Arcadian Dream

arcadian_dream @ 2008-07-17T11:54:00

2008-07-17T02:05:09Z

Been listening to a ridiculous amount of The Libertines lately. It's quite wonderful, sort of re-discovering them after not having listened to them much since about 2004.
Also, I seem to have developed a taste to Pete/Carl RPS. Anyway, I found this and it's gorgeous: Libertines and The Velveteen Rabbit and some stunning description (a few typos, but I adore it nonetheless).
I ~~blame~~ thank the Boosh for instigating this real-person slash fixation of late (oh Noelian, in all your slashy goodness, lol).

Oh crap! I just realised it's only four days till my posting date for 30 Days of Neville! ("Time management? Ria? I don't believe you've met...").
Better get cracking. Now, to write slashy Neville, or Neville/Ginny (or, maybe I'll write that Neville/Ginny/Luna that's been hovering about in my brain for a while? Hmm...).

An Ides of March Drabble

2008-03-15T05:27:40Z

For prompt number 13 - "Nervous."

It's not much, but meh.

Title: Not the Same
Author: me!
Pairing: Noel Fielding/Julian Barratt
Rating: PG-13
Words: 138

Look deep into the parka.

It was the same every night.

Look deep into the parka.

Julian knew that he had to, but part of him…part of him was nervous. If he looked, truly looked, he did not know what he might feel. Or what he might do. As he reached into the darkness of Noel’s hood, he extended his fingers.

Heat radiated powerfully from the stage lights, causing rounded beads of sweat to form on his forehead. Groping uncertainly for the prop hidden in the hood, Julian felt something. He felt the slippery warmth of Noel’s tongue wrapping itself around the tip of his finger. He felt the pulsating muscle, and the gentle sucking movement of Noel’s mouth.

This night, it was not the same.

Look deep into the parka.

It would never be the same again.

Writerly-ness Returns...and Some Boosh Slash

2008-03-14T02:44:41Z

Things are starting to kick along again with my writing - wouldn't you know it, it conincides with bloody uni starting and there not being enough time. Ah well. I've sill got one phoenix_flies fic to write, but I should be able to get that done tonight.

In the meantime, I wrote some random Boosh slash in response to a meme request over on LJ.

Here it is. I am so, so sorry.

Title: In the Darkness
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: explicit sex, oral sex, public!sex, a dash of cross-dressing.
Summary: Vince is bored.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Boosh. And I do not make any money from this. Quite obviously.
Words: 1995 (it got a little out of hand, lol).
Author's Notes: written in response to a request for the following:
Vince and Julian are either going to or throwing a big masquerade party with a Rocky Horror theme. Vince is of course Frank N Furter, Howard goes as Rocky (tiny golden pants YES); it all of course ends in hot Howince sex!
It doesn't comply exactly with the request, but it kind of had a life of its own.

Vince stretched his arms above his head, yawning loudly. He swung his short legs from the arm of the sofa on which he had been reclining onto the dusty floor of the cabin. The soles of his garish white boots landed on the floor with a soft “clack.”

“Howard, I’m bored,” Vince whined as he got to his feet.
“And?” Howard asked disinterestedly from behind his desk, his small eyes not tearing their attention from the book that lay open before them.
“And…let’s do something. Come on, Howard – let’s go out!” Vince enthused as he sauntered over to Howard’s desk.

“Go out?” Howard replied, looking up from his book as Vince perched his arse on the corner of the desk, “Why would I want to do that, Vince?”
“Ah, for fun, maybe,” Vince ventured, shrugging his shoulders.
“Fun? There’s plenty of fun to be had right here, in this very cabin. Don’t need to go out to have fun, no sir,” Howard stated happily, concluding his reply with a slight nod of his head in Vince’s direction.
“Like what?” Vince asked, exasperated. He let his arms fall to his sides as he waited for Howard to respond.
“Like this,” Howard said, gesturing to his book, “A good book and a quiet night in: what could be more fun than that?”
Vince rolled his eyes, “I don’t know, a colonoscopy maybe. What is that you’re reading, anyway?”
“This,” Howard said as he closed the cover of the book, lifting the heavy tome from the cluttered timber surface of the desk, “This, is The History of the Trumpet. Yes sir, a rollicking ride through the history of one of jazz music’s most prolific contributors.”
“Sounds riveting,” Vince muttered, raising his eyebrows, “So we’re not going out then?”
“You can go out, you don’t need me to go with you – call up Leroy or something,” Howard said with a careless wave of his hand.
“I can’t, Leroy’s gone skiing – come on, Howard, please?” Vince pleaded once more.
“No. I’m sorry, Vince. I have my evening planned.”
“Fine,” Vince sighed in disappointment. He shuffled dejectedly towards the stereo. He extended a finger and pressed play.

As Howard was about to begin a new chapter, the wib-wib-wib of Gary Numan’s Cars echoed through the tiny cabin.
“What is that?” Howard asked, pushing his chair back and suddenly standing up.
“Gary Numan – I mean, if you won’t come out with me, I’ve got to entertain myself somehow,” Vince smiled mischievously as he danced about, shifting his weight from side to side in time with the music.
“Alright, we’ll go out,” Howard conceded as Gary’s voice began to pierce his jazz consciousness.
“Brilliant, Howard,” Vince said, clapping his hands together excitedly.
“So, where are we going?” Howard asked, clearly unhappy about the turn the evening had taken.
“The local theatre’s showing Rocky Horror, I’ll just nip off and get changed,” Vince called back to Howard as he bounded away cheerfully.
“Woah there, Rocky Horror? No one said anything about Rocky Horror.”
“Oh, come on Howard, it’ll be genius!”
“I don’t think so, Vince.”
“There’ll be girls there,” Vince replied in a sing-song voice.
“Well, no there won’t now, will there Vince? There’ll be men, dressed as women: slightly different, Vince.”
“No way – what about all the Columbias and Magentas…maybe even a few Janets, that’s more your style, yeah?”
Howard cocked one eyebrow: “A few Janets, you say?”
“Definitely,” Vince replied, nodding.
“Alright,” Howard said, somewhat more positively this time.
“Cool. I’ll just nip off to get changed,” Vince said as he crossed the room, “Oh, you’ll have to get changed too, Howard.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Howard asked, drawing his hands down in a vertical motion.
“You can’t wear a British racing green zookeeper’s jacket to a midnight screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show!”
“Well, what then?”
“I’ve got just the thing for you, actually,” Vince grinned as he disappeared. He returned from the other room momentarily, and clutching at a bag of clothing: “Here you go,” he said, hurling the bag at Howard.

*****

A short while later, Vince emerged from his room, clothed in a corset, shorts and fishnet stockings. The rich blue of his irises contrasted powerfully with the exaggerated eye make-up that was essential when dressing oneself up as Dr. Frank N. Furter.
“You alright, Howard?” Vince called out as he stood waiting by the sofa.
Howard stepped forward slowly, adorned in little more than a pair of very small metallic gold underpants.
Vince tried to suppress a giggle as Howard stood, stock still, in the middle of the room, and glaring at Vince.
“I’m not happy about this,” Howard said rather coldly.
“Oh come on, Howard, you look brilliant!”
“I feel like a right berk,” Howard grumbled, shifting uncomfortably, “These pants are too tight; I’m all…bunched up.”
“Yeah…” Vince muttered, “I mean, you look great and, think about it, some girl sees you in those pants, she sees exactly what Howard Moon’s bringing to the party, yeah?”
“I suppose so,” Howard replied, not wholly convinced.
“We’ll get going then, yeah?” Vince stated, rather than asked, as he headed for the door. Howard followed.

*****

“I’m freezing!” Howard hissed through chattering teeth as he and Vince waited outside the theatre.
“Why didn’t you bring a jacket?” Vince asked.
“You wouldn’t let me! ‘It’ll mess up your outfit’, you said,” Howard answered angrily.
“Well, it would’ve. Anyway, check those girls out over there,” Vince tilted his head in the direction a gaggle of Columbias and Magentas. Howard allowed his eyes to follow the direction of Vince’s gaze. As he did so, a particularly loud Magenta pointed a finger towards the tiny-panted Howard: she and her friends broke into fits of laughter.
Howard sighed deeply. He turned his head to face Vince, his eyes transformed into slits of fury as he stared at Vince.
“What?” Vince said, “They noticed, didn’t they? Come on, time to go in.”

*****

It’s a Science Fiction – oohweehooh – Double Feature – oohweehooh…
The film began as Howard settled into his seat beside Vince, comfortable in the darkness of the movie theatre for the first time since leaving the house that evening. Howard allowed his body, which had been so tense, to finally loosen, as he slouched down in his seat, his head resting comfortably on the top of his seat. Perhaps this evening wouldn’t be quite so bad as he had first anticipated…

The film wore on. Riff-Raff and Magenta had done the Time-Warp, Brad and Janet had both succumbed to the not-so-subtle wiles of Frank N Furter, and Howard was actually enjoying himself. Janet was begging Rocky to toucha-toucha-touch her when Howard noticed something: Vince’s stockinged kneecap pressing gently against his own.

The criss-crossing fabric of Vince’s tights rubbed against the soft hairs of Howard’s exposed legs as Vince shifted in his seat. Indeed, Howard noticed that Vince’s shifting had become increasingly frequent, and it wasn’t long before Vince was rubbing his lean leg over Howard’s long limbs in the dark.
“What are you doing?” Howard whispered in a panic.
“Nothing,” Vince replied in mock innocence, unable to disguise a cheeky smirk from the light being thrown from the cinema screen.
“What do you mean, nothing?” Howard hissed again.
“I just…” Vince began quietly, before lowering his voice to such an extent as Howard had never heard before: “I just…liked the look of what Howard Moon brought to the party.”

Howard’s eyes widened – or, rather, if they had been eyes of a normal size they would have done so. In shock or fear or delight, he wasn’t exactly sure. What Howard was sure of though, was the sudden movement of Vince’s hand, as he grazed the soft mound of Howard’s belly with his fingertips.

“Vince,” Howard tried to protest as Vince’s fingers continued their downwards movement, reaching past his pelvis to the waistband of the shimmering gold pants. Vince slid the heel of his palm over the base of Howard’s stiffening cock, his fingers tentatively slipping over the length of the shaft: Howard gasped as the pressure of Vince’s touch and the gentle caress of the fabric on his warm flesh caused his skin to prickle.

No longer satisfied with stimulating Howard through his pants, Vince tried to slip his fingers underneath the waistband. The pants were indeed too tight: Howard’s erect cock was now straining painfully against the tented material, and Vince could barely manage to graze Howard’s pubic hair with one fingertip as he reached down.

There was, Vince decided, only one thing for it: he slid down onto the sticky carpet of the movie theatre, stray popcorn kernels and lolly wrappers digging into his knees. He ducked underneath one of Howard’s legs so as to position himself between Howard’s thighs. Thoroughly pleased with the view from his new seat, Vince reached up and pulled the gold pants down over Howard’s hips, freeing his prick; Howard raised his arse from the seat to allow for the underpants to move more easily over his body. Vince pulled the pants all the way down, before disentangling them from Howard’s ankles and putting them to one side. Howard sat, nervous, sweaty and more aroused than he had ever been in his life, in his theatre seat: completely naked.

Vince placed each of his palms on Howard’s inner thighs, spreading his legs wider: his cock rose from his bushy pubic mound like an obelisk. Vince extended his tongue along the underside of Howard’s cock. Reaching the engorged head, he swirled his tongue around the tip, savouring the taste of Howard on his tongue. Howard tried desperately to steady his breathing as Vince placed his soft, wet and suitably lipglossed lips of the tip of Howard’s prick.

Howard began to gently thrust into Vince’s mouth as Vince increased and then decreased the sucking motions of his eager, cavernous mouth. Taking more and more of Howard in with each of Howard’s restrained thrusts, Vince dragged the edge of his teeth along the tender skin of Howard’s cock, before nipping slightly at the tip.

Howard’s thigh muscles began to tighten under the weight of Vince’s palms, and he began to thrust more powefully as Vince continued to suck his cock. The rapidity of Howard’s breathing rose, and he plunged a hand into Vince’s hair, pulling on the perfectly manicured mane and urging Vince to take him in deeper. Vince complied: as he increased the ferocity of his sucking, he slid his palms up over Howard’s soft thighs and rested them on Howard’s convulsing stomach. The sweat from Howard’s body mingled with that of Vince’s hands: skin and sweat and heat slipping and sliding and combining until Howard placed a large hand of his own over Vince’s small fist, holding it steady on his abdomen.

Howard could no longer control his movements: as Vince slurped hungrily – desperately – on his cock, his hips bucked, hard, into Vince’s mouth. His entire body tensing, Howard came in Vince’s mouth, moaning far more loudly than he had intended and drawing the attention of the other cinema patrons.

“What’s going on over there?” a disembodied voice asked the darkened room. Unaware of the commotion he and Howard were now in the process of causing, Vince licked Howard’s softening cock clean, swallowing each drop of come as Howard, exhausted, searched frantically for the tiny gold pants.

“Yeah – what is going on over there?”
“Vince!” he whispered anxiously, “The pants! Where are the pants?”
Vince wiped his mouth and grasping the pants, held them aloft before Howard. Howard snatched them from Vince’s fingers and hastily slid into them.

“I think that bloke’s girlfriend was sucking him off!” decided a rather high-pitched, and somewhat disgusted sounding, squeak.
“I think it’s time to go, yeah?” Howard muttered embarrassedly: groping in the dark for Vince’s hand, the two made a speedy exit and, covered in shame, satisfied smiles, and a pair of tiny gold pants, headed for home.

Remus/Sirius Fanfic 100: Sight

2008-01-14T12:27:37Z

Title: Sight
Author: Ria
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: slash, fluff, angst
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Other Character(s): Peter Pettigrew
Disclaimer: JKR's, I'm just playing ;)
Summary: Peter sees...everything.
Words: 198
Comments: if you like <3

Peter saw everything. He always did. Oh, he may not have been the cleverest, or the handsomest, but he always saw. He saw the way they looked at each other, the way their eyes met. Fleeting glances colliding. A mischievous grin; a slight smirk.

He saw the way their eyes roved, mentally mapping the contours, the hollows and lines of each other’s bodies. The way their hands touched. Lightly brushing fingers. Accidental.

Or not. Peter knew. He saw.

He saw the curtains shift and ripple in the early morning. The light of the moon casting shadows on the dormitory walls. He saw the smiles, the ease: belonging.

He saw pale skin and luminous scars, piercing the heavy dark of the night. He saw chests – bony, lithe, muscular – rise and fall. He saw the shuddering movements. The sighs of release. The closeness. Tender, moistened lips wrapping themselves around the words, “I love you,” the feeling tumbling softly from one mouth to the other, rolling perfectly on their tongues.

Yes, Peter saw. And with a jolting, painful realisation he saw the way things would never be. Not for him, at least.

And Peter closed his eyes: because he saw.

Everything.

Remus/Sirius Fanfic 100: No Better

2008-01-12T03:35:05Z

Title: No Better
Author: Me!
Subject/Claim: Remus/Sirius
Prompt: #15; "Blue"
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: explicit sex acts, slash, frottage, outdoor/public sex, general crapness
Disclaimer: I disclaim, don't sue me!
Summary: Sirius makes a rather extravagant purchase.
Words: 879
Comments: are lurve <3

Sirius felt bad. He did not feel in any way guilty or remorseful indeed, there was, on this particular day, not even a hint of woe about his sometimes-melancholy disposition. No, not at all: but today, Sirius felt bad. Very, very bad, he thought to himself as the trees rushed by in a blur of greenery and bark, as the white line that divided the road into lanes disappeared under the front wheel of his new motorcycle. The shimmering sunlight reflected magnificently off of the metallic sapphire vehicle on which Sirius sat, knuckles white as he gripped the handlebars, his long, unruly hair plastered to the nape of his neck with the sweat of exhilaration, excitement.

The wind buffeted Sirius’ cheeks, as they seared with the exquisite discomfort of the icy breeze and the blood that coursed through his flesh: his living, breathing, pulsating body. Alive, Sirius thought, and right then, as the engine roared beneath him, the vibrations of the engine inching their way along his legs and back, culminating in a shiver that ran down over his spine and through the shaft of his cock as it pressed against the front of his jeans, he knew that there was no better feeling in all the world.

Sirius smirked to himself. He rounded the corner of the road leading to the flat – their flat, their home – at a dangerous pace, the back tyre of the bike desperately clinging to the tarred surface. Sirius applied the brakes as he skidded noisily up the drive, a wisp of smoke escaping from under the rubber as the bike came to a stop.

“What is that?” Remus asked as he stepped through the front door and into the yard.

“I went shopping,” Sirius replied happily as he freed his head from his motorcycle helmet, before flinging it carelessly to the ground.

“I can see that, but…” Remus continued as he moved closer to Sirius’ newest purchase.

“Well, we need a way to get around you know, Moony and, well, I just…” Sirius broke off, caressing the seat of the bike with his calloused hands.

“…I just couldn’t resist,” Sirius concluded. He turned his attention from the bike to Remus as he spoke, his eyes awash with a dreamy gaze, “You know what that’s like, don’t you Moony?” Sirius extended his arms, pulling Remus to his chest. Leaning against the bike, Sirius’s hands grasped feverishly at Remus’ flesh. His tongue traced the indentations of Remus’ collarbone and neck. Remus closed his eyes, moaning gently as Sirius’ tongue slid warmly against his skin.

“No,” Remus said suddenly, opening his eyes and pulling away from Sirius, “Sirius, we can’t afford it, we just can’t and…”

Sirius tightened his hold on Remus’ waist, drawing him in, their chests softly colliding.

“Don’t worry, Moony,” Sirius whispered, flicking his tongue against Remus’ ear, “I’ve got something for you too.”

“Oh, you didn’t go and spend more money, did you? I mean really, Sirius…”

Ignoring Remus’ worried words, Sirius took Remus’ hand, pressing Remus’ palm flat against the front of his jeans: Remus felt Sirius’ stiffening cock beneath the denim.

“Oh,” Remus uttered quietly as he came to a realisation about his gift, “Oh.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow as he lowered the zipper on his fly, exposing a section of cotton fabric to Remus.

“Sirius,” Remus admonished shyly, “We’re outside, someone’ll see.”

“I know,” Sirius replied. He placed his hand over Remus’ guiding his movements as they rubbed Sirius’ prick through his underpants.

“Sirius, we can’t. We…”Remus tried to protest, but his feeble attempts to do so faded as Sirius began to bite mischievously at his neck and shoulders.

“Why can’t we?” Sirius asked between mouthfuls of Remus’ skin.

“Because, well, common decency, and…”

Sirius snorted in mock derision, “Common decency, bah!” he breathed hotly against Remus’ flushed face.

As though to demonstrate his point, Sirius began to grind his pelvis against Remus’ groping hand. Leaning against the bike, he tilted his head back. He moaned.

“Moony…” Sirius muttered.

Remus conceded defeat. He pressed his own body hard against Sirius’. In an effort to conceal his own erection from the daylight and the possibility of stares from passers-by, Remus too began to grind his hips against Sirius’.

Delighted by Remus’ decision to wave the white flag, Sirius began to knead Remus’ left buttock in one hand. Sirius slipped his other hand under the waistband of Remus’ trousers and began to stroke his lover’s cock with his slender fingers. Remus gasped as Sirius suddenly – fiercely – grasped his cock. Sirius ran his fist over Remus’ shaft, alternately tightening and loosening his grip. Remus’ shoulders stiffened, he involuntarily threw his head back. Turning his watery blue eyes to the dusky pink sky, Remus shuddered, thrusting sporadically against Sirius’ fist.

Sirius stroked Remus’ softening cock, intent on extricating every last drop of come from his lover.

“Mmm,” Remus sighed. Legs shaky, he fell against Sirius and the motorcycle.
“So much for common decency, hey Moony?” Sirius said cheekily. Remus could only sigh in sleepy agreement. Gazing into Remus’ eyes, breathing in the scent of his warm breath and sweaty skin, Sirius realised that he had been wrong: there was a greater feeling than the freedom of the motorcycle. It was, quite simply, this.

Touch: R/S in Three Parts

2007-12-24T02:41:14Z

Title: Touch (series)
Part 1: Second Thoughts
Part 2: Chance
Part 3: Skin
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, of course *grins*
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: slash, fluff, angst, explicit language
Summary: "It just felt right".
Words: about 2000 all up, I should think.
Comments: if you feel so compelled (ooh, I hope so)

PART 1: SECOND THOUGHTS

The mattress sighed under Remus’ weight. He swung his spindly legs up onto the bed, sliding them between the crisp sheets. A moan of melancholy longing slipped over Remus’ pink lips, dissipating into the air before anyone might be able to perceive that it had ever existed. Remus rolled onto his side, his fingers hugging his light frame. He dug into his own flesh, feeling for his ribs. Remus closed his eyes, but he did not draw the curtain.

Remus lay awake for some time, he could not be sure for long. He continued to feign sleep as James and Peter ascended the stairs to the dormitory. Their raucous laughter split the silence of the room, tearing at it like a blade through a paper bag, before James apprehended Remus’ presence: “Ssh!” he hissed, presumably to Peter, who willingly complied.

Some, but not many minutes later, Remus heard the heavy footfalls of Sirius on the staircase. A sharp intake of breath shook Remus from his falsified slumber: his eyes came to rest on the back of Sirius Black. Remus watched the starchy, crumpled cotton of his school shirt slide over his shoulders revealing a slender, and slightly pimpled back. Remus stared as Sirius’ shoulder blades moved underneath his skin, the muscles and ligaments sliding and stretching – performing, albeit unwillingly, for Remus.

Remus gulped as Sirius’ fingers unclasped his belt, the draping fabric of his school trousers barely touching the skin of his thighs as they slipped down over his hips before collapsing in a heap around his ankles. Barely touching, Remus thought and then, for a moment…what if? What if he eased out from under the covers; what if he padded over to where Sirius was; what if he reached out a hand – no, a single finger – and ran it softly over the protruding vertebrae of Sirius’ spine; barely touching.

The thought, the mere thought of his own skin pressed against Sirius’ caused Remus’ heart to pound vehemently in his chest: it was keeping a beat so loud that he thought that Sirius would be able to hear its anxious palpitations. Remus closed his eyes again. He listened to his heartbeat, willing it to slow, to calm, to rest. He could still hear Sirius’ movements, his nocturnal shufflings as he readied himself for bed. And somewhere, between the thumping in his chest, and the constant image of Sirius that was seemingly etched into his mind, Remus fell asleep.

Sirius kicked his trousers out of the way as he pulled back the covers. A sleepy sigh escaped Remus’ lips, drawing Sirius’ attention. Sirius smiled wanly, as he crept quietly to Remus’ bed, careful not to wake him. Sirius grasped the drapes of Remus’ bed in one hand: he was about to close them when he looked down at the sleeping figure that lay before him; at the coppery strands of hair falling across Remus eyelids, and Sirius hesitated. And for a moment – only a moment, Sirius told himself – he wondered…what if?

PART 2: CHANCE

Sirius crawled into bed, shaken by the nature of the thoughts that had just crossed his mind. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to rid himself of the image: a sleeping Remus, his lips slightly parted, each exhalation of breath passing softly over the chapped skin; the thin auburn hair, raked over his eyes; the slender bare arm protruding from under the sheets. Sirius could feel the pulsing of his heart in his throat. He shut his eyes tighter still, as though the contrived darkness would offer him the relief of sleep. It didn’t. The thoughts – the questions – plagued him. The vision, the sheer unexpected beauty of Remus haunted him every time he closed his eyes. And so Sirius stared at the ceiling, his arms pressed stiffly against his sides.

The dawn finally broke as Sirius rolled onto his side for the umpteenth time that night. He rose early: he did not know if he could face Remus, not after the insomnia his friend had inexplicably inspired. Sirius showered, and dressed, and peering through bloodshot eyes he climbed through the portrait-hole.

*****

“Hey Remus, you seen Sirius today?” James asked through a mouthful of toast, crumbs taking up residence in the corners of his mouth. Remus choked down the spoonful of porridge as he answered, shaking his head guiltily.

*****

Remus was worried. He had not seen Sirius all day – not even at dinner that night, and it was not like Sirius to miss a meal, and it was most certainly not like him to spend an entire day without the company of his three closest friends. Perhaps he saw me, Remus thought, the very formation of the idea leaving his mouth drier than one of Professor McGonagall’s jokes. It was at this very moment that James rather unfortunately chose to ask Remus the same question he had been asking all day: “Remus, you seen Sirius?” James asked innocently as he set opened his Potions text. Remus’ fingers turned to rubber as he dropped his own book noisily on the floor.

“No!” Remus spat suddenly at James, the blood rushing to his cheeks at an almost unnatural pace, “I haven’t bloody seen him, so stop bloody well asking me!” James sat, mouth agape: he looked as though he had been petrified mid-sentence. Embarrassed and shocked at his own outburst, Remus swept his arms over the table trying to collect his things before scrambling out of the common room.

*****

Sirius sat, pressing the nib of his quill against the parchment, the scratching sound his only company. He had not managed to write anything, but he had managed to carve a rather elaborate looking ravine onto the page. “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

“Sirius?” a tentative voice asked from amongst the stacks. Sirius’ fingers froze, his quill slipping from his slackened grip.

“Sirius?” the voice asked again: this time, it was accompanied by the pale, somewhat gaunt face of Remus Lupin.

“Remus,” Sirius rasped uncertainly, his voice barely audible. He cleared his throat, and tried again, “Remus,” he said, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Remus replied with a nervous half-smile. Clasping his books against his chest, Remus approached Sirius’ desk and took a seat across from his friend.

“Where’ve you been all day?” Remus started, “And what are you doing here…in the library?”

Sirius did not meet Remus’ gaze, merely stared at the sheet of parchment before him. He began to fidget with his quill.

“Well, you know, thought I’d try and get some work done,” Sirius replied.

Remus half-rose from his seat and scanned Sirius’ parchment, “How’s that working out for you?” Remus asked with a raised eyebrow as he resumed sitting. Sirius forced an anxious laugh.

“Well,” he began, “I said I’d try, I didn’t say it would work.” Sirius swallowed, his throat so dry that the muscles seemed to be grating painfully against one another. Sirius continued to stare at the parchment, intermittently allowing his eyes to flicker upwards and fall on the face that had been the cause of so much turmoil on this particular day. Remus was still looking at him, watching him, as the two sat in silence. Remus gulped. He extended a hand. He reached across the table: he reached for Sirius’ hand. Sirius looked up from his parchment as Remus’ fingers came into view. Remus bit his bottom lip, one of his canine teeth piercing the chapped skin, as he mentally propelled his hand forwards: he hesitated, his hand hovered above Sirius’ and then…and then he placed it over Sirius’ slightly trembling fingers. Grasping it: holding it. Remus could feel the bones of Sirius’ knuckles pressing into his palm.

Sirius’ chest heaved. He looked, wide-eyed, as Remus’ hand enveloped his own. He looked at Remus: at his watery azure eyes, his pale skin, and his pronounced cheekbones. Sirius opened his mouth to speak but the words caught in his throat, stumbling into one another and knocking each other down. Sirius’ vision was drawn to their touching hands: he hastily retracted his hand from Remus’ gentle hold. Sirius stood suddenly. He tried to collect his books but his hands were shaking and his grip weak: the books tumbled from Sirius’ arms and crashed upon the desk and the floor, pages and parchment crinkling and creasing as Sirius’ bolted from the library, leaving Remus to stare at the space where Sirius had only moments before been sitting. As Remus stared, tears began to fall, his hope fading like the stars at dawn.

PART 3: SKIN

Remus held his shaking fingers up before his eyes. His vision obscured by the silent deluge of tears that was rolling over his face and neck, he beheld only a fuzzy outline of his digits, juxtaposed against the hollow of space from where Sirius had fled. The prickly heat of Remus tears cooled as they trickled over his bobbing Adam’s apple: the fluid reminder of his emotions staining the collar of his shirt with regret. Remus hung his head: how could I have been so stupid?

*****

Sirius’ feet pounded heavily on the stone floor of the castle’s corridors. The dull thud of his boots reverberated off of the walls, enveloping him in the echoes of his fear. Eyes darting around, Sirius had lost track of where he was, and he certainly didn’t know where he was going. Spying a bathroom a little way ahead, Sirius broke into a run.

He hurled his body through the door. The velocity of his movements threw him forwards against one of the cubicles: sheer force almost knocked the cubicle door from its hinges as it met Sirius’ shoulder.

“Fuck!” Sirius exclaimed angrily as he fell to the ground. Rubbing his shoulder, Sirius scrambled forwards on his knees. Sitting on the cold stone floor of the cubicle, Sirius kicked the now somewhat unstable door closed. Still grasping his bruised shoulder, Sirius leaned against the cubicle wall, knees raised to his chest. He breathed deeply, exhaling in a growling, guttural howl as he began to cry.

Why did I run? Sirius scolded himself, Why? Sirius wiped his running nose on his sleeve as he regained control of his breathing. Because I wanted him to touch me, Sirius answered himself.

Because I wanted him, Sirius’ internal monologue corrected: Remus. Sirius gasped as the realisation dawned on him: and he wanted me too. Sirius sighed, the anxious tightnss in his chest evaporating for the first time since last night. Sirius smiled weakly.

“It just felt right,” Sirius mumbled as he traced over the place where Remus had so briefly held him. Everything would be all right. It had to be: he could not bear to lose Remus.

*****

Remus’ eyes felt like sandpaper. He was simply unable to cry anymore: he didn’t have the tears, he had used them all up. And for what? he muttered to himself as he traipsed up the stairs to the dormitory.

“For nothing,” Remus whispered harshly, the self-loathing in his voice so sharp it sliced the air in two, “I’ve gone and fucked everything up for nothing.” Remus dumped his and Sirius’ books on the floor at the foot of his bed. He had lost Sirius, and he would probably lose James and Peter now, too. Remus undressed and climbed into bed, clothed only in his underwear. He hastily drew the curtains, resigning himself to a dark and lonely future at Hogwarts.

*****

Sirius wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when he returned to the common room it was nearly empty. His eyes stung with exhaustion. His limbs felt heavy. His shoulder throbbed. But Sirius didn’t really care. He dragged himself up the stairs to the dormitory. He was greeted by the rhythm of James and Peter’s snores. Sirius sat on the edge of his bed. He rested one foot on his knee and began to unlace his boots.

As his fingers fumbled in the dark, the moonlight caught Sirius’ eye: it had illuminated a path to the foot of Remus’ bed, where Sirius’ and Remus’ books lay scattered. Sirius hurriedly unlaced his boots, letting them fall to the floor. He stepped quietly towards Remus’ bed, gently pulling the curtain open. Sirius paused, gazing about the room, searching the dark…and then he nodded. Sirius began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off over his tender shoulder. He unzipped his trousers, letting them fall as he had done so many times before. He stepped out of them and stood beside Remus’ bed, shivering in the cold: a thin layer of cotton his only protection against the night air. Sirius lifted the corner of Remus’ bed covers, exposing Remus’ naked back to the dim of the room. Sirius smiled. His heart did not race; his breathing did not catch in his throat. He was calm: it just felt right.

Sirius eased himself into bed beside Remus, who was lying on his side. Remus gasped as he felt the weight and warmth of Sirius next to him. Remus’ body tensed. Sirius slipped his arm between Remus’ side and arm, resting his hand on Remus’ chest. Sirius could feel the bones of Remus’ sternum and ribs beneath his fingers as he lightly grasped for Remus, pulling him close: holding him. Sirius shifted his body, inching himself forwards. Lying on his side, he pressed his own near naked body against Remus’. The tension that had consumed Remus’ body melted under the heat of Sirius’ touch.

Bodies moulded against one another, Remus felt at ease. Behind him, Sirius sighed contentedly. And, as Sirius’ breath brushed gently against Remus’ earlobe, Remus smiled.

It just felt right.

Remus/Sirius Fanfic 100 - Prompt: Rain

2007-12-21T06:38:03Z

Title: Numb
Author: Me!
Rating: G
Warnings: implied slashiness
Summary: It's raining.
Notes: a quick drabble written in response to Prompt 66, "Rain."

Remus sat, gazing numbly out of the window. Rain splattered against the glass, falling at a sharp angle. In the distance, he could see the fluttering of maroon and gold training robes darting around the Quidditch pitch. Remus sighed. Ordinarily, he would out there in the elements: James and Sirius would be engaged in Quidditch practice while he and Peter watched. Today, though…today he wasn’t there. He couldn’t be there. He couldn’t allow his eyes to intently – inexplicably - follow the form of a flying Sirius, his robes plastered to his broad shoulders by the beating rain, his cheeks flushed from the physicality of his efforts, his chest heaving. And so, Remus sat, watching. Gazing. Numb. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against the glass. A prickly heat assuaged Remus’ eyes. Large, warm droplets of sorrow rolled over his cheeks. Outside, the bitter rain continued to fall.

Darkness and Light: R/S Christmas Gift

2007-12-20T22:34:03Z

Title: Darkness and Light
Author: Ria
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: flangst, explicit sex, hurt/comfort
Disclaimer: Jo's, not mine.
Summary: Confined to Grimmauld Place, Sirius is plagued by nightmares. Circa OotP.
Words: 1624
Notes: written as a Christmas gift for brighty18 over on LJ.

Darkness and Light

Darkness advanced on Sirius as he lay, helpless, on the cold stone floor. A burst of light, a violent contortion, the searing pain, as though he his muscles had suddenly decided to wage war on each other, causing his sight to temporarily dissipate. He wanted to cry out, but he couldn’t: he wouldn’t.

“Crucio!”

*****

Sirius sat up, flinging his formerly prostrate body forwards. Bedclothes scattered. His limbs trembled. A dull pain thudded against his forehead. Tears streamed down over his face, the droplets catching on the unkempt stubble that adorned his chin and jaw, before trickling down his convulsing neck as his breath came in short, sharp gasps.

“Aarghnnngh,” Sirius exclaimed into the darkness of the room, his fearful shout fading into a whimper. Sirius began to sob loudly, his shoulders shaking and his chest heaving.

“Lumos!” whispered a voice next to him: Remus.

“Moony,” Sirius cried out, his voice reducing to a gurgle between sobs.

“Sirius!” Remus hissed urgently, his hands grasping in the dark for Sirius’ body: he found it as the two shaking, scared wizards were suddenly bathed in light.

Sirius’ shoulders shook fervently as Remus held him. He tried to steady his lover. “Breathe,” he whispered, “Just breathe.” Remus pulled Sirius close against his chest as he stroked his hair consolingly.

“Padfoot,” Remus said quietly, “Oh, Sirius.” Sirius looked up into Remus’ eyes. He lifted a hand to his nose, wiping the sticky strands of mucus that had begun to meet with his upper lip. Sirius sniffed loudly. He looked down at Remus’ chest: the light illuminated a glistening patch where his tears and the mucus from his nose had been inadvertently smeared across Remus’ skin and the soft hair of his bony chest. Sirius placed a flat palm against Remus’ chest, wiping the tears away.

“I’m sorry, Moony,” Sirius said quietly. He hung his head, as though in shame.

Remus shook his head. “No,” he said firmly, placing a hand on each side of Sirius’ wet, flushed face and tilting it upwards to look into his eyes, “Don’t you dare apologise; it’s not your fault.”

“I know I just…” Sirius stumbled, unable to find the words, “I just wish it would stop, you know? But this place,” Sirius gestured to his childhood bedroom at Twelve Grimmauld Place, “This place…”

Sirius gasped as Remus, smoothing Sirius’ hair and gazing intently into Sirius’ charcoal grey irises, urged him, “Breathe; just breathe.”

Sirius inhaled deeply, his eyes piercing Remus’ stare. “Moony,” he choked out, his throat clogged with tears and mucus, “Remus.”

Remus, tears prickling his own eyes as he watched his friend, his lover; his insides squirm and wrestle with the pain and suffering of memories past, pulled Sirius closer still. The sticky, sweaty skin of their bodies pressed almost fiercely against one another.

Sirius’ breathing steadied as they sat, sheets a tangled mess around their legs, hair plastered to their foreheads and the nape of their necks, their bodies pulsing with warmth: a feeling so foreign to Sirius when he was in this place. He closed his eyes and listened to Remus’ heartbeat.

“I just wish I could forget,” he whispered, his breath rolling delicately over Remus’ chest as he spoke.

“Hmm?” Remus asked, unsure if he had heard Sirius speak.

“I just wish I could forget…forget it all,” Sirius said, his grey eyes awash with desperation.

“No,” Remus said with a firmness that surprised even Sirius, “No. I cannot imagine what it must have been like, Pads, but without it, you wouldn’t be you,” Remus continued, placing his palm against Sirius’ aged and slightly sagging pectoral muscle, the place that housed his heart.

“But Moony…”

Remus, however, would not be deterred. “You wouldn’t be Sirius, whom I love, oh Merlin, whom I love so much that it hurts, more than a thousand full moon transformations, and yet who I wouldn’t trade for anything – anything – in all the world,” Remus finished, swallowing hard, determined to quash the lump that had risen in his throat.

“But, Moony…” Sirius said meekly, “Can’t I forget, just for tonight?” He gripped Remus’ forearm tightly, “Please, Remus, make me forget.” Sirius’ eyes pleaded with Remus’ own worried gaze as Sirius ran his hand down over Remus’ bare thigh, burying his fingers in beside his cock.

“Sirius,” Remus started, but he was interrupted.

“Please.”

Remus looked away, as though searching for an answer as to what he should do. He knew – he knew, he always knew, when it came to Sirius – that he could offer all of the words of comfort that his mind could conjure, but none of those things would ever diminish the pain, the sheer torture of being in this place, for Sirius. All he could do was, as Sirius said, make him forget, if only temporarily: clear his mind of thoughts, and allow Sirius to feel – just feel. And then, maybe, just maybe, Sirius would be able to sleep a peaceful sleep.

Remus bit his bottom lip as he pushed Sirius gently down onto the bed. Sirius’ mangy curls cascaded over the pillow, tickling the surface of his shoulders due to the downward motion. Remus licked his lips, covering them in a gloss of saliva. He pressed the wet bands of flesh to Sirius’ chest. He kissed Sirius’ skin, the taste of salt and sweat on his tongue as he flicked the tip of his tongue against Sirius’ erect nipples.

“Mmm,” Sirius breathed, his stomach rising and falling with each deep exhalation.

Remus pressed his hands hard to Sirius’ body, dragging them over the lines of his form, the bones and indentations of Sirius’ physical attributes gliding beneath Remus’ palms. Remus could feel the twitch of Sirius’ muscles, the movement of his breathing as he rested his hands on Sirius’ hips. Remus thrust his face against Sirius’ stomach, the tip of his nose wiggling as he inhaled, breathing in the scent – the very essence – of Sirius.

Remus could feel Sirius’ cock stiffening as he continued to grasp and grab at Sirius’ stomach, alternately licking and kissing and sucking at the skin, pulling it gently with his teeth. Remus could feel Sirius’ cock stiffening, as its increasing girth began to nudge insistently at Remus’ neck and chest. Sirius emitted a loud, guttural, anticipatory moan as he shifted his pelvis from side to side beneath Remus.

“Nngh!” he groaned, thrusting his hips upwards, his erection colliding with Remus’ chest.

Remus stopped, mid-lick, an expression of mock-innocence painted on his face: “Yes, Padfoot, did you want something?”

Sirius half sat-up, resting on his elbows. His tears had dried, but they had left an almost untraceable trail of sadness on Sirius’ cheeks – untraceable, of course, to anyone but Remus.

Sirius looked down the length of his own body to Remus’ face, half-hidden under a shock of ruffled copper hair, as he nestled his nose and lips precariously close to Sirius’ cock.

“Moony,” Sirius growled, with a certainty that had eluded him earlier in the evening, “Remus.”

Remus placed his hands gently, softly, barely on the inside of Sirius’ thighs, pushing them apart to expose Sirius’ prick: hard, thick and pulsating, and standing out and up like an obelisk. Remus positioned his face between Sirius’ legs. Remus extended his tongue, sliding it over the underside of Sirius’ cock, tracing the line of a vein that throbbed just beneath the skin. He swirled his tongue around the tip as he massaged Sirius’ balls with one hand, systematically increasing and then decreasing the pressure of his hold. Remus wet his lips and planted them on the head of Sirius’ cock, sucking ferociously on the tip before taking the rest of Sirius inside his eager, cavernous mouth. Remus swathed Sirius’ in his own saliva as he licked and sucked as Sirius’ began to thrust into Remus’ mouth. Remus grasped frantically for Sirius’ hips, trying to steady the rhythm of Sirius’ bucking. Sweat poured from Remus forehead and landed in the forest of Sirius’ pubic hair.

Sirius reached his hands up behind him, grabbing at the iron posts of the bed head. His fingers slipped against the cold metal, but he continued to grasp the bars firmly as he began to steady his thrusting. Sirius moaned loudly as Remus ever-so-gently dragged his teeth over the skin of his cock. Remus placed his hands firmly of Sirius’ tensing buttocks, urging his cock to plunge deeper into his mouth with each thrust. Remus could hardly breathe, and he choked as the head of Sirius’ prick tickled the back of his throat, but he didn’t care: all that mattered right now was Sirius.

Make me forget, Sirius’ pleading voice echoed through Remus’ mind. Remus loosened his grip on one buttock. He inserted his hand between the cheeks of Sirius’ arse, parting them to reveal Sirius’ arsehole. He thrust a finger inside Sirius, who moaned gratefully as he thrust his cock hard against the roof of Remus’ mouth, his come mingling with Remus’ saliva as the liquid trickled over his lips and down his chin.

Remus withdrew his finger, wiping it carelessly on the sheets. He sat, still between Sirius’ legs, before sliding up over Sirius’ sticky, weathered body and resting his head on Sirius’ chest. Sirius ran a hand along Remus back and neck, burying his fingers in the mess of Remus hair. Remus watched Sirius in silence: his eyelids began to falter, eventually closing. Gentle snores rumbled in Sirius’ chest, and Remus smiled. He had given Sirius what he had wanted: the relief of sleep.

“Nox,” Remus whispered, as the two became engulfed in the dim of the night. For this night, at least, Remus had managed to make Sirius forget: to bring him out of the darkness and into the light.

More Ficcage - Mostly Drabbles

2007-11-13T09:15:21Z

It is as the post title says. Ficcage, ahoy!

Note: I clearly don't own these characters, blah blah. Also, the whole copying from Word thing was being a biatch - so if anyone actually happens to read this, please ignore the font size dodginess and discrepancies :)

Title: Fall
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: G
Summary: Sirius waits

Sirius sits, knees hitched up to his chest, on the damp ground. His left foot taps uncontrollably in a feeble attempt to keep warm. The bitter wind whips his face, his skin chapped, his features numb. He shivers under James’ invisibility cloak as he waits. He never thought he would fall like this. And yet, here he was: a lone figure, waiting for his love – his Remus. Sirius has missed him. He seems to always miss him: it is an ache that seems to radiate from the very centre of his being to the tips of his toes. He waits.

Title: Burn
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Draco is distracted during class.

Draco scratched his desk with the nib of his quill as he stared at the curly, tangled mass of hair sitting in front of him.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

Yes Miss Granger, Draco mockingly repeated in his mind. Fucking mudblood.

Draco felt contempt rise in his throat like bile as Hermione’s voice broke the dozy silence of the classroom. His eyes continued to bore holes in the back of her head as she spoke. At that very moment, he felt as if he was on fire, his very being consumed with a searing fusion of loathing and lust.

Fucking mudblood.

Title: Socks
Pairing: Hagrid/McGonagall
Rating: G
Summary: The Trio springs a surprise visit on Hagrid

Harry knocked on the door. “’Arry! Ron, ‘Ermione! What brings you lot here?” Hagrid asked, flustered.
“Just thought we’d visit,” Ron replied happily.
“Well, come in” Hagrid said. The Trio complied with Hagrid’s request, taking their seats at the table. As Hagird pottered over the stove, Ron noticed something: a sock underneath one of the table legs. He leaned forward to extract it.
“Erm…Hagrid?” Ron asked, holding the tiny sock in full view of the others, “Whose is this?”Hagrid turned, his large face blushing, hoping desperately that Ron would fail to notice the initials embroidered on the heel: “M.M”.

Title: Nimble

Pairing: Dean/Seamus

Rating: R
Warnings: slash, a tad smutty

Summary: Harry and Ron are up to no-good...so are Dean and Seamus ;)

Seamus gasped, startled by the sudden rustling of bedclothes on the other side of the drapes. He could feel the beating of Dean’s heart pounding against his own. Seamus stiffened, suddenly consumed with worry. The disturbance continued around the pair, as Seamus chewed his bottom lip nervously.

“Harry!” hissed Ron, “the invisibility cloak!” Outside the darkened bed in which Seamus and Dean had trapped themselves, Harry Potter lunged, grasping the cloak one-handed. Seamus heard the dormitory door click shut, as he and Dean breathed sighs of relief. Dean pressed his soft lips to Seamus’ neck, gently caressing his warm, now sweaty skin with his tongue, “I thought they’d never leave”, he whispered in Seamus ear.

“Me either”, Seamus managed to choke out, as Dean began to weave a trail down his neck and over his chest. Still, Seamus was preoccupied…where on earth were Harry and Ron disappearing to at this time of the night?

“Where do you s’pose they were off to?” he asked the darkness, as Dean slipped his long fingers beneath the bedsheet.

“I ‘unno”, came Dean’s muffled reply, his lips and tongue never leaving Seamus’ now heaving chest, “don’t really care”. And as Dean’s nimble fingers began to stroke Seamus’ cock, Seamus realised: neither did he.

Title: A Perfect Sonnet
Character: Severus Snape
Rating: PG
Summary: Severus' hypothetical reaction to Voldie's murder of Lily

Severus opened the door. Musty air assaulted his face as he entered. He ran a hand through his long, black hair, pushing it away from his face to reveal tear-streaked cheeks. Severus strode purposefully into the dank bathroom. He flicked his wand: the greasy porcelain bathtub began to fill with icy water. Fully clothed, Severus plunged a foot into the freezing water. The rest of his body followed, unflinchingly, as Severus lowered his frame into the icy pool. He submerged himself, his chest heaving. Severus resurfaced, shivering with cold, warm tears cascading over his face in a deluge of regret.

Multi-Fic Posting

2007-11-13T06:44:32Z

Some random fic-posting for archival purposes, I suppose.

Title: Scarred
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: smut, fluff, PWP, un-beta'd, explicit sex acts
Summary: Sirius wishes Remus could see that he truly is beautiful.
Words: 866

Sirius opened his eyes, allowing his gaze to rest on Remus’ still face. Sirius lifted a hand to Remus’ cheek, gently brushing a few stray hairs from Remus’ soft, yet slightly stubbly skin. Remus emitted a non-descript noise, but his eyes remained closed. Sirius trailed his fingers over the nape of Remus’ neck, the hairs prickling under Sirius’ touch. Sirius continued watching Remus’ face, noticing that the creamy skin of his eyelids fluttered. Sirius smiled to himself as his hands moved lower over Remus’ body. The tips of Sirius’ fingertips gently roved over Remus’ steadily breathing back, his skin throbbing warmly as he traced over the pockets of scar tissue that marked Remus’ form.

Remus was suddenly aware of the journey of Sirius fingers to the most delicate and vulnerable part of his body: his scars; and he shrunk back from Sirius’ touch.

“Don’t,” Remus muttered under his breath. He opened his eyes to find that the smile that had been gracing Sirius’ features appeared dented; hurt.

“’S OK, Moony. I won’t hurt you,” Sirius replied, his fingers still roving. Remus shifted uncomfortably. He lifted a hand and swatted Sirius’ fingers away.

“It’s not that, Pads. I just…I just don’t like you touching me…there.” Sirius’ handsome features were marked with a look of confusion.

“Moony, I just…you’re just so beautiful,” Sirius said, his hand persisting.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, I’m a real heart-throb.” Sirius placed his hand at the small of Remus’ back, pulling him close.

“You are, Remus. You are beautiful.” Sirius’ whispered. He could feel the rhythmical movements of Remus’ rib-cage increase with his breathing. Remus could feel his tear ducts straining against the salt-water rising in his eyes. He scoffed quietly.

“Yeah, Padfoot; skinny, pale and scarred werewolves are just the epitome of beauty,” Remus replied sarcastically. Suddenly Sirius could feel anger rising in his chest: he loathed the way Remus spoke about himself. Why couldn’t he see that yes, he was beautiful? Sirius breathed deeply before opening his mouth to speak.

“Yes, they are, Remus. Your scars are beautiful.” Remus turned his face away to hide the tears that had begun to trickle over his cheeks. He rolled onto his side, his back to Sirius.

Sirius, however, would not be deterred. He shifted in the bed, pressing his body against Remus’. Sirius allowed his fingers to resume their journey after having been so rudely interrupted. In the sunlight, Sirius could see the light reflecting off of the silvery skin of Remus’ scars. Sirius traced over the withered scar tissue, gently increasing the pressure of his fingers as Remus shuddered slightly. Sirius pressed his half-erect cock against the warm flesh of Remus’ arse. Remus could feel the blood rushing to his groin, coursing almost violently under his tender skin. Remus wiped the tears from his face as he turned to face Sirius. Remus slipped a hand under the sheet and groped for Sirius’ cock. Sirius pushed Remus’ hand away, “No,” he said with a force that surprised Remus. Sirius looked at Remus, noting his furrowed brow. “No,” Sirius reiterated, this time, in a gently whisper.

Sirius pressed his palms to Remus’ chest and pushed him back on the bed. Sirius continued to press his palms against the scarred muscle of Remus’ torso. Sirius inclined his head towards Remus. He extended his tongue and licked the salty trails left by Remus’ tears. Remus gulped, before pushing his own tongue through the wall of his trembling lips to flick gently against Sirius’. Sirius’ tongue continued its downward journey as he traced the lines and patterns of Remus scars, coating them in warm saliva. Remus involuntarily pushed his pelvis upwards, the tip of his cock grazing the cleft of Sirius’ chin. Sirius forced Remus’ hips back down; in the process he discovered a rather large scar running from Remus’ hip bone to his inner thigh. Sirius gently massaged the delicate strip, kneading Remus’ flesh under his hand: he was no more than a breath away from Remus’ cock. Sirius brought his own groin to meet Remus’. Sirius carefully slid his prick into the crevice of scar tissue on Remus thigh, and began to thrust gently. Remus, tears welling in his eyes once more, moved to bring his legs closer together, allowing Sirius’ greater purchase on each thrust. Remus reached behind Sirius’ rocking arse and firmly grasped his buttocks, pulling his closer. The two panted, Sirius rubbing his cock against Remus’ scarred thigh, and Remus thrusting in desperate pursuit of the prickly friction of Sirius’ pubic bush. Remus sensed his imminent climax and, removing a hand from Sirius’ arse, he squeezed his cock ferociously as his come coated the wiry black hairs of Sirius’ groin. Sirius pulled Remus’ legs tighter around his cock, his hips pumping uncontrollably. Sirius came, his semen weaving a white trail over the scarred ridges of Remus’ thigh.

Sirius fell against Remus’ body, their stomachs and now-flaccid cocks joined by sticky strands of their semen. Sirius looked up at Remus. A single tear had trickled over his cheekbone. Sirius’ pressed his bottom lip against the tear, licking it away with the tip of his tongue.

“See?” he whispered, smiling softly, “Beautiful.”

Title: Cold
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: smut, angst, PWP, un-beta'd, overtones of domination/submission, explicit sex acts, public sex
Summary: Harry takes a wrong turn in the DH epilogue and discovers that it's a fine line between pleasure and pain.
Notes: The first para is taken directly from the epilogue, so is obviously not mine, Don't sue me.
Words: 1033

Draco Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son, a dark coat buttoned up to his throat. His hair was receding somewhat, which emphasised the pointed chin. Draco caught sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny staring at him, nodded curtly and turned away again.

Harry’s heart leapt: that nod. The nod. It couldn’t…no, surely not. Not here. Not now. Harry suppressed an anxious gulp as he continued to watch Draco. There appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary: Draco remained with his wife and son, talking, smirking. Harry shook his head slightly, as if to return himself to his senses. He turned to talk to Ginny, his mouth half open, when he spied a silver-blonde blur in his peripheral vision. Harry mumbled an excuse to Ginny as he walked hurriedly away.

“Where’s he off to?” Ron asked, his brows knitted in confusion.

“Bathroom”, Ginny replied, contentedly wiping a smudge of dirt from her child’s round, pink face.

Harry rounded the corner of the public bathroom at a jog. Leaves and scraps of toilet paper littered the floor, crumpling underfoot as Harry strode cautiously towards the row of filthy cubicles. Sweat beaded on Harry’s forehead. His breathing quickened, and he could feel the blood coursing through his body in a way it hadn’t done since…he shivered at the thought.

Harry pressed a clammy palm against the door of the farthest cubicle. Dirt and God-knows-what-else stuck to his skin as he nervously pushed it open. Harry didn’t know what he would find: he didn’t know what he expected or wanted or hoped – desperately hoped – to find behind the splintered timber door. Eyes closed, Harry stepped forward.

“Hurry up and close the bloody door, Potter”, snapped Draco Malfoy, his own face flushed with colour, “You want your wife to see?”

“Don’t talk about my wife, Malfoy”, Harry retorted angrily through gritted teeth.

“No”, Draco mused. “Perhaps not. Perhaps it’s best if we don’t talk at all”.

Draco pulled Harry forcefully to him. The cubicle door clattered closed behind them. Blood seared through Harry’s veins: rage, yes, rage…but also lust. He couldn’t believe he was back here, even after all this time. Harry could feel his heart pounding against his chest as Draco peered down his sharp nose into his green eyes.

“It’ll be just like old times”, Draco whispered icily into Harry’s ear. Harry hated himself for what he was about to do – for what he was doing, to Ginny, to their children, to himself. But there, in Draco’s arms…

Harry reached up, pulling Draco’s face down to meet his own. His lips slightly puckered, Harry waited for the warmth of Draco’s flesh to meet his.

“Don’t fucking kiss me, Potter”, Draco spat as one hand slipped below his waist, unclasping his belt buckle. The other hand he placed on Harry’s shoulder, pushing him downwards. Harry wanted to resist. His mind sent the message to his legs to stand firm, but it had been hijacked by another part of his body – a part that was now straining uncomfortably against his trousers. Harry’s knees seemed to crumble under the weight of Draco’s hand: he fell to the floor, bone clashing painfully with cold concrete. Draco’s pants slid down over his slim legs, bunching up around his ankles. Harry knelt, tears welling up in his eyes – his mother’s eyes – as he pulled Draco’s underpants down, revealing a sweaty, throbbing cock. Harry wrapped his lips around the tip, flicking his tongue lightly over the skin. Draco’s hand slid up over Harry’s shoulder before coming to a stop on the back of Harry’s head. Draco began to thrust gently as Harry slurped hungrily on his cock. Harry sucked furiously, taking Draco further and further into his mouth, enveloping him in the wet, slippery cave that was his eager mouth. Draco pressed his palm hard against the back of Harry’s head, forcing Harry to take in every single inch of him, so that his foreskin was tickling the back of Harry’s throat. Harry moaned, almost choked, as Draco continued to thrust into him. Harry swirled his muscular tongue around Draco’s cock: he moaned in appreciation. Harry reached his hands up over Draco’s stomach as he delicately dragged his teeth over Draco’s red, pulsating flesh. Harry placed his hands on Draco’s contracted arse, desperately puller him deeper into his mouth.

Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain: Draco had grabbed a fistful of Harry’s hair. Draco yanked Harry’s head away from his groin, his hard-on sticking straight out like an obelisk.

“Do you want it, Potter?” Draco growled.

“Yes”, Harry whimpered, his eyes fixed on the cock just a breath away from his wet, pink lips.

“Look at me!” Draco hissed, pulling Harry’s head back further, Draco’s striking eyes piercing Harry’s. “Do you want it?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes!” the words tumbled pathetically out of Harry’s mouth.

Draco dragged Harry’s head forward to meet his prick. Harry let his lips linger over the head, savouring the taste of Draco.

“Don’t fucking kiss it Potter: suck it”, Draco ordered. Draco thrust into Harry’s mouth, groaning. As Harry sucked and licked and gently bit Draco all over, the speed and intensity of his thrusts increased: Draco’s hips began to buck, as he fucked Harry’s mouth. Harry spluttered and coughed but never let Draco’s prick escape.

“Yes, Potter, yes”, Draco croaked, tilting his head skywards.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”, Draco spat, coming in Harry’s mouth. Harry sucked desperately on Draco’s cock, intent on extricating every last drop. Harry let Draco’s come coat the inside of his mouth before he swallowed, moaning gratefully.

Harry remained kneeling on the floor as Draco bent down to retrieve his trousers. Harry became aware of the acute pain of his own erection as Draco stepped past his crumpled form.
”Hey, Malfoy! Where are you going?”

“Back to my wife, Potter. I suggest you do the same”.

Harry sat, agog at Malfoy’s cool reply. “What about this?” Harry asked, grabbing his crotch.

“You’ve got two hands Potter: pick one”.

A smirk consumed Draco’s pale face as he walked away, leaving Harry a mess of hopelessness and hurt, tears streaking his face, and falling in heavy droplets of the bathroom floor.

Title: September 1st
Pairing: Ron/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: smut, fluff, explicit sex, un-beta'd,public sex
Summary: Another epilogue adjacent fic: Harry really, really misses Ron. Really.
Words: 1162

Harry reached out before him, stretching his fingers towards Ron, gently placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Ron did not look up, but maintained his gaze, concentrating on the game of wizard chess before him. Harry shuffled closer, trying to steady his breathing. He could feel the heat rise in his face, his heart pounding against his rib cage. Still, Ron did not move. Harry inched forward once again, until his body was pressed against Ron’s back. Harry closed his eyes and, tilting his head skywards, involuntarily pressed his pelvis against Ron’s muscular back. This time, Ron moved. He rose, and Harry, his eyes still closed, let his hand fall from Ron’s shoulder. Harry could feel the blood rushing to his cock, as it began to strain against his fly. Ron stood, facing him. He was, once again, motionless. Harry opened his eyes, resting them on his friend’s freckled face. Ron stepped towards Harry and, sliding his hands beneath Harry’s t-shirt, he lifted it over his head. Ron ran his hand over Harry’s bare back, pressing his own body against Harry’s naked torso. Ron placed his hands on Harry’s buttocks, forcefully, drawing Harry’s crotch to his. Harry could feel the rigidity of Ron’s cock against his own as Ron opened his mouth and traced over Harry’s shoulder and neck with his long tongue. As he did so, Ron slipped his long fingers under Harry’s waistband, and began gently stroking Harry’s cock. He could feel himself twitch at Ron’s touch. He began thrusting against Ron’s groin, moaning…

Harry woke with a start, a hand roughly shaking his shoulder. “Harry?” Ginny asked, a slightly bewildered look on her face, “Are you alright?”

Harry wiped the back of his hand across his forehead: it was beaded with sweat

“Oh…yeah. I’m…fine”, Harry replied unconvincingly, suddenly aware of his raging hard-on concealed beneath the bed sheets.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Just had a, ah, a weird dream. That’s all”. Seemingly satisfied with her husband’s explanation, Ginny rolled onto her side once again. “Well”, she said as she plumped up her pillow, “Try and get some more sleep. We’re going to have quite the time of it getting our lot ready for the train in the morning”.

Harry waited for Ginny’s gentle snores to resume before he got out of bed. Harry made for the bathroom as quickly as he could without causing a nocturnal disturbance.

“The train”, he muttered to himself, as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, resting his hands on the counter, “every year”. Harry slid his hand over his stomach, grasping his still hard cock in his hand. He began to rub his throbbing shaft, slowly at first, savouring the pleasure of his own touch. The image of Ron running his tongue over his neck flashed before Harry’s mind’s eye, and he increased the speed of his movements. Picturing Ron’s blue eyes looking into his own, he unwittingly let his pyjama bottoms fall to the floor. Harry grunted as he finally gained release, his come splattered across his own reflection before him. He wiped the mirror clean and returned to bed.

“Mate!” called Ron enthusiastically, as he strode over to where Harry stood, waiting, on platform nine and three-quarters. Harry gave a somewhat nervous smile as Ron slapped him on the back. “It’s a bloody nightmare, isn’t it? Getting all these bloody kids off to school. How’ve you been?” asked Ron, a silly grin spread across the freckled face that, just last night, Harry had imagined he was gazing into.

“Yeah, not bad, mate. Work, you know. And you? How’s Hermione?”

“You know Hermione, Harry”, said Ron jovially, “trying to do everything all at once”.

“Yeah”, Harry nodded. He was visibly less than enthused to see his best friend. It was a fact that Ron, much to Harry’s displeasure, was suddenly aware of: “What’s wrong, mate?” he asked, clapping a consoling hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Nothing, just…can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course”

“Erm…not here. Maybe just…” Harry trailed off, motioning with his thumb towards an alcove out of sight of the Hogwarts Express, his wife – Ron’s sister – and his children. Ron followed Harry, who stood facing the brick wall before them.

“Do you miss it, Ron?” Harry seemed to be asking the wall.

“Miss what, Harry?”

“The, ah…you know. When we were in the dormitory and we, ah…”, Harry could feel his cock twitch at the mere memory of their former nocturnal activities.

Harry could hear the shuffling of Ron’s shoes on the pavement as he moved towards Harry. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t, Harry. We just…can’t. I mean, it’s not like before…Hermione, and kids, and…”

“I know”, Harry interjected sharply, “Oh boy, do I know. But sometimes I just…”

Harry could hear Ron’s breathing increase – he was standing closer than Harry had first thought. And then…Harry couldn’t help it. He pivoted to face Ron, and pressed his hand against Ron’s groin. Ron’s cock responded the way Harry knew it would. Ron’s breathing increased to a pant as Harry vigorously massaged Ron’s throbbing member. Ron pushed Harry against the wall. The two were now hidden in shadow. Ron pulled Harry’s hand from his dick and placed it against the wall so that Harry’s back was facing him. Ron fumbled with Harry’s belt, pulling Harry’s pants down. He ran his hand over Harry’s ass before slipping one of his long fingers inside Harry. Harry jerked his ass away involuntarily. Ron fingered Harry’s ass, as Harry instinctively reached for his own throbbing cock. He ran his hand along his shaft slowly at first, determined to focus on the touch of Ron’s deft fingers. Harry came hard, with a feeble attempt to suppress his groans of pleasure. Ron withdrew his finger quickly and spat on his hand. He rubbed his saliva around Harry’s anus, forcing Harry further against the wall so that his chest was grazing the rough brick. Ron steadied himself, one hand pressing against the wall. With his free hand he spread Harry’s ass cheeks wide and thrust hard into him. Harry bit his lip as Ron fucked him. With every thrust, Harry’s asshole gratefully squeezed Ron’s cock, thankful for this gift of pleasure. Ron was pumping his cock faster and faster inside of Harry, who raised his ass to meet each of Ron’s thrusts. Ron grabbed Harry’s hips and pulled them forcefully towards his own, his cock reaching deeper into Harry. “Ohhh…”, Harry moaned, “Ohhh, God”. Harry came again, his come spurting onto the brick wall, which he was now leaning against for support. Ron suddenly pulled out of Harry. The final squeeze of Harry’s asshole was more than he could stand and, shuddering with the power of his orgasm, he shot his come all over Harry’s back. Ron fell against Harry, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “So”, panted Ron, “to answer your question mate – yeah, I do miss it”.