.”
Sirius' eyes widen briefly before he clears his throat. “Right. Of course.” He smoothly pushes off onto the ice.
Remus follows.
It is the first time seeing Sirius from behind—his pants pulling around his rather round bum with each glide of his skate. It’s hard to get his eyes to look anywhere else.
Remus steps onto the ice.
And immediately falls.
Hard.
“Ow,” he groans, leaning over to rub his own bum, lacking any cushion that may have softened the fall.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to fall?” Sirius asks, once again towering over him with a hand extended.
“Who knew ice would be slippery?” Remus replies, grinning as he accepts the help up.
Maybe this will be like one of those rom-com films. Maybe he’ll wobble adorably for a few minutes and then, under Sirius' patient guidance, discover a hidden natural talent.
It is not like one of those rom-com films.
Remus falls in ways he did not know were physically possible for a body to fall.
He falls walking along the wall when his sleeve snags and sends him sliding down in humiliating slow motion.
He attempts marching and somehow lands in an accidental split, legs stretched in directions they were never meant to go. Unable to recover, he simply tips sideways.
He falls forward. He falls backward. He collapses straight down like a folding chair.
He is far too hungover for this.
After what feels like his sixteenth, or sixtieth, fall, Sirius skates over. “Why don’t you take a little break?”
Possibly out of pity. More likely out of concern for legal liability.
Remus does not attempt to stand.
He crawls. On hands and knees. With absolutely no dignity.
He drags himself onto the bench and flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
The combination of dehydration, humiliation, and repeated blunt-force trauma lulls him into sleep surprisingly quickly.
“Rise and shine.”
Remus jolts awake in total confusion, flails, and falls directly off the bench with a thud.
“Ow,” he mumbles, cheek squished against the floor.
He looks up to see Sirius crouched beside him, lips pressed together in a valiant but failing attempt not to laugh.
“I fell asleep,” Remus says, slightly pouty.
Sirius loses the battle and laughs.
“Yeah,” he grins.
Remus can’t help smiling back.
“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, blinking around the now-empty rink.
“Class ended about twenty minutes ago,” Sirius says. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but they need the ice back.”
“Oh.” Heat creeps into Remus' cheeks. “Thanks.”
“So, um—” Sirius begins, looking oddly nervous.
“My mum will be devastated!” Remus blurts.
Sirius blinks. “What?”
“She’s already bought her tickets. And a dress.”
“What?”
“You can’t fail me,” Remus insists. “I need to graduate this spring.”
Sirius stares at him for half a second before laughter breaks free again.
“I’m not failing you. No one fails Ice Skating unless they just stop showing up.”
“Oh.”
“What I was going to say,” Sirius continues, biting his bottom lip briefly, “is I’ve got the ice booked tomorrow evening. I was wondering if you wanted to come by? I could help you one-on-one. We might at least get you to stop falling every time you lift a foot.”
“I’m being assigned remedial skating?” Remus asks.
Sirius grins. “Not mandatory. Just an offer. I’ll be here anyway.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t be messing up your practice or anything?”
“Not at all.”
Remus hesitates for exactly half a second.
“Alright. I can attempt this again tomorrow night.”
“Great,” Sirius says, smiling brightly.
⛸️
And that is how Remus finds himself panic-rifling through his wardrobe, searching for something that looks nicer while not being wildly out of place at an ice rink.
Which is ridiculous.
Clearly, Sirius is acting as an instructor, generously offering extra help to a student in desperate need of it. That is all this is.
And yet Remus may or may not be spending an unnecessary amount of time sculpting his curls. Settling on a more fitted pair of joggers, a moisture-wicking long-sleeve top, and one of his nicer jumpers layered over it. He gives his hair one last fluff in the mirror and heads out
This might be silly, and he’s probably reading this all wrong, given that Sirius is technically a professor.
But they’re maybe a year apart, and it’s not as though Ice Skating is a class he needs to curry favours in order to get a passing grade.
When he arrives, he grabs his skates, unable to suppress a flicker of disappointment when he doesn’t see Sirius out front.
The moment he gets to the side of the rink, he understands why.
Sirius is already on the ice.
Nearly floating like a powerful angel. He moves like he was born there, blades carving clean lines as he builds speed. He launches into a turn that makes Remus' stomach swoop, lands it effortlessly, and transitions into footwork so fluid it barely looks real.
Remus sinks into a seat in the stands, utterly transfixed.
He watches the way Sirius' thighs tense before each jump, the controlled power in every push. The grace. The confidence. He looks completely in his element—sharp and radiant and devastatingly alive.
Remus isn’t sure how long he sits there, enraptured, until Sirius glides toward the boards and catches his eye.
Oh fuck.
He is fully, unmistakably hard.
In an absolute panic he attempts to brush it away as if the problem is crumbs in his lap, but that, unsurprisingly, does not help the situation.
And Sirius is getting closer.
He bends forward, starting to furiously unlace his skates, just so he can stay there and lace them again.
“Hey, you,” Sirius greets, voice warm and rich.
“Hey,” Remus squeaks.
“Here, let me help,” Sirius says, dropping gracefully to his knees in front of him.
That helps absolutely nothing.
“No, no—I’ve got it,” Remus insists
“Remus,” Sirius says, amused, “you’re weirdly out of breath. Let me do it properly.”
He shifts closer, settling between Remus' knees as he takes over the laces. “Your lanky arms are in the way,” he chuckles, swatting lightly at him. “Sit up.”
He presses at Remus' shoulders, guiding him—all of him—upright.
Remus closes his eyes and feels heat flood his face.
Silence stretches.
He risks a glance downward.
Sirius has stopped tying the laces.
His mouth is slightly open. His gaze is fixed squarely on the unmistakable outline straining against Remus' joggers.
“I’m sorry,” Remus says, the words tumbling out in a near-whine.
Sirius' eyes lift slowly to his.
A grin spreads across his face—not the reaction Remus was expecting.
“Need me to help you with that, too?” he asks lightly.
“What?” Remus croaks.
Sirius glances pointedly downward.
Remus follows the look. His body, traitorous thing, reacts to the suggestion with an eager pulse.
Sirius arches an eyebrow.
“We’re in public,” he whispers.
Another pulse gives him away.
“Something tells me you don’t mind,” Sirius murmurs. “Can you be quiet?”
And, well, fuck it. This devastatingly beautiful man is offering something—exactly what, Remus isn’t entirely sure—but he knows he wants it.
“Yes,” he breathes, darting a quick look around the rink. It’s empty.
“Yes, you can be quiet or yes, I can help you?”
“Both,” he says with a swallow.
Sirius brings his hands to Remus' waistband, pushing up his jumper a little bit, leaning forwards he starts mouthing at his cock through his joggers, and oh god, it already feels so good.
His head tips back against the seat with a stifled groan.
“I thought you said you could be quiet,” Sirius murmurs, voice already thickening.
Remus looks down at him—at blown pupils and flushed cheeks. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all.
“We’ll see.”
Sirius tugs the waistband down just enough for Remus to spring free, tucking his trousers underneath.
“Oh,” Sirius breathes softly. “I knew, but I didn’t know, you know?”
Remus huffs a laugh. “What?”
“Remus, you’re huge. And—so pretty.”
Remus feels heat flood his face again.
Sirius leans in, mouth brushing along the length of him, working slowly upward. His hand closes around him at the same time, firm and deliberate.
When Sirius finally takes the head into his mouth, tongue flicking, lips sealing, Remus nearly loses all sense of where he is.
He throws his head back again, bringing his arm over his face to muffle the sounds fighting desperately to escape.
“No,” Sirius murmurs, pulling back just enough to tug his arm away. “I want to see you.”
“Sirius,” Remus whispers desperately, “I don’t think I can stay quiet.”
“Hmm,” Sirius responds, bringing his hand up to softly stroke Remus’ cheek, then moving towards his lips. “Better open up then.”
And—holy shit—he does.
Sirius slides two fingers into his mouth just as he sinks lower, taking more of Remus in.
Remus mirrors his movements with Sirius’.
Remus swirls his tongue the way Sirius does. Sucks the way Sirius sucks. When Sirius takes him deeper, Remus echoes the motion, both swallowing around the intrusion, muffled moans escaping.
The shared eye contact is obscene.
Sirius begins moving with more purpose, head bobbing, taking as much as he can each time. Remus feels every drag of tongue, every careful shift of pressure as he continues to do the same.
Remus has never been so turned on in his life.
Sirius takes him deep, his throat pulsating around the heavy girth.
Remus gives an accidental jerk of his hips, causing Sirius' throat to spasm around him, forcing a gush of precome. Sirius continues to hum around him, the vibrations making him jerk his hips again.
He looks down to somehow express his apologies, eyes locking.
Sirius winks at him. He takes his one free hand, and grasps Remus’ hip, pulling him forward.
Surely not.
But then he does it again—bringing Remus further down his throat, then pushing back against him, only to bring him forward again.
Gazes locked, Remus searches his expression for misunderstanding. Sirius winks again.
Well, fuck.
Sirius’ fingers still in his mouth, he sucks them down as he moves carefully at first—one slow thrust—one more confirmation.
Sirius' eyes flutter closed, smile curling at the corners of his mouth, throat working.
Remus' restraint unravels quickly. He grips the seat, hips rocking in a steady rhythm. Sirius taking him deeper with each thrust, swallowing around him, with tight wet heat.
Remus chases the stimulation, thrusting faster and harder with each rock of his hips, drooling from Sirius’ fingers still in his mouth.
Oh fuck.
“Sirius,” he chokes softly, pulling at him. “I’m going to—”
Sirius lets himself be eased back, lips swollen, eyes dark.
“Coat my throat. Paint my insides,” Sirius says with a voice so raspy it’s near pornographic.
Remus immediately comes.
Hard.
His toes curling, back arching, moaning from deep in his chest, white ropes shoot out with force—all over Sirius’ face, absolutely coating him.
He barely has time to register what he’s done before panic surges.
In a desperate need for that not to have just happened, he grabs Sirius’ face with both hands and licks him from chin to forehead.
He continues to lick across his face, maybe Sirius will forget if he erases the evidence. Dutifully licking his cheeks, around his nose, his eyelids.
Sirius’ entire body goes rigid in his hands.
Then trembles.
“Did you just—”
“No!” Sirius squeaks, voice cracking. “Shut up!”
And, well, Remus is nothing if not committed.
He reaches down, slipping his hand into Sirius' trousers, finding him still hard and sensitive.
The final pulses meet his palm, cock fitting so nicely, he hopes he’ll get to see it again.
Sirius inhales sharply.
Remus withdraws his now-covered hand, bringing it to his mouth without breaking eye contact, licking his fingers clean, adding the taste of Sirius to his own.
Sirius watches, stunned.
Then he lunges forward, capturing Remus' mouth in a fierce kiss, tongue pushing in, tasting both of them.
“Go on a date with me,” Sirius says thickly against his lips.
⛸️
Much to Remus' dismay, their schedules over the next month are impossibly busy. They see each other only in class, careful to keep a respectable distance.
It also means Remus makes very little improvement on the ice.
Not that he was planning to try out for the Olympics at the end of the semester. And, fortunately for him, his recurring vantage point on the ground does provide an excellent view of Sirius looking distractingly fit while demonstrating drills.
Still, exactly one month after his “remedial” skate lesson, they are finally both free on a Saturday.
Sirius has offered to cook dinner at his flat, and Remus is certainly not complaining about a date that happens to be in close proximity to a bed—especially one belonging to a man whose body he has been thinking about far too often.
Which is how he once again finds himself tearing through his wardrobe.
He opts for the corduroy trousers from sophomore year—perhaps a touch inappropriately tight—a fitted T-shirt that hugs his waist in a way he quite likes, and a cardigan to give him more shape than his usual oversized knitwear. He runs a hand through his curls, attempting something artfully undone rather than mildly chaotic.
Sirius' flat is within walking distance of campus, which is a blessing; Remus arrives promptly at seven, nerves buzzing under his skin.
The door swings open.
And Remus forgets how to function.
He’d thought Sirius looked devastating in his skating clothes. That was nothing compared to this.
Black jeans obscenely clinging to his hips and arse, artfully ripped along the thighs, revealing flashes of toned muscle and what appears to be dark ink. His V-neck shirt dips low enough to expose the elegant line of his sternum and the upper plane of his chest. His hair is down, falling soft and dark around his shoulders.
“Hi,” Sirius says, and—unbelievably—he looks almost shy.
“Hi,” Remus replies, stepping forward without thinking. He wraps his arms around Sirius' waist and pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his mouth. It’s brief, but he feels Sirius melt against him almost instantly.
When he steps fully into the flat, he stops short.
The entire space glows.
Candles flicker from every conceivable surface, casting warm gold light that makes the room feel intimate and almost unreal.
“There must be fifty candles in here,” Remus breathes.
“Seventy-eight in all,” Sirius corrects, looking absurdly pleased with himself.
“It looks incredible,” Remus says honestly. “It’s very romantic.”
“Thank you. It was a lot of hard work,” Sirius replies with some sort of repressed grin. He steps closer, brushing their noses together before leaning in for a deeper kiss.
Remus responds by guiding him back until Sirius' shoulders meet the wall, pressing their hips together.
“What’s in these candles?” Remus murmurs against his mouth. “The scent is intoxicating.”
Sirius smiles, making it difficult to maintain the kiss. “My own blend,” he says, pressing a playful kiss to the tip of Remus' nose.
“I’ve thought about you constantly this past month,” Sirius continues, punctuating his words with soft kisses. “I wanted to do something special for you. For tonight.” He hesitates just a fraction before adding, “I made them.”
“You made all of these?” Remus asks, genuinely surprised. “That must have taken ages.”
“Not when you spread it out,” Sirius says lightly. “Two or three a day.” His grin widens. “I wanted you to know how often you were on my mind.”
Remus frowns slightly, certain he’s missing something. “They’re beautiful, Sirius. I just… don’t quite understand what they have to do with me.”
Sirius' expression shifts—proud, a little wicked.
“Every time I thought about you—about us—while wanking,” he says passionately as if he’s delivering a Shakespearean sonnet, “every time you were the reason I needed to wank, I kept my release. And turned it into a candle. A gift—for you!”
Remus' pulse skyrockets.
“All of these?” he asks, voice dropping. “You thought about me this many times? And you kept it?”
Sirius nods.
“Bedroom. Now,” Remus commands, a damn near growl escaping from his throat.
Sirius visibly swallows, pupils dilating as heat flares across his face.
Without another word, he grabs Remus' hand and leads him towards the bedroom.
There are even more cum candles in the bedroom.
Now that Remus knows what they’re made from, the scent hits him differently—richer, heavier—and it goes straight to his cock.
“Can we play with the wax?” Remus asks, voice already rough.
Sirius nods eagerly. “And eat it.”
Remus pushes him back onto the bed. Sirius lands with a soft bounce, staring up at him, chest rising and falling with quickened breaths.
Oh, he’s going to have some fun with this.
He leans down and kisses him, slow at first, then deeper, more desperate. Sirius' hands slide up Remus' shoulders, easing off his cardigan without breaking the kiss, gently placing it to the side with such care.
Remus hooks his fingers into the hem of Sirius' shirt and pulls it over his head.
His breath hitches as his eyes rove over Sirius’ torso, taking in the curve of his muscles, his slim waist, the flush already blooming across his skin. His thumbs find Sirius' pink nipples immediately, brushing over them.
Sirius gasps.
Remus kisses him again, pressing him flat into the mattress before reaching for one of the nearby candles. It sits in a small ceramic pitcher, no more than four ounces.
He settles back on his heels and lifts it to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Mm,” he hums, eyes closing briefly, savoring the scent.
When he opens them, Sirius is staring at him—wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, a very obvious bulge straining against his tight jeans.
Remus leans forward and, slowly—so slowly—tilts the candle.
Warm wax spills across Sirius' chest, tracing lazy circles around each nipple.
Sirius hisses, back arching off the bed. The bulge in his jeans jumps.
“You like that?” Remus rasps, words coming with difficulty as he takes in the sight of Sirius sprawled beneath him, skin streaked in cloudy white.
“Yes,” Sirius breathes.
“Do you remember what you were thinking about when you made this one?” Remus asks, pouring more, relishing every sharp inhale and broken moan.
“I remember all of them,” Sirius pants.
Remus stills, looking up. “All of them?”
Sirius' smile turns wicked. “All seventy-eight.”
“Fuck,” Remus groans, lunging forward to capture his mouth, tongues tangling. He pulls back just enough to drag the wax lower, painting streaks across Sirius' stomach. “Tell me about this one.”
Sirius lifts his hips instinctively, pressing into Remus. Remus meets the movement with a low breath.
“That’s number seventeen,” Sirius says between gasps. “I was thinking about us getting filthy—covered in each other,” he pants as Remus continues to finger paint with the poured wax across his stomach and chest. “How we’d shower together afterwards. Slowly washing each other’s bodies, feeling every inch with our hands.”
Remus bends forward and flattens his tongue against Sirius' chest, licking up the wax in long strokes.
Sirius' breathing grows heavier.
“We’d stand under water as hot as we could take it,” he continues, voice faltering as Remus flicks his tongue over a nipple before sucking it into his mouth. “Bodies pressed together. Hands wrapped around each other. Stroking. Sliding against each other.”
The scent in the air, the taste of the wax, the cadence of Sirius' voice—it pushes Remus closer to losing control.
“Is that how we’d come?” Remus murmurs, mouth traveling to the sharp line of Sirius' collarbone.
“Yes,” Sirius moans, hips lifting helplessly.
“Remus,” he groans a moment later. “My trousers. Please.”
Remus smirks against his skin. “I don’t know. You chose to wear these slutty little things. Putting yourself on display since I walked in.”
The whimper Sirius lets out is sweet and immediate. His cock kicks visibly beneath the fabric.
Interesting.
“Think you’ve earned me taking them off?” Remus asks lightly.
“Yes,” Sirius pants. “I’ll be good. Take them off. Coat me in wax.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Remus pops the button and lowers the zip, dragging the jeans down his hips and off completely.
“These thighs,” Remus breathes, eyes roaming over the powerful muscles inked with dark tattoos.
He leans down and bites gently into the firm flesh. Sirius' hand tangles in Remus' curls instantly, pressing him closer as Remus alternates between sucking and nipping.
“You’re still far too dressed,” Sirius says hoarsely, reaching for Remus' trousers.
Remus helps, stepping out of the corduroys and pushing them aside before peeling off his shirt. He sits back on his heels, bare-chested.
Sirius' hands roam over him immediately, warm and deliberate.
“You’re beautiful,” Sirius says softly.
Heat creeps into Remus' face. He looks away, reaching for another candle.
“Tell me about this one.”
“That’s number forty-three,” Sirius replies as Remus begins drizzling wax slowly along his thighs, watching every tremor it draws from him.
“Started out sweet with that one. Took you out on a picnic date. Spread out the blanket, brought food, a stack of books—“
Remus pauses, brow lifting. “Books?”
“You seem like you’d enjoy reading in the sun,” Sirius says, almost shy again.
Remus grins. “That I do.”
He bends to lick along the path of wax, following the grooves of muscle with his tongue.
“It was a lovely afternoon,” Sirius continues, breath hitching. “Then you fucked me behind a tree while people walked their dogs nearby.”
Remus snorts a laugh, sending the wax flying to Sirius’ inner thigh. He turns to mouth at the spot, nibbling gently to the fleshy area.
“Fuck, Remus,” Sirius groans, back arching, his covered cock brushing against Remus' cheek.
Remus turns his attention there, pressing his mouth over the bulge through the fabric, sucking lightly. Sirius' hips jerk in response.
Remus lifts the candle again and lets wax spill along the waistband, watching it pool before leaning in and tracing it away with the tip of his tongue.
Remus finally tugs Sirius' pants off, his own following quickly after.
Sirius' cock rests against his stomach—achingly hard, flushed, almost painfully so. Not as long as Remus', but thick, beautifully proportioned to the rest of him. When Remus runs a finger lightly along the underside, it feels velvety-smooth and burning hot.
He wraps his hand around it.
A soft, needy sound slips from his throat at the weight of it in his palm.
At the first slow pump, Sirius groans deeply, hips twitching as a bead of precome wells at the tip and spills down in a glossy trail.
Remus strokes him at the root, steady and deliberate, then lowers his mouth to the head. He circles it with his tongue, teasing, before drawing it in and sucking gently, collecting the precome with a low hum of appreciation.
“Oh my god,” Sirius gasps, his hand flying instantly to Remus' hair. His fingers thread through curls and tighten, guiding him down.
Remus relaxes into it, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening as he takes more of him. Another pulse of precome leaks at the sensation.
“Fuck,” Sirius grunts, his grip loosening slightly as Remus begins to bob in a slow rhythm, working farther down each time. He pushes deeper, inch by inch, until he feels Sirius brush the back of his throat.
The sound Sirius makes is wrecked—half moan, half cry.
“Remus,” he whines, fingers tightening again. “I’m going to—”
Remus pulls off with a soft pop, breath warm against damp skin. “If you come,” he asks, voice low and thick, “will you still be able to keep going?”
Sirius blinks at him, pupils blown wide. Then he nods eagerly, an almost giddy smile breaking across his face.
“Then come for me,” Remus murmurs. “Let me taste you fresh.”
He takes him back into his mouth in one smooth motion, relaxing his throat, swallowing him down as far as he can manage.
Sirius' entire body goes rigid.
His back arches sharply off the mattress, a broken, desperate sound tearing from his chest as he spills into Remus' mouth.
Remus keeps his rhythm steady, pulsing his throat, swallowing around him as he drinks him down. Sirius thrusts weakly, chasing the sensation even through the peak of it.
“You feel so good,” Sirius breathes shakily, hips rocking in small, helpless movements.
When Sirius begins to soften, Remus eases back, letting him slip from his mouth. He stretches upward immediately, capturing Sirius in a deep kiss, hands settling at his waist. His thumbs trace slow, grounding circles into warm skin.
Sirius gradually melts beneath his touch, breath evening out.
Remus tightens his grip slightly, then shifts his weight and flips Sirius onto his stomach in one smooth motion.
“That was so hot,” Sirius groans into the sheets.
Remus chuckles softly, leaning down to press gentle kisses between his shoulder blades, savoring the lingering heat beneath his lips.
Remus reaches for another candle and tilts it, pouring a slow, deliberate line down Sirius' spine.
“Fuck!” Sirius cries out at the sudden heat, muscles tensing beneath him.
“Tell me about this one,” Remus murmurs.
Sirius glances back over his shoulder, grinning. “That’s the first one I made.”
“Yeah?” Remus drizzles more along Sirius' lower back, watching it gather in the dimples just above the swell of a truly magnificent bum.
“Mm-hmm,” Sirius moans, burying his face in the pillow as Remus traces the small of his back with the tip of his tongue, swirling it through the warm pools. “I got off on the memory of the ice rink. The way your mouth felt around my fingers. Your amber eyes going nearly black with need.” His voice wavers. “The size of you. The weight of your cock in my mouth. The way you came on my face.” He groans as Remus lets wax spill lower, sliding over the curve of his arse and collecting in the crease above his thigh. “And you licking it off me.”
Remus watches the cloudy liquid trail down Sirius' body before lowering his mouth to follow it. His tongue drags through the wax, nipping lightly where arse meets thigh, earning a series of heavy breaths as Sirius begins to rut against the mattress.
“The wax—” Sirius pants, struggling for coherence, “—it’s mostly coconut oil and come—” He breaks off with a moan when Remus' tongue traces higher, seeming to lose his train of thought entirely.
“Sirius,” Remus says, voice low, as he pours another line that dribbles slowly between his cheeks. “Are you telling me this doubles as lube?”
“Yes,” Sirius groans.
“That’s why you had us exchange test results,” Remus says with a grin, tongue flicking up his back.
“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Sirius manages.
Remus arches a brow, letting a slow, confident smile spread across his face as he spreads the warm oil with his fingers, working it between Sirius' cheeks.
Without another word, he nudges Sirius' knees forward, lifting his hips. The view alone makes his cock leak. He spreads him gently, meeting Sirius' eyes for silent confirmation.
Remus flattens his tongue and finds paradise between those cheeks.
Easing the oil against tight muscle instead of licking it away, applying slow, coaxing pressure until Sirius relaxes enough to let him inside. He groans at the taste—coconut, salt, and something beautifully Sirius.
Sirius screams deliciously at the sensation.
They both want more almost immediately. Sirius pushes back against him. Remus moves his hands to his hips, leaning back and bringing Sirius with him.
“Are you sure?” Sirius asks, looking down at Remus flat on his back.
“Sirius,” Remus replies, tugging him down firmly, “sit on my face.”
Thick thighs bracket his head as Sirius lowers himself, cock already hard again, resting against his stomach. Remus thrusts his tongue upward, finding his rhythm.
“HOLY SHIT!” Sirius shouts, hips jerking as Remus continues, alternating between slow thrusts and firm strokes with his tongue. Remus humming happily, gently vibrating the balls resting against his throat.
Remus lets out a muffled moan and involuntarily thrusts his hips up when he feels fingers wrap around his own cock, spreading the precome at the tip before stroking down.
“Remus,” Sirius whines. “I’m going to come,” he gasps, grinding down harder against his mouth.
Remus lifts slightly, just enough to breathe. “If you do,” he asks, voice thick, “can you keep going?”
Sirius hesitates, brows furrowing, then looks down with a hoarse, “Yeah.”
Remus grins and pulls him back down, tongue continuing to fuck him. The moment his hand wraps around Sirius' cock, he breaks.
Sirius cries out, grinding down harder against his face, thighs squeezing his head, whole body convulsing through another orgasm.
Remus feels like he might pass out and he’s never been happier.
As soon as he’s able, Sirius lifts himself off, collapsing onto the bed beside him, both of them gasping for air.
They lie there for a moment, head to feet, fingers tangled together, delirious smiles stretched across their faces.
After a while, Sirius rolls onto his side, resting his head on Remus' thigh. Remus threads his fingers through his hair, stroking gently.
“You better fuck me soon. I’m nervous your cock is about to break off.”
Remus glances down and—holy shit.
His cock is flushed an alarming shade of red, bordering on purple, veins standing out along the length, the tip glossy with precome.
“Are you ready?” Remus asks, voice rough.
“Yeah,” Sirius says, pressing a soft kiss to Remus' thigh before scooting back, a wide, eager smile spreading across his face.
Remus crawls forward until he’s braced on his hands and knees over Sirius. He leans down to kiss him—slow, deliberate—before reaching for another candle.
“Tell me about this one,” Remus murmurs as he bends Sirius' knees toward his chest. He pours the warm wax over his cheeks, then coats his fingers and presses them gently toward his opening.
“That’s twelve,” Sirius gasps, head falling back as Remus pushes in one slick finger, the oil and come making everything glide easily.
“We reunited after being forced apart,” Sirius groans as a second finger slides in. “Uncertain at first—after so much time away—but our bodies knew exactly what to do. Like no time had passed.” He pushes back against Remus' hand with a low grunt.
“We came almost instantly,” he continues breathlessly as Remus eases in a third finger, stretching him carefully. “So relieved to be in each other’s arms again.”
Remus adds more of the warm oil, spreading his fingers slowly, watching with satisfaction as Sirius' cock stirs back to life.
“We worked each other through it,” Sirius whines, “but quickly turning heated again— transitioning from aftercare to prep,” he pants. “Taking turns fucking each other. Over and over. Making up for lost time.”
Remus withdraws his fingers slowly, slicking his cock with the mixture, jaw tightening as he fights the urge to finish from the contact alone. He nudges at Sirius' opening and begins to press inside.
“Fuck,” they groan in unison as Sirius' body yields, drawing him in with desperate warmth.
Remus grips Sirius' cock and starts stroking in time with his thrusts.
“You feel so good,” he growls, already dangerously close to the edge.
Sirius shifts, knees sliding from his chest to hook over Remus' shoulders. Remus leans forward, folding him in half, driving deeper with each controlled thrust.
Their mouths hover close, panting into each other’s breaths without quite kissing.
“Fuck—yes!” Sirius cries as Remus angles his hips just right, hitting his prostate with steady precision. Each thrust draws another sharp sound from him, hips meeting Remus' rhythm.
“Baby, I’m—” Remus groans.
“Me too,” Sirius pants.
“Come for me,” Remus murmurs, pressing a kiss to his neck, teeth grazing lightly as he folds him tighter.
“Remus—fuck!” Sirius shouts, his body seizing as he comes, white spilling between them, clenching so spectacularly hard that Remus sees stars as he comes right along with him.
He loses all sense of himself, unsure if he’s screaming, moaning, or silent, as pleasure crashes through him in long, pulsing waves.
His cock throbs inside Sirius as he continues to tighten and relax around him, both of them riding out the intensity together.
Finally, Remus collapses forward, chests pressing together, nuzzling his head into the crook of Sirius’ shoulder, still buried deep inside him. They lie there wordlessly, breathing hard against each other, sweat cooling on overheated skin.
After a while, Sirius' fingers drift up to thread through Remus' curls, stroking slowly as he fights to keep his eyes open.
Remus blinks awake sometime later, his softening cock still half inside Sirius.
Shifting his head, he sees Sirius is asleep beneath him, a small, contented smile on his lips. The sight steals Remus' breath.
He slips the rest of the way out, stretching his body up and kisses him, loving the way Sirius’ smile feels against his lips.
Sirius stirs, blinking open heavy eyes. Confusion flickers briefly before recognition softens his face, his smile returning brighter than before.
They exchange sleepy, lingering kisses.
“Think dinner’s ruined?” Remus murmurs against his mouth.
“Oh,” Sirius says between kisses, “I never made dinner. That was just an excuse to get you over here.”
Remus lets out a surprised laugh that quickly turns into full-body laughter. Sirius joins him, both of them dissolving into delirious giggles.
“Takeaway?” Sirius offers.
“Is that an actual suggestion,” Remus asks with a wry grin, “or just another excuse to keep me here?”
Sirius barks a laugh.
They fall back into lazy kisses and quiet laughter, candles burning around them, the smell of come permeating throughout the room.