i . a i n ' t . h e r e . o n . b u s i n e s s . b a b y . i ' m . o n l y . h e r e . f o r . f u n

I Ain't Here on Business, Baby,
I'm Only Here for Fun
[by victoria p.]

Rating: Adult

Summary: "I have about half an hour before I have to be in Moscow."

Notes: For Amberlynne, who asked for fluff. Title from Springsteen.

Date: September 13, 2005

Sirius is settling down to a long, boring day of doing nothing when the front door rattles and opens.

He knows it has to be a member of the Order, but still, it doesn't pay to take chances. He creeps into the hallway on silent feet, wand in hand.

And finds himself facing a windblown, sunburned Remus, who grins sheepishly at him.

"I thought you weren't back for another five days," Sirius says, startled. "What happened? Is everything all right?"

"Missed you," Remus replies, moving forward to kiss him, hands fisting in the front of his robes. The kiss is fierce and hungry, and Sirius responds eagerly, wrapping a hand around the nape of Remus's neck, shivering at little at the brush of shaggy hair against his skin, and sliding his tongue along Remus's. Remus surges forward and Sirius stumbles back against the wall, hands still clutching at Remus's shoulders, lips still pressed to Remus's, reluctant to lose contact. When Remus finally pulls back, his eyes are dark and his smile wicked. He glances at the watch on his wrist. "I have about half an hour before I have to be in Moscow."

A thousand responses flash through Sirius's brain in the space of an instant, but he knows there's only one thing actually worth saying. "Then shut up and kiss me." He hates the way his voice is hoarse, broken, but Remus laughs against his lips, breathes into his mouth, and that makes it okay.

Remus's hands are everywhere, and that's okay, too, better than okay. Remus shoves impatiently at the front of his robes and through the haze of sensation evoked by Remus's lips on his jaw and throat, Sirius remembers their younger days, the ease and comfort of Muggle denims, the soft feel of worn, well-washed cotton under his touch. He is about to suggest they purchase some when Remus crows in triumph and wraps a hand around his prick. All thoughts of the past are banished then, and Sirius loses himself in the present, in the endless, timeless feel of Remus stroking him and the hard heat of Remus's cock in his hand.

They are rough, sloppy, hungry for this after a week apart, and nearly another week of separation stretching out ahead of them.

Remus drops his head to Sirius's shoulder and Sirius buries his face in Remus's hair, smelling of cheap shampoo and strange bed sheets, of places that aren't here or him, and a strange, warring jealousy wells up inside him at the scent, a desperate sense of possession, fear that Remus is slipping away while he himself is stuck in the house, the past. He can't breathe, choked by the pleasure rising up to drown out everything else, and the pain he knows will still be there when it recedes.

They push and stroke in that old, familiar rhythm until he comes in a flood of blinding white heat, mouth pressed to the graying hair at Remus's temple. He holds on tight as Remus shudders in his arms, his soft, choked cries of pleasure a music Sirius can never hear often enough. He strokes Remus's hair tenderly and they exchange soft, warm kisses for a few moments, pressed up against the wall in the dusty hallway of Grimmauld Place.

When the clock chimes half-ten, Sirius is reluctant to let Remus go, but he knows he has to.

"I'll be back," Remus tells him, as they cast cleaning charms and rearrange their robes. Remus brushes Sirius's fringe off his forehead, then traces the arch of his brow with his thumb. Sirius sucks in a breath at the gentle touch, knowing it's as strong an oath as an unbreakable vow, that whatever Remus's faults (and they are many), he would never break this promise willingly.

"I know," Sirius answers, kissing him one last time before he goes. "I'll be waiting."

end

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