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If you’d told teenage Remus he would’ve so much as considered touching a sugar-daddy-finding website when he was nineteen, he probably would’ve laughed. If you’d told teenage Remus he would find a sugar daddy on that website and actually meet up with the man at the age of twenty, he probably would’ve been too disbelieving to laugh.

That does not change that fact that Remus, at the age of twenty one, is a nicely decorated house, seated on a marble countertop, watching his thirty six year old sugar daddy bake for him. Watching the incredibly attractive, talented, intelligent, kind, and rich Sirius Black bake for him. Sirius Black, who everyone in the UK knows the name of, because he’s the owner of multiple massive companies, passed down to him by his dead parents, given solely to him after his brother succumbed to his illness.

Teenage Remus Lupin would never have expected this of Early-Twenties Remus Lupin. That still doesn’t take Remus out of Sirius’ kitchen. It also doesn’t take the thin, golden necklace baring Sirius’ initials on the pendant off of Remus’ neck. It doesn’t even begin to make Remus want to take the necklace off, either.

“Y’know, ma Belle Lune,” Sirius starts suddenly, his rich, deep, rumbling voice, accented with a mixture of French and British, is far more attractive than it has any right to be. “I find your love for chocolate quite adorable,” he chuckles softly. Remus flushes a little bit, partially because of the words and partially because of the way Sirius’ absurdly tight shirt stretches over his broad chest when he reaches for the oil.

“Well, s’not my fault it’s good, is it?” Remus mutters through his distraction. The muscles in Sirius’ arm are flexing and bulging as he whisks the already-prepared dry mixture into the newly-created wet mixture. Remus has never excelled in the kitchen— in cooking or baking— and he never would’ve expected his billionaire sugar daddy to be a damn near master chef and baker, but he is absolutely not complaining. He has, after all, been reaping the benefits of the hobby.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Sirius purrs, watching his baking. A chocolate cake with chocolate ganache frosting. There is, according to Sirius, going to be raspberry jam, along with chunks of various kinds of chocolate in between the layers with the icing. It also lacks dairy, which is great, seeing as Remus is lactose intolerant and doesn’t fancy shitting himself in front of his perfect partner. Remus isn’t too sure where Sirius found out that raspberry jam is his favourite, but he does, somehow. He seems to know everything there is to know, really.

“Shush,” Remus’ voice is whiny in a way he didn’t intend it to be. He can feel his face going even redder. He and Sirius have been in this arrangement for roughly four months, not including the two months of talking and figuring things out before that, and Remus is still nervous to be anything but his best self.

“You’re quiet today, mon Amour,” Sirius comments. It’s not an accusation, nor is it a jab, but Remus still feels guilty. This is the first night they’re going to spend together, on account of the long distance between Wales, where Remus lives, and Sirius’ main residence in London, England (Sirius has a property closer to Wales, but Remus wanted to spend their first night together in the older man’s main home). Remus wants to make sure this goes well so that Sirius will keep him around. Regardless of how their relationship started, Remus has, absolutely, gained feelings for Sirius. He’s nervous, and, as a consequence of that, quiet.

“Sorry,” Remus says softly, watching Sirius pour the batter evenly into three already-greased pans. His eyes trail over Sirius’ large body, across his strong back (which Remus can see flexing through his thin shirt), to his round arse, down his long legs, all thick thighs and lean calves. He’s broad and tall; toned muscled, contrasted by surprisingly elegant, suave movements, like he’s walking on clouds, with an easy smile and kind eyes. Sirius looks over his shoulder at him, grinning.

“What’re you looking at?” he asks, a lightly teasing edge to his warm voice. Remus’ eyes snap back up to his face, feeling his cheeks flush further. Sirius chuckles. “Is that why you’ve been so quiet? Too busy staring, hm?” he taunts, no real heat in it. Remus looks down at his lap. Sirius laughs properly, then, booming and open.

When he looks back up, Sirius is putting the cake in the oven, partially bent over and giving Remus a mouth watering view of his pert arse. Instead of the normal response he’d been coming up with, Remus makes an unintelligent sound, staring slack jawed. Sirius shuts the over, sets a timer, and turns around, planting his big hands (they could probably wrap right around Remus’ waist, what with how slim he is— no, no, don’t think about that—) behind him, on the counter. Remus just barely manages to snap his mouth shut and look at his hands.

“Alright, Remus?” Sirius walks closer to him, parking himself between Remus’ legs. One hand cups the younger man’s jaw, tilting his head up to see him properly, while the other slides around his lower back, and rests solidly on Remus’ skin, firm yet gentle through his jumper. Remus subconsciously slides his own hands up, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders.

“Yeah,” Remus mumbles, tucking his face into the crook between Sirius’ neck and shoulder, under his chin. He inhales deeply, breathing in the smell of him: woodsy, like pine and sandalwood due to his cologne, with coffee undertones from his constant consumption of the drink. He smells like home, but Remus doesn’t say that.

“Are you nervous, Chéri?” Sirius questions after a brief moment, smoothing his big, callused fingers through Remus’ tawny curls. Again, Remus has no idea how the fuck Sirius always knows everything, but he does. There’s more to this than it being the first night they spend together.

Sirius hasn’t asked for much from him in exchange for the metaphorical (and sometimes literal) sugar he’s given Remus. The most he’s wanted is a few somewhat spicy pictures, but none of them were even nude. The most overtly sexual one was of Remus on his knees, legs spread, both hands pressed between his thighs, clad in a crop-top reading “Baby Boy,” matching pale pink short-shorts, and thigh-high socks. They’ve made out a good few times, but there’s never been any further expectations.

The older man has been so kind, so gentle, so patient with him, never pushing or asking for more than Remus is comfortable with. Remus still doesn’t understand how Sirius can tell when he gets uncomfortable, but he can, and he knows every single time and stops whenever he notices. Now, though, Remus knows, there’s an assumption that there will be some kind of sexual contact if they spend a whole night together. He knows it’s probably selfish, letting Sirius pay his bills and fund his education without giving him so much as a handjob, but… well, there’s something he may or may not have failed to mention.

Remus is a virgin. Not only is Remus a virgin, he’s never even seen a penis, never mind touched one. He’s kissed all of two people, one of which was his best friend, Lily Evans, for a dare, the other was a very drunk boy at the only party he attended in high school. He’s never had a partner, never even gone on a date, either. He’s scared of sex, scared of intimacy, and, more than anything, scared that he won’t live up to Sirius’ expectations.

For all of Sirius’ patience, Remus is afraid that delaying the inevitable any further will cause a rift that won’t be fixed. He hasn’t met any of Sirius’ friends, though he’s heard about them, and worries that the lack of sex could be the reason behind that. Maybe the man simply doesn’t want to introduce him if they haven’t gotten, for lack of a better word, serious enough for that.

“Mon Trésor,” Sirius coos, giving Remus a light pat on the back to catch his attention.

“Hm?” Remus hums, nuzzling closer to the heavy scent of Sirius, chasing the comfort it offers his racing heart. Sirius’ existence does that to him. Something about the older man makes him feel incredibly safe and protected. Maybe it’s the sheer size and strength of him, maybe it’s the absurd amount of money, maybe it’s the kindness in which he treats him. Whatever it is, Remus is thankful for it.

“Would you like to tell me what you’re anxious about?” Sirius queries, running his fingers up and down Remus’ spine. It makes him sigh against the pale skin he’s nestles against and turn into a puddle of mush in Sirius’ capable hands.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Remus asks instead of answering the question. It’s easier than explaining his fears and potentially ruining his relationship. Sirius gently scratches his scalp, and Remus feels genuinely content, despite the topic.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Sirius says, idly toying with Remus’ hair. “I know we’re both going to have cake, of course. We’ve already eaten, so that’s covered. I’d quite like a shower at some point— you’re more than free to join, if you’d like, but I don’t mind if you’d rather wait in my room. Afterwards, we could watch a movie, or, perhaps, read something. I know you’re quite fond of books, and I have a number that I think you’d enjoy in my office,” he informs Remus, who is somewhat surprised by the distinct lack of sex in the schedule. Sure, there’s a vague implication in the shower part, but nothing explicit, and Sirius doesn’t actually seem all that set on fucking Remus tonight.

“That all sounds very nice,” Remus says, hesitant. “The shower…” he trails off, unsure as to how he should phrase his thoughts. What he wants to ask is if Sirius expects to have sex in the shower, but that feels like it has too obvious an answer.

“I know you’re not all that comfortable with the idea of sex,” Sirius states bluntly. “Which is why I don’t expect you to do any of that with me just yet. It is my understanding that you aren’t the most experienced, which is fine, but I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing something you’re not sure about. If you would like to try something, I would be all for that, but I only have interest in activities in which all parties are completely consenting and on the same page.”

“Oh,” Remus says dumbly. When it’s phrased that way, it sounds obvious that Sirius would be off put by the idea of sex when Remus isn’t ready. He’s a good, moral person, as exhibited by his constant philanthropy and deep rooted empathy, so there’s no way he would ever be attracted to any form of coercion.

“If you’d like to join me in the shower, I’d like that a lot,” Sirius admits quietly, trailing his hand down to trace patterns onto Remus’ skinny shoulder. “Again, I don’t expect you to do anything you’re not okay with. There’s no need for us to have sex. I’d just… appreciate the closeness, I suppose,” he says, then presses a gentle kiss to Remus’ temple, smiling against his tanned, freckled skin. Remus feels himself grinning in response, almost subconsciously.

“I could shower with you without the sex bit?” Remus asks, just for confirmation. He’s self conscious of his body, yes, especially in comparison to Sirius, the modern-day Adonis, but that’s definitely sounds closer to something he’d enjoy more.

“Yes, of course,” Sirius says soothingly, and Remus recalls why, exactly, he feels so safe with his… partner (calling Sirius his sugar daddy feels a little too on the nose). “I didn’t just agree to our arrangement for sex, ma Belle Lune. A large part of my desire for someone to spoil is the company it offers. Sex is nice, yes, but your comfort is far more important to me,” he explains. Remus feels warm inside. Sirius is so wonderful. Remus truly had found the most loving, brilliant human being in the world, hasn’t he?

“I never thought I’d find someone like you,” Remus whispers, like it’s a secret. It’s dumb, because no one else is in the house to hear him say it, but it’s still embarrassing. “But I’m really glad I did,” he adds, just to make sure Sirius knows that part. It’s very important to Remus that he ensures Sirius knows that the care goes both ways, mostly due to how much more tangible Sirius’ displays of affection are.

“Thank you, Remus,” Sirius’ smile is audible. Remus has noticed that Sirius reacts very strongly to people being nice to him. It’s a little bit strange, but Remus finds it kind of endearing. It’s the only thing about Sirius that could be described as genuinely cute. While pretty much everything else about him is attractive, the words he’d usually put to the man are sexy, hot, beautiful, and other words along the lines of those, not cute.

Remus hums in response, tangling his fingers in Sirius’ long hair. He opens his amber eyes— when did he close them?— and leans back to look at Sirius, who smiles at him again. He’s wearing makeup, per usual. Something like lipstick, but glossy and a little bit transparent, in a tube he keeps in his pocket; mascara, which makes his already long, thick eyelashes look even fuller; sharp, black eyeliner that shapes his upturned almond eyes further; and some sort of skin-coloured cream thing he puts under his eyes and a few select bits of his face that Remus only knows exists because he’s seen Sirius put it on. The makeup makes him look a little bit more put together. Remus thinks he looks stunning without it, too. He would love to see Sirius in his pyjamas, lacking the makeup, whipping up breakfast in the morning for the two of them to eat side-by-side.

“Would you like to take that shower with me?” Sirius asks, looking a touch nervous. Both of his big hands find their ways to Remus’ hips, and he runs his thumb over the sharp bone there. Remus bites his lower lip, considering.

It could be a good way to get comfortable with the idea of being naked in front of Sirius, a stepping stone to actually having sex— which he does want to do, mind, he’s just a little bit anxious— and seeing Sirius naked would be as close to a religious experience as Remus has ever gotten. So far, he’s not seen much more than the man’s strong arms and a few slivers of his abdomen when his shirt rides up, and Remus does want to see more.

On the other hand, though, he’s never been the most comfortable with his body. For one, Remus knows that he’s not the most conventionally attractive person. He’s skinny, but lacks any muscle mass, his limbs mostly bone with no meat on them. He doesn’t have a nice arse, it’s pretty flat back there, and what he does have isn’t the most appealing. Knobby knees, bad posture, gangly limbs. Not to mention the scars criss-crossing his body, stemming from an attack he suffered as a child that left him physically disabled and in need of a cane. He’s been careful to edit those out of the pictures he sends Sirius, and doesn’t want his partner to pick up on the discrepancies.

For two, he lacks some of the body parts he knows Sirius to be attracted to, being transgender and all, which is terrifying. Sirius knows that Remus isn’t cis, and he’s been nothing but supportive of it, even offering to help pay for whatever gender affirming care he wants, but seeing it and hearing about it are two different things. Remus hasn’t gotten a single procedure done, meaning he still has too much on his chest and not enough on his crotch (he doesn’t plan on doing anything about the lack-of-dick thing, as he’s not very dysphoric about that, but still! What if Sirius only likes dick?).

“Yeah, sure,” Remus says despite himself. Sirius furrows his eyebrows and frowns at him, looking disbelieving and somewhat disappointed.

“You can just tell me if you don’t want to do something I suggest, you know,” Sirius points out, cocking his head to the side and studying Remus’ face. A man with PhDs in quantum physics and mechanical engineering should not be this adept at reading emotions, but Sirius Black seems to enjoy surprising people. “You don’t have to until you’re ready.”

“I want to!” Remus protests. What he’s protesting, exactly, he’s not entirely sure. “I just… don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” he says, quieter. Even though Sirius says it’s alright, that he mostly just wants company, Remus knows that there’s certain expectations that come with this kind of relationship. This could be, he knows, a dealbreaker.

“Then we won’t do it,” Sirius says simply, shrugging like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“But I want to,” Remus mutters, feeling grumpy all of a sudden. He wants Sirius to fuck him, he really does, it’s just a little bit scary. Okay, it’s really scary. Scary enough that Remus would be willing to be celibate to avoid the pain he would feel if Sirius turned him down or was put off by his body.

“Would you like to try?” Sirius asks, giving Remus’ hips a squeeze. Remus looks up at him, hesitant. “If it gets to be too much or you change your mind, we can always stop,” he suggests, smiling supportively (and quite hopefully). He’s so lovely, and something about him makes Remus feel like he can be trusted.

“Yes, please,” Remus feels very shy, now. Trying sounds doable. Trying is something he can do. Trying doesn’t involve any pressure, any ultimatums, and there’s no strings attached. Sirius beams at him like he’s just offered up the sun and moon on a platter. It’s disarming, a little overwhelming, but it feels good. Sirius leans in and connects their lips. Remus promptly melts.

Sirius’ strong hands wind around Remus’ body, pulling him tighter and plastering their bodies together. He does this almost every time they kiss, forcing as much physical contact as possible. Remus immediately goes lax in his grip and tilts his head to the side, allowing Sirius to lick into his mouth, sucking on his lower lip briefly, which is hotter than it has any reason to be. Sirius kisses like it’s all be can do, like he needs to or he’ll die. It’s all encompassing and perfect, making Remus hum contentedly.

Remus nips Sirius’ lip in retribution, teeth catching on his snake-bites, and the older man exhales deeply, making a low sound to go with it. Sirius, ever the one-upper, licks Remus’ tongue into his mouth and sucks on it until the younger man whimpers, pulling back to breathe. Kissing Sirius always shorts out his brain, makes him forget that he needs oxygen to survive. Per usual, he’s completely breathless as he stares, wide-eyed, at Sirius.

Sirius, who laughs again. It feels like warm honey, like the sun shining on his face, like sitting by the fire in a freezing winter. Remus whines at him, tugging incessantly on the back of Sirius’ button-down shirt in an attempt to kiss him again. Sirius plants a peck on his lips, but pulls away before it can go further. Remus makes a frustrated noise.

“I know, I know,” Sirius all but coos, and, for once in his life, Remus doesn’t feel talked down to. It actually feels kind of nice to be treated this way by Sirius. “Don’t whine at me, Lune. I need to watch your cake. We can’t have it burning, can we? I’ll need to make a new one, then,” he reassures calmly, perpetually wandering hands finding Remus’ thighs, squeezing and massaging the little fat that exists there. Remus frowns, annoyed, but following his logic nonetheless.

Instead of responding like the mature adult he is, Remus makes an angry noise in the back of his throat and pouts. He knows it’s not possible to make the cake cook faster, lest they burn the outside and leave the inside a liquid, but, maybe, just maybe, if he’s whiney enough, Sirius will find a way. Really, if anyone can force a cake to bake quicker, it’s going to be Sirius, if only because of the sheer amount of money at his fingertips and his general impressiveness.

“Would you be happier if I promised to allow you to sit on my lap while you eat?” Sirius raises an eyebrow (how does he only lift one at a time?) and leans closer to him. The idea does, in fact, make Remus happier, as he thoroughly enjoys cuddling into Sirius’ lap, but he doesn’t stop pouting just yet. He’s sure his lessened grumpiness is obvious, but Sirius hums, considering. “Shall I make milkshakes to go with the cake, as well? Lactose free, of course,” he offers. Remus’ resolve completely gives, then.

“I’ll accept that,” Remus decides, nodding appraisingly. He knows that Sirius is well aware he’s kidding, he would accept literally anything from the other man, but he also likes being pampered from time to time, and Sirius is the only one who does that. His parents, Hope and Lyall, would dote on him if they could, but they’re not in the financial situation to do that. Lily, Mary, Peter and Emmeline would also help, but none if his friends are in a much better place than he is, so it’s no possible. Sirius, though, is as rich as someone can be and has no qualms with spending absurd amounts of money on Remus.

“Perfect,” Sirius kisses the corner of his mouth. Remus pretends not to be obsessed with the way his full lips quirk up. Sirius sees right through it.

~~~~~

Over an hour (and a genuinely delicious chocolate and cherry cake, plus chocolate milkshakes— Sirius doesn’t mess around in the kitchen, apparently) later, Remus is standing in a glass shower, back to the door. He’s naked, of course, under the spray of hot water, surrounded by cloaks of steam, and he hopes the red on his face passes as a consequence of that. It’s not.

Sirius is also completely nude, facing away from both Remus and the mirrors, removing the golden jewelry from his ears and face. His piercings, pretty as they are, apparently do not belong in the shower, for whatever reason. Sirius told Remus something about it, gave an explanation, but he wasn’t paying any attention to anything at that point, too full of adrenaline to listen properly. He’d been minutes away from stripping down to shower with Sirius fucking Black— who is painfully fucking beautiful!— of course he hadn’t been listening!

“Mon Amour,” Sirius snaps Remus out of his spiralling thoughts. One product in this shower look more expensive than the entire content Remus’ shower put together, never mind all of it put together. “Can I come in?” Sirius asks. Of course he’s asking. They talked about it before dinner, after dinner, while getting ready, and even right before Remus got it, but he’s still asking again, because he’s so incredibly sweet.

“It’s your shower,” Remus deflects, knowing Sirius will never take that as consent. Sirius makes a disapproving sound in his chest, and Remus immediately regrets his choice. How does he explain to this confident man that he’s intimidated and scared to be naked next to someone so perfect?

“Remus,” Sirius warns. The man in question curls in on himself, shoulders hunching. He feels guilty. Sirius has done nothing to deserve a snappy response.

“I know,” Remus speaks just loud enough to be heard over the water splashing. “You can. Come in, I mean. You can come in,” he forces out, because he does want it, he just knows that he’ll never get it out if he doesn’t make it.

Sirius pauses, but, mercifully, he doesn’t make Remus repeat himself. That’s great, because Remus doubts he’s capable of making the words come out again. The sliding glass door peels open, and Remus listens to Sirius step onto the porcelain and shut it behind himself. He doesn’t speak, and Remus doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. No words means that there’s no insults, but it also means there’s no comfort, and it’s impossible to choose which is superior.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Remus gasps audibly as pale arms find paths around his waist and his back is pulled flush against Sirius’ chest. One big, callused hand hooks under his chin and tilts his head up until he looks Sirius in the eyes, and the older man is smiling at him. Remus suddenly feels boneless as he relaxes back against the strong body behind him.

“Hi, Darling,” Sirius purrs, allowing Remus’ head to rest on his broad shoulder. Remus turns to press his face into the warm spot at the base of Sirius’ neck, which has him chuckling softly. “How are you feeling?” Sirius asks, folding his hands together on Remus’ abdomen. Remus slides his own on top of them. He simultaneously wants to curl into a ball and cry and sprawl out against Sirius and let go of everything else in the world

“Fine…” Remus sighs into his skin. Sirius is at an angle where he can easily look down and see Remus’ chest, which, while it’s a far cry from large, definitely has more on it than a cis guy. He can see the curls between Remus’ boney legs, distinctly lacking the appendage most gay men are looking for. He can see the scars all over Remus’ thin body, marring him, the worst of them wrapping around his left knee and travelling all the way up to his hip, the main reason for his difficulties moving.

“I should’ve drawn a bath for us, not a shower,” Sirius comments idly, kissing Remus’ neck. Remus shudders, not because of the words, but because of the stubble rubbing against his tanned, freckled skin. It scrambles Remus’ brain long enough to take his mind off of his insecurities. He then nibbles at the thin skin just under Remus’ ear, and the shower products he’s watching go blurry.

“‘S alright,” Remus mumbles, tongue feeling big and unwieldy in his mouth. His nails, he realizes, are digging into Sirius’ hairy arms, so he flexes his fingers and does his best to control himself. Not that Sirius seems to mind, he actually seems to be enjoying himself quite a bit.

“You’re so gorgeous, you know that?” Sirius rumbles against his jaw, licking a bead of water from his skin. It’s all Remus can do to make a small, affirming noise in response. It’s not that he’s ever thought himself beautiful, but if Sirius says it, it must be true, right? Remus’ head is too fuzzy for this. He’s thinking things he would never usually let himself believe. “Absolutely stunning. And, even better, all mine,” Remus sighs, contented. Yes, all Sirius’. That’s right.

“You’re so nice,” Remus giggles, elated. Sirius kisses up the side of his neck, over to his chin, his cheek, until Remus turns his head to meet Sirius’ lips. Sirius, who smiles against his mouth and squeezes him against his body.

“Little flatterer,” Sirius coos at him, even though he’s been so much kinder than Remus has been, which makes the younger boy flush in a way he hopes can be blamed on the heat of the shower. “Let’s get you cleaned, hm?” he suggests, and Remus pauses, considering. He’d like to wash up, yes, but he’s like to cuddle into Sirius more.

He wriggles until he’s facing his partner, wraps his arms around Sirius’ shoulders, and nestles his face into his neck. Sirius’ hands smooth other his back, and he kisses his head. “We can get clean in a second, right?” Remus asks, and Sirius laughs lightly.

“Yeah, we can wait a second,” Sirius confirms. Remus isn’t sure when he started relying entirely on Sirius’ opinion to clear his decisions, but he has, so he only settles fully when his partner assents, skirting his fingers up and down Remus’ spine. He props his chin up on Sirius’ chest, then leans up a little, trying to connect their lips. Sirius is too tall. Remus pouts.

“What’s wrong, Doll?” Sirius asks, big hands gently kneading the flesh of Remus’ arse. It seems almost subconscious, but Remus finds that he doesn’t particularly mind it.

Remus huffs and adjusts his footing until he’s standing on Sirius’ feet, then rolls up onto his toes, using the boost in height to kiss the man. Sirius tightens his grip on Remus, holding him steady, but kisses back quickly. Remus nips his lower lip, focusing on the feeling of a broad, muscular chest, sculpted abs, and— fuck, does he have nipple piercings? And a belly button?— pressed against his front (all while ignoring the tension building in his legs).

After a minute of kissing, Remus can no longer stand it and pulls back. He steps off of Sirius’ feet, pleased but annoyed with the ache in his hips and knees, and settles his hands on the older man’s biceps to take a good look at his body. “You didn’t mention having piercings here,” Remus says, a little bit awed, as he runs a finger over the golden bar running through Sirius’ left nipple. There’s a matching one on the other side, along with a shiny hook in his belly button. There are some scars on his body, but Remus can’t pay any mind to those while so many distractions are right there. There’s a neat thatch hair on his chest, running down his torso and then thickening into a happy trail, leading to— Remus can’t look down there just yet. He looks back up at Sirius, who is grinning down at him.

“Believe it or not, I’ve another piercing in very… hm, personal place,” Sirius says, voice low and husky. Remus’ eyes widen. He feels his face burning and knows it’s not passing as anything other than attraction. He realizes that his mouth is hanging open and quickly shuts it, teeth clicking together, eyes glued to Sirius, who is laughing. Laughing. Like he didn’t just offhandedly imply he has a dick piercing.

“How?” Remus asks. He’s trying to picture it, imagine what a piercing down there would look like, but he can’t quite wrap his mind around how that would work.

“I have two,” Sirius says with a shrug. Remus feels even more baffled. “One is on the bottom, just a little ways up the base. The other is right through the head, comes out at the bottom of the shaft,” he explains easily, apparently understanding that Remus is physically incapable of tearing his eyes away from his face. “If you’re curious, they’re called lorum and Prince Albert piercings,” he adds.

“Oh,” Remus says, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that Sirius’ cock is hanging between them, pressed against his thigh, and… shit, he can feel the tip of the bar impaling it’s head nudging his skin. He maintains that he doesn’t want to get sexual yet, but, all things considered, this new knowledge isn’t exactly dissuading him any further.

“You can look, if you’d like,” Sirius informs him casually. “I know you don’t want to have sex, and that’s more than okay, but I can tell that you’re curious. I assure you, if you’re nervous about this, that I’m quite capable of allowing you to see without feeling the need to go any further,” his tone and how word choice feel so posh, so kind, so out of place for someone inviting his sugar baby to inspect his cock piercings. His eyes soften, and one hand cups Remus’ cheek. “If it makes you uncomfortable, Chéri, then you don’t need to. Don’t pressure yourself if you don’t want to,” he reassures Remus gently.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Remus blurts before he can stop himself. He can’t even find it in himself to regret it when it makes Sirius’ eyes widen in shock and a light flush colours his high cheekbones. It gives him a boost of confidence. “I think piercings are really hot,” Remus glances at Sirius’ arms, which are inked from his shoulders to his wrists, along with the art across his chest. “Tattoos, as well,” he tacks on, leaning closer. Sirius inhales sharply.

“Christ, Remus,” he breathes, voice strained. His fingertips dig into Remus’ hips, and Sirius licks his lips. “I should take you with me when I get my tongue done,” he says, pulling Remus flush against him. Sirius’ silver eyes glint white-gold and predatory, like he’s stalking prey, in the warm lighting. Remus’ confidence falters, and he feels overwhelmed, bright red, nervous, and acutely aware that he is a broke college student in the shower with a rich business owner. He presses his face into Sirius’ neck, anxious.

“That’d be really cool,” Remus mumbles into his skin, deliberately hiding his face from Sirius. The idea of watching Sirius get his tongue pierced is incredibly attractive— attractive enough that he can’t think about it too much or he’ll do something embarrassing. Sirius props his chin up on Remus’ head and doesn’t try to pull him out of his bubble of safety, because he’s nice like that, letting Remus use his body for comfort.

“Shall we wash up, now?” Sirius asks, and Remus jumps at the out. The previous conversation, despite being well-intentioned and fun, was also overwhelming and scary, and he finds himself thankful for Sirius’ ability to read him.

“Yeah,” Remus still doesn’t remove himself from Sirius’ neck, regardless of his assent. Remus’ arms find their places around Sirius’ waist as the older man reaches to adjust the shower head and soak Remus’ hair.

“Shall we start with your hair so you don’t need to move?” Sirius suggests, and Remus nods, feeling no need to respond verbally. Sirius won’t mind, he knows. “Alrighty then,” he chirps. Remus is momentarily surprised by that phrasing. Sirius is extremely posh most of the time, talking like a true London-based rich-guy, and “alrighty then” is a shockingly casual way of speaking that seems random with the rest of his speech.

“When’d you start saying that?” Remus asks as strong fingers massage shampoo into his hair, thoroughly enjoying the feeling. Sirius’ clever digits know all the right spots to dig in, scratch, or scrub, and it makes Remus’ head feel fuzzy in a similar way to how it had when Sirius nibbled at his neck and turned his brain to mush with magic.

“James says it quite a lot,” Sirius explains, then reaches out to move the shower head again and begin rinsing Remus’ hair. “I suppose it rubbed off on me,” he says airily. James. Remus wants to meet this James guy. He doesn’t usually like meeting new people, but this is an exception. James is Sirius’ best mate, practically his brother, and he is, obviously, a very important feature in his partner’s life, and, well… Remus is a very important feature in Sirius’ life, too, right? Since they’re both special to Sirius, they should know each other, right?

“Can I…” Remus starts, nervous. “Will I ever get to meet James?” he questions, pushing away from Sirius’ body and looking up at the other man. Sirius hesitates, looking down at him with a strange expression on his face. He doesn’t look mad, which is good. He looks kind of awed, if anything. He bites his lip, then smiles like Remus has just done the cutest, most wonderful thing in the world.

“Would you like to meet James?” Sirius asks in response, putting the shower head back on its holder and wrapping Remus in his arms once again. He’s beaming, and Remus gets the distinct impression that he’s done something good. That makes him happy.

“Yes, please,” Remus bounces up and down on his toes excitedly, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes.

“We’ll set something up, then,” Sirius says, kissing his forehead sweetly. Remus beams. Sirius smooths his hair back, out of his face, and cocks his head at him, a fond look in his eyes and a gentle smile on his lips. Remus, between the loving expression and warm words, feels more special and cherished than he ever has, which is strange, on account of his mostly loving upbringing.

“Thank you,” Remus giggles lightly. “Can I wash your hair?” he queries, fingers tracing little infinity symbols on Sirius’ back. He’s momentarily distracted by the raised lines all over the skin there; like ladders, horizontal and placed in even columns, along with a few vertical lines crossing right through them. He feels a few curious, cross-like marks there, but focuses his attention back on Sirius before he can ask another question.

“If that’s what you want, then of course,” Sirius says indulgently. “I’ll need to finish conditioning yours, first, though,” he informs Remus, reaching for another bottle.

“I’ve never used conditioner,” Remus admits, eyeing the conditioner as Sirius squirts it into his palm.

“It makes your hair softer,” Sirius explains as he starts smoothing it into Remus’ curls. “Shinier, and healthier, too. Well, that’s what it’s meant to do. Some brands are better than others. I always use James’ dad’s products— maybe I’m biased, but they work well,” he talks as he saturates Remus’ hair. “Now, we need to leave it in to sit for a couple of minutes, but you can wash mine in the meantime.”

“Alright,” Remus agrees easily. Sirius hands him the shampoo bottle, and Remus looks at him for a second. Sirius can wash his hair while facing him with relative ease due to their height difference, but Sirius is a little over half a foot taller than him, so it’s a little bit awkward. “Uh,” he feels a little dumb, staring at Sirius with a shampoo bottle in one hand and a blank expression on his face.

Sirius smiles, then turns and tilts his head up so his elbow-length hair cascades down his back in a thick waterfall of wet, inky curls. “Better?” Sirius asks. Remus can’t see the lines on his back he felt earlier due to the angle Sirius is holding his head at, but he shakes his head and gets back to his job. Remus squirts what he hopes is the correct amount of shampoo for that volume of hair onto his hand and puts the bottle down.

“Yeah,” Remus confirms, digging his fingers into Sirius’ hair. He thinks that the scalp seems like the right place to start, but he hasn’t had long hair since his mother bathed him, so he’s not too sure what he’s doing. He hopes he does well. Sirius isn’t all that focused on his appearance, but Remus knows that he likes his hair and doesn’t want to ruin it.

Remus works his way down, bunching up Sirius’ long hair as he goes, and looks at the lines he’d been curious about. Remus’ hands still for a second and he stares at Sirius’ back. There’s scars, and a lot of them. From his hips to the backs of his shoulders, there’s deep, old wounds, very obviously intentional. They look like they could be self-harm scars, but they’re on his back, which makes that impossible. They’re all in even rows, and, just like Remus felt, there’s about ten crosses carved into his skin.

Remus does his best to keep washing while he examines the scars, trying to figure out what on earth could’ve caused them. They’re purposeful, but in a place Sirius could never reach on his own, deep enough that it would’ve been horribly painful, but the weirdest part is that some of them look years older than others. What situations would have lead Sirius to acquiring hundreds of gashes on his back over the course of about two decades, Remus has no clue.

“Is everything alright, Love?” Sirius asks, voice just as kind, just as even, as it always is. Remus isn’t sure how to ask about his back without making him uncomfortable. Remus looks for an excuse.

“Your tattoos are cool,” Remus says quickly, probably too quickly, but it’s all he can do. He’s not lying, Sirius does have some pretty cool ink on his shoulders, the lower back of his neck, and even a pretty cool (see: hot) tramp stamp. It’s just that the tattoos are absolutely not what he wants to talk about, but he cant ask about what he does.

“Thank you, ma Belle Lune,” Sirius replies, but there’s something off in his voice. Remus gets the distinct impression that Sirius knows what he’s really curious about. Despite this and the fact that Sirius is, usually, very open, he doesn’t say anything about it. “You can do the conditioner now, then we’ll wash yours out and clean our bodies.”

By the time they’re entirely cleaned, Remus’ legs and back are aching, and he needs to sit down soon or he’ll fall over, which would be horribly embarrassing. He’s found even more scars all over Sirius’ body. There’s little ones on his cheekbones; long, deep lines on the backs of his thighs, similar to the ones on his back; even some cuts on his chest, one large cross-shape right down the centre. Of course, he has some more mundane scars, like the ones on his elbows and knees that are clearly from falls and accidents, but they’re not what he’s concerned about.

It’s a mercy when Sirius scoops him right off of his feet, wraps him in a towel, and deposits him on the counter beside the sink with a peck on the lips. It’s a benefit when his position gives him a wonderful view of Sirius’ toned, strong body as he retrieves a towel for himself (which, for the record, does include those two piercings in his cock). It’s unfortunate when Sirius wraps a towel around his waist after wringing out his hair with it, but he doesn’t comment on it, just pouts a little.

Once they’re dry, Sirius dresses Remus— not in the pyjamas he brought, but in Sirius’ own jumper, his own pants, and Sirius’ short trousers. It smells good, like Sirius and laundry soap, and Remus pulls the neckline over his nose to inhale the scent as he watches Sirius get dressed. That muscled chest and sculpted abs are hidden behind a thin tee shirt, and his strong legs vanish beneath his pyjama trousers. It’s unfortunate, but Remus will learn to live with it. Watching him put all of his piercings in is fun.

Sirius then picks him up again, bridal style this time, and carries him to a very large, very comfortable bed. It’s the biggest bed he’s ever seen, with enough pillows and blankets for Remus to cuddle up in a Sirius-scented-and-provided nest of warmth and comfort. Remus is deposited on the bed, and Sirius plops down next to him, making the mattress bounce, then dip under his heavy weight. Remus rolls over and throws his leg over Sirius’ waist in a demotic and uncharacteristically brave move. Sirius worms his arm under Remus’ body, catches his hand to hold it atop his chest, and turns so their faces are only inches apart.

“Hey,” Sirius grins at him, nudging their noses together.

“Hi,” Remus closes the gap between them to kiss him briefly. Well, it’s meant to be brief, but Sirius cups his jaw and holds him close, and Remus is weak for the man. A tongue slips into his mouth and Sirius rolls Remus onto his chest, hands bracketing his skinny waist (good lord, they probably could wrap all the way around if Sirius tried— stop thinking about that).

Eventually, Remus pulls back and moves down to nuzzle into Sirius’ chest. Remus noses into the crook of Sirius’ neck again— he’s pretty sure it’s his favourite spot— and presses his lips into the skin, then gives it a gentle nibble. Remus isn’t sure why he feels the need to do that, but it seems necessary. Sirius doesn’t mind it at all, if his lack of comment and supportive squeeze are anything to go by.

Five-odd minutes later, Sirius has wriggled both of them up the bed and under the blankets. He has Remus situated halfway on his chest, halfway on his side, tucked up under his armpit, head on his clavicle. He’s warm, warmer than the bed, even, and, despite his firm muscles, he’s remarkably comfortable. Remus could picture himself falling asleep like this every night. He feels his cheeks burning at that thought, but his heart soars when he remembers that Sirius must want that, in some way, too, because he invited him to stay the night.

There’s just one thing keeping him from fully relaxing. Unexpectedly, he’s found opening up to Sirius easy and surprisingly natural, despite his typical antisocial, distant personality. He thought that Sirius has been doing the same thing for him, but, seeing the scars all over his body, Remus isn’t so sure about that.

“You’re tense,” Sirius comments, twirling a strand of Remus’ hair around his finger. “Why?” he asks. Remus bites his lip, frowning. He doesn’t want to hurt Sirius’ feelings or make him feel like he has to share something he’s not comfortable with sharing, but Remus can’t help being curious and a little hurt.

“It’s just…” Remus trails off. “I was just wondering…” he stops again. Sirius doesn’t want to talk about this. Remus shouldn’t be asking when he’s clearly not comfortable with the topic. He’s being rude. He’s pushing boundaries. Remus is seconds away from opening his mouth to backtrack and apologize, but Sirius speaks before he can,

“You’re curious about my back,” Sirius says. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. There’s no point in denying it.

“Yeah,” Remus confirms, beginning to trace patterns onto Sirius’ chest with his finger. Sirius sighs heavily. It’s different to any thing he’s ever heard from the man. It’s worn and exhausted, like he’s been holding something inside for years and has just decided to let it out.

“It’s all from my parents,” Sirius says, voice lacking all of his usual passion and inflection. It’s deadpan and monotone, but steady and calm at the same time. He sounds completely relaxed. It’s unnerving.

Remus audibly gasps. His parents. The wounds all over his back and thighs are from his parents. They’re deep, some as wide as his thumbnail, up to five or six inches long, and they’re from his parents. Remus feels sick. He wonders if injuries that severe, that intentional, can even be classified as physical abuse anymore. They look more like deliberate torture.

He’s had some suspicions about Sirius’ family, mostly on account of how little he brings them up and the quick (yet subtle) subject changes whenever Remus asked. He’s never felt the need to ask about it, never having a good reason to press the topic and not wanting to drive Sirius away.

“What?” is all Remus can force out of his mouth. Sirius swallows, Remus can see his throat work, and takes a couple of deep breaths. They’re the only giveaways to his discomfort (and probable trauma). He then tightens his grip around Remus and turns his head to bury his face in tawny curls, and his breathing goes back to normal, tension melting from his shoulders. Remus can’t tell if he’s genuinely calmed down or is forcing himself to act.

“Do you want the full story, Remus?” Sirius asks, hesitant.

“Yes,” Remus says quickly. He’s so, so curious. It’s morbid, but he needs more information. He needs to know how people meant to love Sirius, so wonderful and perfect, could hurt him. It makes no sense.

“It’s dark, Love. Worse than you think,” Sirius warns. “I’ll tell you, if you want. I’ll tell you anything. But I need you to know that it’s not a pleasant story,” he speaks quietly.

“I’m sure. I want to know everything about you,” Remus says surely. He knows that whatever he hears won’t be good, if only because of the pure hatred in the injuries on his body.

“Alright,” Sirius relents. “My parents believed in corporal punishment,” he states as though he’s talking about the weather. “They were religious zealots who believed in their interpretation of the bible over all else, and they truly despised my curiosity. They felt as though I was a sinner destined for the seventh level of hell for daring to question the bigotry and discrimination they tried to teach me. It started out when I was young, young enough that I don’t truly remember the first times. They— mostly Walburga, Orion had no interest in things he viewed as ‘a woman’s role’, which childrearing was— began cutting into my back to punish me. She used to wear rings, lots of them, which is where those cuts on my cheeks came from.

“According to their pastor, I was possessed by the devil and needed to be reminded of where I came from, so they began carving crosses into me when I misbehaved badly enough. Half of them came from the instances my parents discovered that I’d had sex with other boys as a teenager. Each time they heard about it, I’d get another one. A boy in my year, the son of a family friend, kept up with gossip and told them whenever he heard whispers that I fucked a boy. Homosexuality, in their eyes, was a sin so horrible that the cross needed to be branded onto my skin in attempt to cleanse me. I tried to lie back then, but I was already their scapegoat at that point, so they wouldn’t have believed a word of it if I’d been telling the truth, anyways. That big one on my chest was from the time I hit the pastor after he punched me in the face. I nearly got myself an exorcism for that one.

“They convinced me I was useless, worth less than the dirt on the bottoms of their shoes. They made me hate everything about myself. Nothing I did would ever be good enough. A ninety-nine on a test was a failure, and one-hundred percent was the bare minimum. I always had to be perfect. They forced me to learn instruments and languages, put me in advanced classes and extracurriculars, beat manners and dance lessons and etiquette classes into me, just so they could show me off as an object, a well-trained lapdog. They had me convinced I deserved to be dead— made me genuinely with I was. When I told them how I felt, they told me it’d be a favour to everyone if I were gone. It was worse than the physical abuse they put me through. I’d take being sliced into pieces over the things they said any day.

“When I was three, my brother, Regulus, was born. He became their perfect little doll, bent to their every whim and listened to everything they said. I don’t blame him, truly. When he was little, I don’t think he understood what he was doing. As he aged, though, he started to listen to me, believe what I told him. Eventually, our parents found out and split us up. The only times Walburga ever dared raise her hand against her perfect son was when he argued in my favour. He didn’t do that much, only a few times when he was younger. He fell in with a gang, the same one my cousin joined a few years earlier, and became the youngest member in history. He was only sixteen when he got the tattoo, became fully initiated. I’d moved out by then, gone off to university.

“He got cold feet, though, when he was seventeen. Tried to leave. Silly little thing, he was too young, too privileged, to know just how cruel the world can be. He’d never been told no before, never denied anything he wanted, being our parents’ golden child and all, so I think he assumed he’d be able to back out. He couldn’t. They didn’t take kindly to him trying to leave. My Reggie died, then. They murdered him in cold blood because he was too soft, too naïve. He didn’t have the heart to do the things they wanted him to do, even if he believed all the same things as they preached. Our parents covered it up, said he was sick and died because of it. Liars.

“I went back home for the first time since I left for school to attend his funeral, but they refused to let me inside. They told me Regulus hadn’t considered me his brother since he saw who I truly was, whatever that means. I never got to see him buried. I waited in my car, outside of the venue, until the end of the service. I followed my parents home, then. They let me inside to talk, said they had to, now that they didn’t have any proper heirs, and had me stay the night.

“I wasn’t invited to the funeral and none of my other relatives or anyone else saw me, so no one expected me to be there. My parents were getting old by then, old enough that health problems were to be expected. I’ve always had trouble sleeping, and so I was prescribed medications for it, which I brought with me, of course. I ground them up and put a fatal dose in the glass of water Orion had before bed when he ordered me to fetch it for him. That morning, I waited for Walburga to find him. She started screaming when she did. When she came running out of the room, I grabbed her and pushed her face-first down the staircase. It was a big, spiral one. She went right over the railing and fell three floors. I got in my car and drove back to the apartment I shared with James.

“No one other than him knew I’d gone. I was away for less than twenty-four hours. When they were found, it was assumed that Orion passed in his sleep from an age-related complication and Walburga, in her shock after finding her husband of thirty years dead in their bed, tripped and fell in her haste to get help. No one looked into it any further, as there was no obvious signs of foul play and their deaths made sense. Orion was in his sixties and hadn’t lived the healthiest life, and their youngest son had just died at seventeen, so they were already in a painful, vulnerable state. Why would anyone look into that?

“James is the only person in the world who knows the full story— other than you, I suppose. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did. I murdered my own parents in cold blood. But they made my childhood hell and then denied me the closure of saying my last goodbyes to my baby brother. I should regret it, should feel bad, but I don’t. They spent their lives manipulating, abusing, and extorting everyone around them. They had it coming. I just wanted to be free of them for once in my life,” Sirius’ speech finally ends with a sniffle.

Remus simply lays there in complete and utter shock.

Sirius exhales shakily, and the tension in his body is back. He makes a little sound in his throat, somewhere between a whimper and a grunt, that Remus feels with the hand on his chest as much as he hears. His grip on Remus tightens further.

“Please, say something, Remus,” Sirius almost begs, and his voice cracks uncharacteristically. He’s crying, Remus realizes in that moment. Crying, because he just spilled his entire heart and soul into the air around them, and now that child who was ruthlessly berated and beaten by his parents is waiting to be validated.

“Tha— thank you for telling me,” Remus stutters. He has to say something, anything, to make his partner feel better. He doesn’t know what on earth he could say to make this all okay, but he has to try, because Sirius would fix everything for him in a second, and he deserves someone to help him. “I don’t blame you for what you did. I think— I think that they were asking for it, and I think that they were fucking horrible to you, and I think that you’re so brave and strong and amazing for— for getting through all of it,” he speaks softly, reaching out to grab Sirius’ arm, grabbing at it until he finds his hand, which is pulled until Remus can press his lips against the callused, scarred skin of the older man’s knuckles.

“Oh,” Sirius breathes, squeezing Remus’ hand subconsciously.

“You’re so brilliant. You don’t deserve anything they did to you. They’re horrible, awful, stupid people. They’re selfish and disgusting. You’re everything they’re not, and— and I’m really, really proud of you for… being here and not… doing what you wanted to back then. What they wanted you to do. I’m really glad you’re still here,” Remus says, nuzzling against Sirius’ chest. He doesn’t know how, exactly, but learning that Sirius was brutally abused growing up seems like a bigger deal than him having killed his parents.

Remus has gained a very deep understanding of Sirius’ awkward, quiet commentary whenever he mentions his family going to church. It was never disrespectful, nor did Sirius ever say anything, but it’s been obvious that he’s not completely comfortable with discussing Catholicism, in particular.

“I was— am scared you would be afraid of me for what I did,” Sirius mumbles, sounding pained. Remus sifts through his emotions for a moment. A lot of them are complicated, and Remus can’t fully grasp some of them, but he knows that fear isn’t part of the flurry of feelings stampeding around his head. He knows he’s angry, he’s upset, he’s worried, but he’s not scared. Sirius would never hurt him, he knows that.

“I’m not,” Remus says confidently. Sirius makes a horrible whimpering noise that stabs Remus right in the heart. He can only hope it’s not because he’s hurting— or, rather, because he’s hurting more. There’s no way he’s not in pain already, but Remus prays to whatever god is listening that he’s not the result of any of Sirius heartache. “You were a kid, younger than I am, now, your little brother had just died, and they had abused you for your entire life. They pushed you to the edge. That’s not your fault,” he informs his lover. “I can’t be afraid of you for that,” he adds softly. Sirius makes another little sound.

“I wish I had you in my life earlier,” Sirius says, rolling onto his side to hold Remus against his body. Remus hikes his leg up to wrap it around Sirius’ hip and worms his arms around his waist.

“I do, too,” Remus responds easily, running his slim hand up and down Sirius’ back, feeling the ridges of his spine and even some of the largest scars there. Sirius sniffles again, curling around Remus. Sirius holds him tight, like he’s afraid Remus will vanish if he loosens his grip too much. Remus does his best to tighten his grip around the other man, squeezing him as tightly as he can (which isn’t all that tight, really, but he’s trying) regardless of the cramps he might get.

They lay like that for a while, Remus gradually relaxing his grip as Sirius does. As Sirius gets a hold on his emotions once again he stops crushing Remus, which isn’t as uncomfortable as it seems like it should be. Remus hates himself for it, but the knowledge that Sirius can squeeze him that tight is incredibly attractive, though, that’s hardly appropriate for the current situation.

After a long while, once the sun has started setting out the window, Sirius relaxes marginally, muscles shifting. “Hey, Remus,” he almost whispers, speaking into the younger man’s hair, but he sounds different. Not miserable and shattered anymore. Sure, he doesn’t sound happy, but there’s something new in his tone. Remus tilts his head up a little, looking at Sirius’ neck (which is scarred, as well, and it makes him feel a little bit murderous. How dare those bastards…).

“Yeah?” Remus replies, trying to match the tone, even though he doesn’t understand what it’s for. Sirius moves them until he can cup Remus’ jaw and look at him properly. Remus silently notes the redness around his eyes, clumped eyelashes, and moisture pooling at his waterlines. There’s tracks on his cheeks, but no dampness, thankfully.

“I love you,” Sirius says urgently. Remus’ eyes widen, and he can feel his face burning. He grabs at Sirius’ chest, biting his lip, overwhelmed. Sirius loves him, Sirius loves him, Sirius loves him Sirius loves him Sirius loves him SiriusloveshimSiriusloveshimSiriusloveshimSiriusloveshimSiriusloveshim— fuck, fuck, fuck, Sirius Orion Black loves him. Remus might implode. “You don’t need to say it back, but—”

“Iloveyoutoo,” Remus blurts out, breathing heavily like he’s just run a marathon. Sirius’ face flushes when he hears the words, and he immediately presses their lips together. Remus expects it to be passionate and messy, but, after a brief moment, he realizes that it’s not. Sirius is so gentle, so soft. There’s nothing demanding in it, just delicate love.

Remus reaches up to wrap his arms around Sirius’ shoulders, pull him closer until every inch of skin possible is plastered together. Sirius goes willingly. He melts into Remus, who notices that, of the first time, Sirius is following his lead in their kiss, waiting for him to either deepen it or end it. The younger man takes a chance and licks into Sirius’ mouth, and his partner kisses back, but doesn’t so much as try to take control. He nudges his tongue against Remus’, gently sucks on his lower lip, but doesn’t push anything.

The older man sighs peacefully, and Remus presses on his shoulder until they flip and Sirius lays underneath him. Sirius’ hands find his waist again, and Remus tangles his hands in his long hair, tilting his head to the side to deepen their kiss. Remus drops his weight down, lying right on Sirius’ body. Sirius, who hums, pleased, and finally loses all of the tension he’s been holding on to.

When Remus pulls back, Sirius’ eyes are wide, pupils blows wide, lips red and slick with saliva. He’s panting, looking genuinely awed. Remus laughs lightly at his mind-boggled expression, and Sirius grins up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches the younger man with so much fondness, so much love in his gaze that it’s a little bit disarming.

“You’re brilliant,” Sirius says, gently brushing his fingers through Remus’ hair like he’s afraid it’ll break him if he’s too rough. “I’ve no clue what I did to deserve you, but I’m so happy I did it,” he says softly, hair haloing his head on the pillow. He looks ethereal like that, long locks reflecting brown in the warm light, still damp from the shower, eyes like pools of white-gold, a small smile toying with his lips.

“Yeah,” Remus breathes. “Yeah, me too.”