Chapter Text
Sirius Black wakes up horny. Just one of those days.
Mid-September morning, summer is supposed to be gone, but the sun is still bright and warm, high up in the sky when he gets out of bed. It’s Monday, and Sirius feels strangely motivated to move, to do things, even though he knows he needs to be at the theatre in exactly—he glances at the digital clock on his oven—seven hours.
Bloody hell.
It’s not often Sirius wakes up before nine AM, especially not after working the night before.
Cradling his morning coffee in one hand, sitting on a stool at his breakfast bar, Sirius is staring out of the kitchen window of his Brixton flat pensively. He could achieve so much in 7 hours. He grabs his phone lying nearby, unlocks the device and automatically swipes towards one singular app. Sirius lets his thumb hover over the icon briefly before pressing down. Immediately, a slew of half-naked male bodies floods the screen. Grinning, he takes a sip from his coffee and slumps back in his seat as he starts scrolling through his options leisurely, but with gusto. It’s been a while since he hooked up with someone. Maybe that’s what the strange tension between his shoulder blades is. His body is in need of a proper shag. That’s what it is.
There are a few message notifications in his inbox, but he ignores them. Sirius isn’t quite sure what he wants today, but he isn’t that impatient. He can take his time. Scrolling through his options, once in a while he opens a profile, but closes it just as quickly. Wolfboy310, however, is an instant click, if only for the affinity Sirius immediately feels towards the nickname, his own being wannabeyourdog.
“Canine looove.”
Sirius chuckles. He's aware of how cheesy it is, but despite that he lets the words quietly roll down his tongue. There are no expectations, so he is genuinely surprised when he feels the familiar tug of arousal somewhere deep in his stomach as he looks at the only profile picture. It’s a candid one. Taken in bed. A slender torso, the slightly tanned skin smooth, like something he would very much like to run his hands over, over and over. Then there are these curious scars, many of them all across the plane of this stranger’s chest. It doesn’t put him off, Sirius realises very quickly, just the opposite. The body, supposedly wolfboy310’s body, is not necessarily in a sexual pose, but Sirius’ stomach churns with desire. He shifts on the stool again, leans forward, props his elbows on the counter in front of him, blindly reaching for his coffee with one hand. He sets to carefully study the profile. Interest bubbles up inside him. The profile’s empty except for a few tags at the bottom.
-anon, condoms, dtf, hung, kissing, naps, reading-
A smug smile appears on Sirius’ face. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth a few times, abusing it while his eyes linger over -hung-.
Brevity is a great charm of eloquence.
Sirius doesn’t remember who said that anymore, but he reckons they must have known what they were talking about. He clicks the message button. wannabeyourdog writes.
Sirius doesn’t think this is a particularly good opener, but the longer he stares at the picture on this profile, the less blood flows towards his brain. That’s an excuse, right? He almost reaches between his legs, but manages instead to finish his coffee and pray for a response as he washes the cup and cleans up dirty dishes from the previous night’s supper.
-ping-
Fuck yeah.
Sirius reads the message and snickers. Oh, a funny one then. Good.
Well, that’s not the kind of answer Sirius wants to get, but he’s impressed nevertheless when he googles the full moon schedule and finds out that indeed, they have 13 days to go.
Sirius’ teeth find his lower lip again and his breath quickens just so.
There’s no response for a while, and Sirius has never thought seven minutes could last this long. He’s hooked.
Is this bloke seriously apologising to him? Sirius laughs again, this time more softly. Wolfboy310's good. The implications of his tags are also very good. And then there’s the picture. Oh, so very good. Sirius loses himself to a silly daydream as he stares at the alluring body as if seeing it in person wasn’t about to become a reality.
Crap. Wait. Where is he? Oh. 12 km away.
Sirius breathes out in relief. At this time of the day the traffic should be fine, and his bike has never failed to take him anywhere on time.
And it’s that easy.
Sirius feels light, excited. Whoever this guy is, there’s no way he’ll be a disappointment. Sirius can feel it in his gut. And his gut is always correct (okay, okay, sometimes it’s very much wrong, but he won’t have it this time).
-ping-
Sirius stops in his tracks towards his bedroom and stares at the message. He too has only one picture on his profile. Slightly teasing. It’s a photo of his naked chest, a collarbone protruding, and a part of his neck as he cranes it sideways, making sure his face is not visible. His shoulder length black hair loosely falling over the bone, covering some of the skin as well as some of the ink he’d gotten done just a few months before taking the picture. It’s a good photo if he can say so himself. Sirius is fond of most of his own photos though, so perhaps that can’t be a true measure of their attractiveness. Suddenly, he almost feels nervous. It’s ridiculous. Wolfboy310 is just some random stranger on the internet after all.
Sirius exhales in relief. Yeah, ridiculous. Heat washes over him, and he rushes into his bedroom with new fervour.
Throwing his phone on the bed, Sirius doesn’t check his messages until he’s dressed up and ready to go.
Sirius snickers. He’s in a really good mood. Just one of those days.
---
In the end, Sirius accidentally takes two wrong turns, and it’s only a little before eleven-thirty when he parks his bike in front of a slightly dilapidated block of flats at the edge of Rose Hill Park in Sutton. He gives the building a onceover as he takes his helmet off. Fuck. Okay. Well, who is he to judge.
Sirius is already guessing the bloke’s not even home anymore, and he wouldn’t blame him for it. Cautiously, he makes his way towards the entrance and up to the third floor, a small plastic bag containing a paper bag with two chocolate croissants inside in his hand. Just a little something for this mysterious wolfboy. Perhaps it’ll be able to appease him after being this late.
God, please be home .
There are no more messages for him on the app when Sirius stops in front of F320. There’s nothing to ring, so he simply knocks on the door. It's a very much conscious decision to hold his breath as he waits. Soft steps echo on the other side of the door, and the sound sends his heart racing.
Sirius, being six feet, is tall. Wolfboy310 is a tree . Sirius knows he is staring.
As he gives the man a quick once-over, his mouth becomes suddenly dry. Sirius isn’t sure he’s started breathing again. The man in front of him must be at least a head taller than him. His skin sun-kissed brown, a crooked nose covered in darker brown soft freckles and a rather long scar cutting across. His eyes are the shade of chocolatey brown, the kind you want to melt into. There’s a mop of honey brown curls on his head, flopping over his forehead. He’s barefoot, wearing latte-coloured joggers and a white cotton t-shirt.
Fuck. You really ought to say something, Black.
Sirius coughs and gives him an apologetic look, trying to beat whatever else is probably showing up on his face as he looks at this interestingly handsome man. He never knew brown could be his favourite colour.
“Yes?” the man says and there’s a question in his eyes, although the small smile tugging at his lips convinces Sirius that wolfboy310 knows who he’s looking at. Sirius had put his hair into a low bun for his bike ride, but a few strands have strayed from his hair tie, and they are now loosely framing his face. The man surely knows. It’s a clue enough.
“Breakfast delivery,” Sirius eventually manages, grinning.
The man even laughs brown. It’s warm, a low soft rumble that envelops him completely. Sirius chews the insides of his cheeks in anticipation.
“You’re kind of late.” Wolfboy310 raises a brow, perhaps waiting for an explanation. Or is it a reproach? No, that cannot be, not from a man like this. But then, no man like this ever has a nickname wolfboy310 and is D own T o F uck. Usually not, anyway. Christ, he’s fit. Sirius knows nothing about the world all of a sudden.
“I took a couple of wrong turns. Really sorry about that. Am I too late?” Sirius dangles the plastic bag in his hand, the ruffling sound drawing the man’s attention. This time he smiles more broadly, more openly. It’s fucking fireworks on his face, Sirius thinks and gulps down heavily.
“You know what?” The man glances to the side, probably checking the time, then looks back at him, searching. His eyes narrow as he very obviously ponders his options. There’s a strange kind of sincerity reflected in them. “No, not quite.” And he reaches for Sirius, his large hand settling just below his elbow, long fingers wrapping gently around his forearm as he pulls him in, the door shutting behind them right away.
They are in a small narrow corridor and wolfboy310 is backing, leading them into a room, the only room the flat seems to be comprised of. Sirius doesn’t have much time to look around. He’s distracted by the other’s hand on his forearm and a gentle smile reigning his face. It nearly makes him feel bad that his own face is probably ruled solely by lust. All Sirius notices for now is something akin to a kitchen to his right and lots of books. Piles of them. Heaps of them. Mountains. Everywhere. There is a bookshelf or two, but they are clearly not enough. Sirius understands the reading tag now. The man instinctively knows where to step to avoid just another crumbled bunch while guiding them towards what seems to be his bed.
He slides his hand down Sirius’ forearm gently and takes over the plastic bag, which he sets on yet another tower of books nearby. Now this would be the time to speak up again, Sirius thinks, and even opens his mouth to do just so. His heart is hammering in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, and he feels his cock twitching in his tight black jeans. Sirius Black’s had a fair share of random hook ups and quickies, but never one with a start as odd as this one.
“Now, you were saying something about wanting to feed me, if I remember correctly?” the man says before anything at all comes out of Sirius’ mouth, mischief echoing in his voice. There’s a lot of amusement there as well. And then something else in his eyes, something wolfish. Sirius chuckles and he wishes it didn't sound as silly to his own ears.
“It’ll have to be lunch now, I’m afraid,” Sirius says slightly breathless, and takes a step closer, so fucking ready to give him anything he wants. But again, before he can initiate anything at all, there are those big hands reaching for him, one settling on his hip in a tight grip, the other sliding behind his neck to cup it and pull him into a kiss. The touch that was so light on his arm just a moment ago, completely foreign.
Fuck fuck fuck.
The crush of their lips is bruising, but the way the other’s lips accommodate Sirius’ own right away makes it nothing but pleasurable. He opens up eagerly, and lets the man lick into his mouth. The slide of their tongues is delicious in a way that it fulfils every expectation Sirius has built in his head as he rode to this flat. He is being pulled into the kiss and into this tall tall man with an inexplicable gravity. Metaphorically, and thank God, very much literally so. Soon their bodies are flush against each other. Sirius’ hands gripping at the other’s t-shirt on his sides, he yanks him towards the bed that’s just a step to the left. Their calves bump into the edge painfully.
They part, both panting, hoarding as much air into their lungs before they know they will have to reconnect. It’s inevitable. They are in a rush to do so, but it has nothing at all with the limited time they have to enjoy their encounter.
“Fuck,” Sirius murmurs and releases the man’s t-shirt in favour of groping at the front of his joggers, too curious. His eyes widen as he looks up at the man who’s now working on undoing his jeans. He’s certainly no liar, is all Sirius can think of. He’s been patient enough today. He shoves his hand right inside of those joggers, simultaneously breaching the waistband of his boxers and wrapping his fingers ( Christ , barely so) around a cock for which its owner truly rightfully labelled himself as hung. “You’re big,” he breathes out. It’s a bit dumb, but Sirius says it anyway and latches at the other’s neck, sucking a bruise into it without any care.
“Yeah, well…” It’s not like Sirius needs a confirmation. The man is craning his neck under his ministrations, his breath hitching in his chest. Finally, it seems he manages to undo Sirius’ jeans, and he tugs them down to his thighs. “C’mon, off with them.” Despite the warm undertone still present, the man’s voice is commanding this time, and Sirius can only obey.
He lets go of the other with an unconscious whine, but helps him undress, taking off his jacket and pulling his own t-shirt over his head to discard them somewhere on the ground. There’s an imbalance between stark naked Sirius (despite the fact that all the tattoos covering him are like his second attire) and the other, still fully dressed, but Sirius has hardly ever felt self-conscious about his body. He knows that can’t be said about everyone though, and that immediately directs his thoughts to the scars that are supposedly hidden underneath the other’s t-shirt.
“Let me see you?” It’s more of a question in comparison to the way the man has spoken to him, but it seems to be the right thing to say. Sirius wonders how he feels about his body, but the way he takes off his clothes in one go, completely, indicates there’s likely no self-doubt. Sirius is so turned on by the idea his cock twitches again. He’s surprised to feel his cheeks warm up at that.
And indeed, as advertised, there are scars all over the man in front of him. It’s not only his chest, but there are scars over his lower abdomen, thin cuts, some longer, some shorter. Then there’s a big one. The edges are more ragged, it sits across his right thigh. Sirius is pretty sure he’s staring again, his mouth watering, urge to lick along every single one of them raging inside him. But he’s quick to look into the other’s eyes, fearing breaching some untold boundaries. “Sorry,” he mumbles, reaching for the man’s shoulders. Sirius smooths his hands down towards his collarbones and over his already hard nipples, letting his fingers trace down towards his abdomen and a soft trail of hair underneath his navel. Brown, so lovely. “What happened?” His question brings more amusement into the other’s face.
“Is this a lunch interview, then? Are you going to tell me about every single one of your tattoos? Because frankly I’m not—” but he doesn’t finish. He quirks his eyebrow in challenge, and without much else, crawls onto the bed, takes Sirius’ hand and simply pulls him down as well.
With a huff Sirius lands on his back, chuckling. “Fuck no.” That’s all it takes for their kiss to be renewed, just this time it’s all that much better as they press skin to skin. Sirius is pleased at the way the other whimpers softly into their connection.
The man’s thigh pushing against his hard cock drives Sirius mad. He lifts his hips seeking more friction, moaning into their kiss that’s getting more and more sloppy by the second. Feeling the other’s cock against his own leg, Sirius wraps his hand around it again, pulling leisurely at first, but when he feels the man fuck into his hand, he steadies it, swiping his thumb over the slit, smearing his precum around the head for better glide. He’s filled with ideas of what could be done, what he will do if the other gives him a chance. The familiar tension in his stomach begs him for action.
“L-lube?” A fair request, Sirius thinks as he thrust up against the warm flesh of the man’s leg. Another moan escapes him and he feels himself leak which provides a little temporary relief.
But there are lips over his chest now, so Sirius isn’t sure whether he's been heard. The man’s fingers digging into the flesh somewhere under his ribs are surely leaving marks behind, and he can feel his tongue slide over his own hard nipple. Momentarily, Sirius forgets he wishes for the same slickness in other places.
“F-fuck.”
He can feel the man smiling against him before he sucks his nipple into his mouth wholly, nibbling, scraping with teeth. Sirius is oddly satisfied knowing the other has very obviously perused his profile as well. He reaches for his arse and pulls him tightly against himself. He can feel a thin layer of perspiration forming all over their bodies, and suddenly he’s reminded of the slide he so wishes for.
“You’ve got things?” Sirius asks again, hopeful.
Finally, the man looks up, his eyes hooded with his own pleasure. For a moment Sirius is completely taken by the expression. Luckily, his stare probably goes unnoticed as the other reaches into a drawer at the head of the bed and rummages through it. Sirius, never stopping the insistent twist and flick of his hand over the other’s cock, is probably not helping, but after a moment it’s clear there’s something wrong.
Sirius frowns. “What?”
He’s met with a breathless sorry. “I think I’ve run out of lube.”
“You joking!?” Sirius all but gapes at him.
The man shakes his head. His cheeks, already flushed, turn a deeper shade of pink. He closes his eyes. Sirius gnaws on his lower lip at the sight, something in his chest twisting.
“Bollocks,” the man whispers in a very obvious exasperation.
This should be awkward and disappointing, but oddly enough it isn’t. Sirius laughs and brings a hand to cup his warm cheek, fingers sliding over his jaw and to the back of the other’s neck to pull him into a conciliatory kiss. It's rough, urgent and this time he takes his time with it, letting their tongues glide against one another insistently, imagining doing this with their other body parts.
“No big deal.” Sirius mutters and breaks the kiss. He traces the other’s lips with his fingers, pushing them past, urging him to suck them in. “We’ll do it the good old-fashioned way.” He chuckles and pushes his fingers even deeper into his mouth, making sure they are coated with the other’s saliva as much as possible.
Sirius can feel the man’s cock pulsing hotly in his hand when he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. Only then he lets go of him entirely, and pushing at the other's hip he makes him shift to his side to make enough space for them to face each other comfortably on their sides. “Maybe you’d like to help me out here?”
Spitting into his palm to add more moisture, Sirius swings his legs over the other’s hip to lock them together and curls his fingers around the base of the other’s cock, pumping, spreading the saliva, mixing it with his precum. The man gasps at the sensation he surely feels, but without hesitation mirrors Sirius' actions, bringing his hand down to his cock. After a moment, they’re moving almost in unison, the press of the man’s fingers on his shaft and balls is making Sirius go nearly mad. Their breaths mingling, the heat between them is going to send him over sooner than he wishes for.
“Christ.” It’s quiet, but right there in his ear when the man leans into Sirius, presses his lips to his jaw and covers it with open mouthed kisses. The sound is making Sirius dizzy.
He’s incapable of anything but short pants and moans of his own. They are lewdly filling the space around them. Before he even knows it, the other is drawing him in closer and his large hand is covering his own, their hard cocks in his tight grip as he starts stroking them together. Pure bliss overcomes Sirius, he lets the other take over completely and instead grips at his arm, making sure their lips meet in another mindless heated exchange.
It doesn’t take too long. The tugs are becoming less and less coordinated. Sirius can feel himself coming closer to the edge, just as fast as the other man’s breath picks up its pace. The familiar tension in his lower stomach expands, and their kisses are interrupted by their whimpers more and more, so often that Sirius gives up and presses his damp forehead into the crook of the man’s neck instead. His nostrils are flooded with something that can only be the other’s scent. It's crisp and clean despite the musky undertones of sex. It’s impossible to dislike it.
Sirius feels the tiny tremors running through the other’s skin now and it’s that combined with the smell surrounding him and the way the man dips his thumb into the slit of his cock, teasing and smoothing over it, that makes Sirius fuck roughly against the other’s cock and come. It’s sticky euphoria, every single thought evacuating him as he ruts some more into that hot palm. And a few moments later, Sirius can sense the hot throb of the other’s cock against himself as he splutters more come between them, their chests and sheets stained.
Sirius glances at the man just in time to see his brows tightly knit together, mouth slightly agape as the orgasm takes over him. He can’t take his eyes away from the other’s expression. Instead, he closes the distance between them for one last kiss, drinking in the quiet moan he makes greedily. He’s spent, satisfied, entirely and thoroughly shagged.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck.”
Sirius hears the man mumbling against his swollen lips and chuckles, only reluctantly letting them separate.
---
Sirius is in dire need of a post-coital fag, but it's simply too early to move. It’s only then he realises the two of them have never even introduced themselves. Not that he’s big on formalities, and the other man seems to want to keep things as anonymous as possible, according to his profile anyway, but a name, well, Sirius reckons he’s allowed to ask at least that much. Especially, after what has just transpired; it’s surely been intense enough.
“What’s your name?”
“Remus,” comes an unhurried, quiet reply, and Remus is now looking at Sirius, his chest still heaving from his recent orgasm. Their come is quickly drying on his abdomen, but he doesn't seem to care.
Sirius can’t help himself but laugh at the answer; it’s loud and joyful.
Canine love, indeed.
Well, fuck me. Sirius dares hope.
“Why are you laughing? What’s yours?” Remus’ tone is amused again, seemingly the cheeriness with which Sirius has let himself react is contagious. Sirius praises the gods for Remus not taking an offence.
Remus. Remus. Remus.
Remus is, as a matter of fact, a rather lovely name.
He eventually says, “Sirius. Good to meet you.”
Sirius rolls his head to the side to look at Remus next to him. Their arms are pressed together, neither of them has moved from where they flopped after they separated for air and rest after their climax. It’s all hot and sweaty between them, but Sirius isn’t bothered. Remus is grinning. It’s obvious he gets the joke, no need for further explanations. As expected from the man who owns this many books.
Something warm begins spreading in Sirius’ chest, and it’s as if every cell in his body has started trembling with some sort of unclear expectation. A brief silence falls on them before Remus speaks up again, laughing that velvety soft laugh of his that makes Sirius want to wrap himself in it so completely.
“Good to meet you too.”