Archive of Our Own

It starts with a spell gone wrong, or a ripple of wild ambient magic… At least that’s what they think.  Whatever it is, it hits Sirius mid-transformation. He collapses halfway between forms and manages to shift fully into Padfoot. But when he tries to change back?

Nothing. Not even a flicker of magic. Not a single shift of bone or skin. Just… a very large, very agitated black dog with grey eyes and far too much pent-up tension.

Madam Pomfrey runs her tests. Dumbledore’s consulted. McGonagall furrows her brow, says he just needs rest, that the magic will untangle on its own. no one speaks out about the fact that he is clearly an unlicensed Animagus. 

“Should wear off in a few days…” she says.

Except it's the worst timing. The full moon is close and Remus is restless, hot under the skin. His senses are sharper, as is his scent:, slightly bitter, slightly sweet, and Padfoot reacts like something ancient is crawling under his pelt. 

He won’t leave Remus alone. Sleeps in his bed. Nuzzles at his belly. Whines. Possessive. Protective. Horny…

And Remus… doesn’t send him away. Because Padfoot smells like home. Feels like safety. Even when he’s panting against Remus’s thigh. 

It’s after curfew and the dorm is quiet.
Peter is snoring, James is dead to the world, and Remus is lying on his side in bed, staring at the drawn curtain as it shifts. Padfoot’s nose nudges in with a huff. Just the nose at first. Black, damp, twitching. Then comes the paw, then the head, then the whole damn dog. 

“Pads…” Remus whispers. “Go back to your bed, mate.”

But Padfoot just looks at him. His whole body is tight, tail low and still, eyes locked on Remus with something like desperation. He whines softly. Then steps forward and crawls into the bed.

Remus tenses. His breath catches. “Don’t,” he says softly, but he doesn’t push him away. “Don’t do this right now.”

Padfoot doesn't listen. He presses close. Nuzzles under Remus’s arm, nose burrowing at his side, then lower—his chest, his belly. And when his snout brushes down against the waistband of Remus’s boxers, he lets out a keening sound.

“Fuck,” Remus whispers, voice breaking.

Because it feels good, he should shove him away, should remind himself this is his best mate, that this is Sirius trapped in that body, helpless, not in control. But Padfoot isn’t helpless. Padfoot is scenting him. Padfoot is agitated. He wants.

And the worst part? Remus does too.

He grips the pillow, whole body tense, trying not to rut into the slow drag of the dog’s snout against his thigh. The soft, warm breath. The lick.

“Oh god—Sirius—don’t—”

Another lick, slower. Firm and wet. Remus gasps. The shame hits hard, twisting deep in his gut. But his cock is aching, leaking into his pants. He grits his teeth, face buried in his forearm, and doesn’t move.  Padfoot is lapping at him now. Through the fabric. Desperate and hungry.

And Remus - weak, fucked-up Remus - lets him do it. Padfoot’s whole body is trembling. His tail is down, ears twitching, caught between instinct and hesitation. He pulls back once, whining, as if unsure. Remus lifts his head. His breath is ragged. He looks at the dog—at the too-familiar eyes—and whispers:

“…Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Padfoot whines again. Takes a step forward. Lays his head low on Remus’s thigh and licks the inside of it once. Twice. Then again, higher. Remus shuts his eyes and gives in, he spreads his legs. Just a little. Padfoot shifts. Moves between them. Begins to lap, thorough, intentional.

 Remus moans. Quiet, strangled, into the mattress.

“Fuck, Sirius...”

They don’t speak the next morning, because one: Padfoot can’t, and two: Remus won’t.

But he wakes sticky. Raw. Sore in a way that has nothing to do with the approaching full moon.

Padfoot is curled against his side, nose tucked under his arm, as if nothing has happened. As if he didn’t spend the night licking Remus until he came with a choked cry, grinding up into him, shame burning in his throat.

-

The dorm is dark, the others are asleep. Remus isn’t. He’s lying on his back, arm across his forehead, eyes wide open, hard. He’s been hard.

Ever since he woke sticky and aching, ever since he watched Padfoot stretch and shake out his coat like nothing happened. Ever since Sirius padded out of the room in silence, still stuck, still silent, leaving Remus full of questions and shame and— Want. Too much want.

He hears the soft pawsteps before he sees him. Remus doesn’t lift his head. Doesn’t even breathe differently. Just stares at the ceiling as the weight of Padfoot climbs onto the mattress again, slow and careful, like last night.

Only this time, Remus reaches for him, finds the top of Padfoot’s head. Strokes once. Twice. Then tugs at him. 

Padfoot moves closer. Whines. Nuzzles at his belly like he did before.

Remus curses his own weakness. For wanting Sirius… even like this. He lifts his hips. Slides his own waistband down. His cock springs free, flushed and leaking.

“There,” he whispers hoarsely. “You want it so badly—there. Take it.”

Padfoot lets out a low growl,then his tongue is on him in seconds. Remus cries out before he can bite it back.

Because Sirius isn’t tentative tonight. He’s is licking long and deep, hot and wet and so utterly focused. His broad tongue moves like he’s starving, like he knows exactly what Remus likes, even in this form. He’s done this before and knows how to make him shake.

“Oh f-fuck—Pads—Sirius—oh—”

Remus bucks up into the licks, hips twitching. He fists the sheets, his legs falling open wider without thinking. His breath is coming faster, panting like he’s a bloody dog, and it’s so wrong, it’s—it’s so fucking good.

He spills in seconds. Shouting into his pillow, body curled, twitching.

But Padfoot doesn’t stop. The licks slow, become gentler, almost reverent. He noses at Remus’s thigh, cleaning, tasting, savoring.

Remus shakes. His cock is oversensitive. His body is done, but Padfoot is not. He whines again. Paws at the bed. Tries to climb further up as he nuzzles at him. His tongue licks at his jaw, his cheek, his throat.

Remus feels like some freak, even as he knows it is Sirius in there. Sirius’ mind, Sirius’ wants.

Remus falls asleep sticky and marked. Padfoot curls around him, protective, body trembling.

It’s too early, just past dawn, but his body doesn’t care. He wakes with his cock straining, dream-warmth still clinging to his skin like sweat. He’s panting. His thighs are damp. The air smells thick with want.

And Padfoot is there. Still stuck. Still huge. Much too-intelligent eyes fixed on him like he’s prey and home and everything all at once. Remus moans as he wakes fully, his hand already between his thighs, cupping the weight of himself.

“Don’t—” he starts, but his voice breaks when Padfoot moves closer. That broad tongue swipes up his inner thigh once, slow and hot. “Sirius, fuck, don’t—”

Padfoot’s head lowers again. Remus jerks, hips twitching as that tongue drags over his cock. Again. Again. Then the whole heat of Padfoot’s muzzle presses down, licking like he’s desperate to swallow the scent, the taste, the mess.

“Please—” Remus gasps, writhing beneath him, “Sirius, please—try again, try to change back, I want—I want your hands, your voice—please—”

Padfoot pulls back at that. Just a breath. Just enough to look at him. Those eyes are aching with tension, with some unspoken awareness, with magic that won’t move, won’t bend.

Remus reaches out, cups the side of Padfoot’s head with shaking fingers. “Just try. Just once more, for me.”

Padfoot stands, tries. He lowers his head. His whole body shudders. There’s a flicker, like something trying to catch, a flame that should light,the spark of a lighter without enough gas. 

And nothing happens, the magic stalls. The form stays.

Remus watches, breath caught in his throat.

Padfoot whines. And Remus breaks.

He holds his arms open. “Come here. Fucking—come here—”

Padfoot bounds back into him, whole body pressed against Remus’s side, licking and nosing and panting. And Remus spreads his legs without thinking, breath hitching.

The tongue returns, wet and ravenous, pressing hard against his hole, dragging over it again and again like it's his breath.

Remus moans, clutching the pillow, hips lifting into it, and he wants—he wants—

The tongue breaches him.

“Oh—fuck—fuck yes—Sirius—”

It’s thick, hot, longer than it should be. It presses deep and Remus bucks, tears prickling his eyes as Padfoot pushes in, then fucks him with it, slow and steady.

He’s gone in moments. Hips jerking, cock untouched, coming with a broken moan that splits the morning silence.

After, Remus lays there shaking, slick and open and overstimulated. His legs are still spread, cock twitching against his belly, come smeared up his stomach.

Padfoot noses up beside him. Licks the sweat from his chest. His panting is quieter now.

Remus wraps one trembling arm around him. Pulls him close,  kisses his snout.

Remus had planned this. He’d told them all to stay away this time, James, Peter, and Sirius, just like he had used to, back before he trusted anyone to see the monster he became. He’d said it was safer. Said he could handle it. That he needed space. But that was before Padfoot got stuck. Before Sirius got trapped in his more feral, wordless body. Before that tongue drove him mad. Before Remus started waking wet, aching and sore and somehow missing it. Before the heat curled in his belly like a sickness.

Now he’s in the Shrieking Shack, pacing, shaking, clawing at his own shirt, and everything feels wrong. It’s worse. Remus crouches in the corner of the room, sweat-soaked and trembling, his spine starting to crack and twist. He digs his claws into the wooden floor and gasps, because it’s burning through him this time, not just bones breaking, but want unraveling.

Everything is too hot. His skin is wrong. He can feel the fur pushing through, his hips aching, his chest too tight— And he’s hard. Even through it. It’s sick. It's twisted. He’s never been this gone during a moon. Not like this. Not needing. He’s just about to scream when the door creaks open. It shouldn't be possible. He locked it. Warded it. But there’s Padfoot. Just standing there in the broken doorway like a specter, panting, ears pinned, eyes fixed on him.

Remus snarls. His voice is thick now, distorted, his face half-shifted. “I told you—to stay away—”

But Padfoot doesn’t care. He comes forward. Remus growls, backing into the corner. He can feel the shift pushing fully now, feel his muscles snap, his jaw elongate. The wolf is right there, on the edge of his skin.

But the second Padfoot reaches him, Remus stops fighting it. Because the wolf knows him. The wolf knows this scent, this dog, this shape—it’s pack. It’s mate. The one who filled his dreams with teeth and tongues and submission.

And when the wolf opens his amber eyes fully, Padfoot is there.

-

When dawn breaks, the shack is torn and wrecked. Remus wakes first, curled on the floor, naked, bruised, covered in that scent. He still aches. His body is still heavy, skin still too-tight, jaw bruised from shifting back. The taste of iron lingers on his tongue. But. There’s no fresh blood. No broken skin. Not a single new wound. And that’s never happened before.

He blinks slowly, curled on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, his ribs pressing into torn sheets and splintered wood. The morning light seeps in through the cracks in the boards.

And next to him is Padfoot.

Still stuck.

But trembling.

Breathing too hard.

Tail twitching.

And dripping...

Remus lifts himself on one elbow, head spinning. His limbs shake under his own weight. But when he sees the thick streaks of white slick clinging to Padfoot’s inner thighs, the damp matting of his fur— He'd knotted him, been inside him. Held him there. Filled him.The wolf hadn't just claimed. It had bred.

“Fuck…” Remus whispers, voice raw and tight.

Padfoot shifts under the sound. Whines softly, low and needy. Remus reaches out, hands shaking, and touches his side. Padfoot flinches, not in pain, but in reaction. Still sensitive. Still overwhelmed. Remus closes his eyes. Swallows. Tries to speak through the horror and want and softness threading together like poison and silk.

“I didn’t hurt you… did I?”

Padfoot noses at his wrist. Then rolls, slow and ungraceful, onto his back. And Remus sees it properly: the slick leak of come spilling down from under his tail, smeared and dripping onto the ruined floor. There’s so much of it. And Padfoot… looks pleased… Relaxed. Like being taken—bred—was what he needed.

“I… I don’t even know what to say,” Remus croaks, hand still on his side. “That’s the first moon I’ve had in years without a single bite or break or…”

He trails off. Padfoot noses at him again, then presses his forehead to Remus’s chest. And Remus, sore and overwhelmed and utterly undone, laughs, just once, helpless.

“I’m going to clean you up…” he says eventually, sitting up. “We’re both—fucking hell, Pads—you’re leaking. Like you’ve been knotted for hours… I think you were.”

Padfoot huffs. It’s almost smug. Remus scowls, blushing. 

“Don’t give me that look. I’m trying to help.”

He casts the cleaning spell gently. Uses a soft touch and murmured words. Padfoot whines at the first pass, probably sensitive as hell, but settles as Remus works, licking Remus’s thigh in return.

“You better get unstuck soon,” Remus mutters, pressing a kiss to his nose despite himself. “Because I will be making you pay for all this… You should have listened when I told you to stay away….”

Padfoot barks once. Then licks him again. Because Sirius may not have his voice yet… but the look in those grey eyes? It’s very clear that he would do it again in a heartbeat. Remus’ skin doesn’t fit quite right. His bones are human again, but his mind hasn’t caught up. The wolf lingers, close under the surface, hot and humming, feral and possessive, and Sirius is making it worse.

They shouldn’t be here. He knows that. But Remus takes him anyway, leads the massive dog up to the Prefects' Bathroom, an old habit from worse moons, when the aches were unbearable and a hot bath was the only comfort he could stand. It’s quiet this early, no risk of students or staff. The water steams as he fills the enormous tub, murmuring a warming charm, adjusting the temperature until it’s perfect.

Padfoot waits by the edge, tail swishing low, ears pinned—not scared, not wary, just… docile. Submissive. Remus feels it in his gut the moment he turns around. The wolf inside him knows. That twitch of hips, the stretch of limbs, the slow lowering of Padfoot’s front, shoulders down, arse up, tail high… It’s instinctual. And it makes Remus groan like he’s in pain.

“Sirius,” he rasps, swallowing hard, “please—don’t do that. Don’t—fuck, I can’t—”

He turns away. Tries to focus on the towels, on folding them neatly, on adjusting the light. It doesn't help.

Behind him, the sound of dripping, ‘whether it's water from the tap or slick dripping… he doesn’t know anymore. Soft panting fills the room.

He doesn’t need to look to know Sirius has moved closer. Presented again. And the way the air smells now is unbearable.

“I’m not healed enough for this,” Remus mutters, voice shaking. “You’re not even—you’re a dog, Pads. You’re not supposed to want this right now—”

But Padfoot whines, soft and imploring. And then nudges at Remus’s hip with his nose. Remus nearly drops to his knees.

He grips the edge of the tub, arms locked, trying to ground himself. “I can’t—fuck, Sirius, I can’t. You don’t even know what you're asking for. You're not even human now—”

Padfoot licks the back of his thigh.

Remus shudders, moaning softly, the sound torn out of him.

“You’re killing me,” he breathes. “You have no idea—what this is doing to me—”

Padfoot nudges again. Presses his body up against Remus’s side and stays there. Warm and steady. His. And something inside Remus fractures.

The bath is quiet. Remus washes him with slow hands, tender touches, kissing the fur when Padfoot trembles. He never stops touching. He can’t. His hands are starved.

Padfoot just melts. Half-submerged in the hot water, letting Remus tend to him like something precious. When Remus touches between his legs, just to clean, Padfoot lifts his hips.

Remus murmurs “Don’t—don’t offer—I’m begging you—”

But he’s hard. Rock hard. And leaking into the bath. And when Padfoot noses at his chest and licks his mouth, Remus leans into it.

The bath is full. Steam curls around them, softening the tiled edges of the room. The prefects' bathroom smells like eucalyptus oil, soap, and now… also like sex.

Remus has been biting the inside of his cheek for the past five minutes, trying not to make a sound, trying to keep his breathing even, trying not to notice how his cock is aching just from Sirius pressing up against him like that. How the water only makes it worse, how the scent of slick keeps rising to the surface, how every movement Sirius makes feels intentional.

And Sirius—Padfoot—is having the time of his life. Because he knows, Remus has no doubt of it now. The soft, whiny little huffs. The slow stretches. The way his tail flicks lazily across Remus’s thigh, brushing sensitive skin just often enough to be maddening. The little swirls he does in the water, pretending to resettle but always ending with his arse somehow presented again.

“Stop that…” Remus hisses, voice wrecked.

Padfoot yawns. Then shifts. Repositions. Wiggles. Remus chokes on a growl.

“You absolute bastard.”

Padfoot pants at him, tongue out, and if Remus didn’t know any better, he’d say the fucker winked.

“It's not funny,” Remus mutters, ears burning, thighs clenched tight together as he stirs the water. “Not when I’m this close to—fuck, I can’t believe I let you in here—”

Padfoot moves again. Sniffs along his side. Licks a stripe over his lower belly. Remus flinches, grabs the edge of the bath like it might somehow anchor him. It does not.

“Do you even understand what you're doing?” His voice is shaking now, wolf breaking through again. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me?”

Padfoot nuzzles lower. And licks. Right over the head of Remus’s cock. Remus groans, jerking away, slipping in the water, splashing as he stares down at the enormous black dog who is now very pointedly resting his chin on Remus’s inner thigh.

“Oh, you’re evil,” Remus breathes, eyes wide. “You’re stuck as a dog and you’re still a slutty little tease. What do you want me to do, fuck you again? In this tub?”

Padfoot lifts his hips just slightly. Tail up.

Remus groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is sick. You are sick. You are a menace to society. And your arse is still dripping from—”

Padfoot barks. A single, happy, smug sound.

“You want me to lose it, don’t you,” Remus growls. “You want me to give in, climb on top of you like some kind of animal—again and breed you until I can't even stand up, is that it?”

Padfoot licks again. Remus  moves fast, grabbing Sirius by the scruff, dragging him closer with a sharp splash of water. Padfoot yelps, surprised but not upset, tail thumping rapidly behind him as Remus pins him against the back of the bath, both of them soaked and steaming and panting.

“You don’t get to present like that,” Remus snarls, grinding against his side. “Not when you’re stuck like this. Not when I’m still half-instincs and half-fucking-mad—”

Padfoot lifts his tail again. Arse just above the water. Remus growls. Full on growls.

“Fucking hell, Sirius. You’re a nightmare.”

He ruts against him, once, twice, hissing through his teeth. Padfoot arches back to meet him.

“Say something,” Remus begs, breath ragged. “Shift back—please—just for a second. Let me hear you. Let me see you—”

Padfoot shivers. Then a sound, a whine. It’s human.

And then, bones snap. Limbs twist. Fur pulls back into skin. Sirius’s body shudders and shifts right there against him.

And when Remus opens his eyes, he’s staring at Sirius Black, fully human, completely soaked, mouth parted, ass still presented, absolutely dripping. And smirking.

“Hi, Moons…” he rasps, voice rough from disuse, eyes sparkling.

Remus’s cock twitches so hard it hurts.

“You absolute fucker—” he says, grabbing him by the thighs. Sirius just grins wider.  

Remus doesn’t hesitate. He grabs him, lifts him by the hips, and slams forward with no more than what slick is already there. He sinks in to the hilt in one desperate thrust, and Sirius screams, the sound echoing around the marble chamber, high and broken and hungry. Remus doesn’t stop. He can’t.

“Wasn’t enough?” he growls, voice shredded, hips already dragging back only to slam in again, harder. “Was being bred by a fucking werewolf—knotted in the goddamn shack—not good enough for you?”

Sirius keens, mouth open, head thrown back, too overwhelmed to answer at first. The water rocks around them violently with each brutal thrust, splashing onto the floor, heat curling with steam.

“Needed more, didn’t you?” Remus hisses, eyes wild. “Had to fucking present—wave that dripping little arse at me like it was nothing—like you hadn’t already taken every drop I had—”

Sirius whimpers, hands scrambling for purchase on slick tile, but Remus just grabs his wrists and pins them above his head.

“You’re a slut…” he breathes against his mouth, panting, trembling. “A filthy, greedy little bitch—and I love you for it.”

Sirius sobs a breathless sound, half laugh, half cry, and wraps his legs tighter around Remus’s waist, dragging him in deeper, chasing every rough, desperate thrust.

“I couldn’t—stop,” he gasps, “didn’t want to—fuck, Remus—don’t stop—”

“Wasn’t planning to—” Remus snarls, slamming forward again, groaning when he feels how loose and slick Sirius is already, the bathwater filled with the evidence of what they’ve done.

“Did you like it…” Remus whispers, low and dangerous, thrusting deep, grinding in. “Being knotted, being fucked by it….”

Sirius nods frantically, moaning, eyes fluttering.

Remus growls, rolling his hips. “And you’re gonna take it again, sweetheart. Every fucking drop. You want it, you asked for it, now you take it—”

And Sirius shatters, screaming his release into Remus’s mouth, cock twitching between their bodies as Remus fucks him through it, holding him open, pinning him down.

Remus isn’t far behind, it only takes two more deep, brutal thrusts before he spills again inside him, locked against him, groaning like an animal as he ruts through his own orgasm, panting harshly against Sirius’s neck.

“Mine—” he whispers, biting at Sirius’s shoulder. “Fucking mine, do you understand—?”

“Yes—yes, Remus—yours—”

The tiles are soaked. Their bodies are leaking, bruised, twitching, together.

And Sirius is smiling. Eyes glassy, lips bitten red, and still breathless, but smiling. Because he got exactly what he wanted.

-

That night, James claps Sirius on the back and says he’s glad to see him back to himself, finally. Peter makes some joke about dog breath that might stay for weeks. Remus just nods, tight-lipped, eyes a little too sharp for someone trying to look calm. No one questions why Remus limped less after this full moon than any one before it.

But that night, when the dorm quiets, when James’s snores start and Peter mumbles in his sleep, Sirius moves. Remus feels him before he sees him, as usual: barefoot steps on stone, the shift of a curtain, the soft exhale of breath as Sirius slips into bed behind him.

Warm hands on his waist. Lips against the back of his neck.

“You still smell like it,” Sirius murmurs, voice barely audible over the rhythm of sleep-breathing around them. “Like you did then. Just... a bit sweeter.”

Remus swallows thickly.

“Sirius—”

“I’m not going to shift,” Sirius says quickly. “Not again. Promise. But I missed this. Being able to say things. To touch you with my hands.”

Remus turns just enough to look at him. And Sirius looks wrecked. Flushed cheeks, hungry eyes. Mouth pink from where he’s been chewing on the inside of it. Like he’s been holding all this in for too long. Sirius is already moving, sliding down the bed, tugging at Remus’s waistband as he’s done a hundred times before. He kisses down, slow and reverent, until his mouth finds soft, flushed skin, until his breath ghosts over the very centre of Remus’s want.

“Smelled so good back then…” Sirius whispers, licking the tip once. “You don’t understand. As Padfoot, it was everywhere. You smelled like heat and need and something that was just mine.”

Remus groans, thighs twitching, and Sirius takes it as permission. He devours him.

Licks with long, dragging strokes, moaning into it like he’s tasting ambrosia. Then sucks and slurps, messy and noisy, like a dog with a bowl of cream, and Remus is gone.

“I wanted to mount you then,” Sirius breathes, pressing kisses into his thigh between every slick bob of his head. “I did. I wanted to fuck you until you couldn't walk—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Didn’t know if you’d hate me. Didn’t want to hurt you.”

Remus’s hips jerk, and Sirius just wraps his arms around his thighs and holds him still.

“But fuck, Moony, you smelled like a goddamn treat…” Sirius pants, voice raw. “Like everything I ever wanted. I was so hard I thought I was gonna knot you as a dog—as a dog, Remus.”

“You’re insane—” Remus gasps, but there’s no venom, no bite. Sirius smiles, slow and filthy.

“Yeah,” he says, before sucking him back down, taking him deeper. “But I’m yours.”

And Remus spills in his mouth moments later, hands buried in dark hair, mouth open in a soundless cry. The air behind the curtains feels thick now—close, overheated, tinged with sweat and breath and the ghosts of what just happened. Remus can barely think, his body still trembling from the orgasm Sirius has just torn out of him, but his cock gives a twitch at those words, as if interested in a second round despite itself.

Sirius presses another kiss to his thigh, then his belly as he crawls up Remus’s body, dragging flushed skin over flushed skin.

“You think I’m done?” Sirius whispers again, voice like velvet and smoke, like temptation given form. “Moony—I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Remus opens his eyes. Wrecked. Wide. And so, so ready.

“You just sucked me dry—” he rasps.

“I did,” Sirius purrs, eyes bright with mischief and heat. “Because I wanted to see you come apart for me. Wanted to taste it. But now…”

He leans down, presses their foreheads together, ruts against him, slow and filthy.

“Now I want you to suck me in. I want to feel your walls dragging me in slow, want to split you open on my cock until all you can do is beg me… I want to be so deep you’ll still feel me inside you during Transfiguration tomorrow. I want you squirming in your chair, leaking in your pants, thinking about this, about me, while McGonagall tries to teach dry ass theory.”

Remus groans, and that’s all the answer Sirius needs. He grins, filthy, and casts the preparation spell with a flick of his wrist, one of the few he has perfected over the years. He watches as Remus twitches at the sensation, slick spreading, that phantom stretch a delicious ache blooming deep.

“You feel it?” Sirius asks, voice going low, his cock pressed against Remus’s entrance now, slicked and waiting. “How ready you are for me? How much your body wants me?”

Remus nods, breath shaking. Sirius sinks in slow. One inch at a time until his hips are flush against Remus’s arse and Remus is trembling again, hands clenched in the sheets, teeth biting down on a groan so hard it almost bleeds.

“Fuck, you feel unreal,” Sirius moans, rocking in, just to feel the way Remus clenches around him. “Warm. Tight—Merlin, Moony—how are you always so fucking tight for me… It's like I never fuck you enough…”

Remus’s head thuds against the pillow.

“I want you,” he growls. “Always fucking want you—so stop teasing and move, damn you—”

Sirius does as he rolls his hips, grinding in deep and slow, watching Remus lose it with each pass. Watching the way his body opens and begs, the way he moans so prettily behind clenched teeth, too fucked-out to care if anyone hears.

And Sirius keeps going, whispering filth and praise in equal measure.

“Look at you—taking me so well, Moony—fuck, squeezing me like you need it…. You feel that? That’s me, right there— deep as I can go. You’re mine, Remus Lupin. Say it.”

Remus does, though he says it with words and groans and the way his legs lock tight around Sirius’s waist, dragging him in deeper, chasing every thrust like it’s salvation.

He spills again. Sirius isn’t far behind either, burying himself with a ragged cry, filling him. They lie there after, wrecked and flushed and tangled in limbs and sheets, breathing hard, bodies still twitching.

Sirius presses a kiss to Remus’s collarbone and murmurs—

“…might want to set an earlier alarm tomorrow. Pretty sure we’re gonna need a long shower before breakfast.”

Remus just groans, throws an arm over his face. They’re doomed. And neither of them can stop smiling.

Sirius is always shameless. Always touching, always flirting, always making offhand comments that toe the line between crude and affectionate. He’s like that with everyone—teasing James, throwing arms around Peter, batting lashes at girls who know better— so of course he does it to Remus. But the thing is, he lingers. Hand on Remus’s hip just a bit too long. Fingers curling into the soft bit above his waistband. Lips brushing the shell of his ear just so when he says something that makes Remus’s cheeks burn.

And James doesn't get it. He laughs when Sirius says, “Moony moaned so loud last night I thought the silencing charm around the bed was going to collapse….” He rolls his eyes when Sirius drapes himself across Remus’s back in the common room and whispers, “You smell like me. Bet you’re still dripping, hmm?”

Remus nearly chokes on his tea. But James just throws a cushion at them and mutters.

 “You two are disgusting. Take your fake shag banter somewhere else.” James snorts and continues. “Honestly, Pads, no one's buying it. You’ve been ‘fake flirting’ for years now.”

And Sirius grins, all teeth and charm, as he leans closer to Remus and murmurs, loud enough for the others to hear:

“Oh, it's very real.”

Remus turns pink. Doesn’t deny it. Just lifts a hand to scratch idly behind Sirius’s ear, like one might a particularly smug cat. And the others? They laugh. Because surely that’s just Moony and Padfoot. Just weirdly affectionate best friends. Just two boys who got too used to sharing a bed and haven’t stopped acting like a pair of clingy idiots ever since. It’s not like they’re actually… 

Except they are. And it’s only getting worse. Because Sirius never stops. He corners Remus in the stacks at the library, kisses his neck when he’s supposed to be fetching reference books. He drags Remus into broom closets between classes for “stress relief.” He calls him “darling” and “love” and “my good boy” when no one’s around, Remus lets him, encourages it even.

And when Sirius kisses him behind a tapestry one afternoon and walks out smirking, and says, “Merlin, Moony’s mouth should be illegal—” James just groans, “We get it, Pads. You want his dick.”

Sirius winks. “Oh, I have it.”

James throws a book at his head.

It starts, as so many things in their life, with Lily. She’s been sitting across from Remus in the library for over an hour now, writing her Potions essay while he flips through The Muggle-Born Dilemma with a highlighter’s precision. Sirius is nowhere to be found, which is a miracle in itself. But Lily is sharp, sharp enough to notice the faint bruises just barely visible above Remus’s collar. Sharp enough to remember the way Sirius had looked far too pleased at breakfast, like he’d eaten something sweet and was still licking it off his lips.

She glances at Peter beside her. He’s doodling in the margins of his Herbology notes.

“Pete,” she whispers. “Are Sirius and Remus—?”

Peter doesn’t look up. “Shagging? Yes.”

“…Seriously?”

Peter gives her a look. “They’ve been fucking since spring, two years ago…. Honestly, I thought you knew.”

Lily stares. And then hisses, “James doesn’t know!”

Peter shrugs. “Well, James is a bit thick when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“Peter!”

“I’m just saying… Remus limps into breakfast, Sirius looks like he’s been hexed with a smug spell, and James goes, ‘Hah! You two shagging yet or what?’ and then laughs at his own joke. Even as Sirius full on confesses that yes, yes they were… It’s exhausting really…”

Lily glances at Remus again, watching the way he rolls his shoulders. He winces. Then shifts in his seat, lips pressing together. She has seen that look before in the mirror. It’s the same one she’s worn when her knickers are still damp from—

“Oh Merlin’s tits,” she mutters.

Remus glances up. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing…” she says, eyes wide, scribbling nonsense just to look busy.

Later, when Sirius slides into the common room and immediately drops himself into Remus’s lap, wrapping long limbs around him like a bloody cat, James just grins.

“Oi, Pads, you forget where your own seat is?”

Sirius smirks. “This is my seat.”

James snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Get a room, you two.”

“We have,” Sirius says, deadpan. “Several, in fact. That closet behind the charms corridor is an absolute gem when you want some alone time...”

James throws a cushion at him. “Still going with that joke, huh?”

And that is when Lily snaps. “Oh for fuck’s sake, James,” she says. “They’re not joking.”

James blinks. “What?”

“They’re together. As in, together together. Shagging. Boning. Doing the horizontal bloody rhumba.”

James looks at Sirius. Then at Remus. Back to Sirius.

“…No they’re not.”

Peter just sighs. Remus, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. He just flips the page of his book while Sirius starts kissing his neck like it’s a challenge.

“Oh, we are,” Sirius says sweetly. “In fact, I’m probably still inside him, if you’d like to check.”

James makes a sound like a dying toad and falls off the sofa. James remains on the floor, half-crushed under the weight of his own realization, blinking up at the ceiling like it's betrayed him. His mouth opens, then closes. He lifts a hand. Points vaguely at Sirius and Remus.

“You’re— You’ve been—WHAT?”

Remus raises an eyebrow from his spot on the couch, still acting like nothing's happened, like he doesn’t have a lap full of Sirius Black. Sirius leans back, smugly draped over him, arms loosely around Remus’s neck like this is normal. Like this has always been normal. Which, to be fair, to them—it has.

Peter, who’s munching on a chocolate frog like this is peak entertainment, pipes up from his chair: “Mate. You’re years late. Honestly, I thought you were ignoring it on purpose.”

James flails. “You knew?!”

Peter gives him a look. “Of course I knew. I’m not blind. They’ve been eye-fucking each other since fourth year. The real shagging started over Easter hols in fifth...”

Sirius grins and kisses Remus’s cheek. “Technically, it was the night before the full moon. You looked wrecked after, love.”

Remus’s ears go pink, but he doesn’t deny it.

James still seated on the floor, looks vaguely stunned. “Peter,” he says, very calmly, “you knew. And you didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t ask,” Peter replies, as if that settles it.

“I ask you everything!” James finally scrambles upright, pointing accusingly. “How?! How did you notice before me?!”

Peter shrugs. “I’m observant. And also? You’re an idiot.”

Sirius laughs, pleased as punch, and starts playing with the ends of Remus’s hair. “I think this might be the best day of my life,” he says. “I’ve been dying to see the look on your face when it finally clicked.”

“You could’ve told me!”

“I did!” Sirius says, indignantly. “Literally every damn day of the week I say something like, ‘Remus has the best arse in the dorm,’ or, ‘How his cock tastes divine.’ and you laugh like it’s a joke!”

“Because I thought it was!” James says perhaps a bit more loudly than needed.

Sirius gasps. “You thought I was lying about Remus’s arse? How dare you.”

Remus sighs. “I’m right here.”

“Oh, we know,” Lily mutters, finally starting to regain her composure. “Believe me, the entire common room knows.”

James just stares at them again. “So. You’re…what? Dating?”

Remus and Sirius glance at each other.

“Shagging,” Sirius says.

“Fucking,” Remus clarifies. “Emotionally committed,” he adds.

“But very shameless,” Sirius finishes.

Peter raises his hand. “It’s been so loud,” he says.

James collapses back onto the floor with a dramatic groan.

“Fucking betrayal,” he says to the ceiling. “My best mates. My brothers. Secretly shagging under my nose—in my bed, probably—”

“Yes,” Sirius says brightly. “Yours is surprisingly comfortable...”

“Get out!”