are you lonely just like me?

by magicbeings

Summary:

Completely broke and in desperate need of rent money, Sirius Black finds himself getting into a handsome stranger's fancy car. It’s fine, really. It’s just an easy twenty pounds for helping the man get to his fancy posh hotel. Or is it?

Or: a Pretty Woman AU where Sirius is Julia Roberts and Remus is Richard Gere.

Notes:

I feel the need to reinforce this: just as in the classic movie that inspired this, Sirius' character is a sex worker and he is significantly younger than Remus. If you are gonna get bothered by morals or something, maybe read something else.

Chapter 1

 

Remus stares out the window. The party in Peter’s backyard is a noisy blur – people mill around, canapes disappearing in a flash, champagne flutes clinking.

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. These posh dos are a torture to him; small talk makes him want to crawl under a rock, and all the fake smiles feel like a bad joke. He just wants someone here he can actually stand to be around.

Benjy was supposed to be here three hours ago.

He takes Peter’s landline out of the hook and dials their flat number – he knows it by heart. Benjy shouldn’t be home, his flight must’ve left around noon, if his secretary did what she was told.

Yet, after three rings, Benjy picks up.

“Hello?” he sounds as cheerful as ever.

“Where are you still? You have a plane to catch!” Remus blurts out, frustrated. He knows Benjy hates it when he gets like this, but he can’t help it. “Is your flight delayed or something?”

Benjy sighs audibly. “I’m not going, Remus.”

Remus frowns. “What? I told Sally to book it, didn’t she call you?”

“She did," Benjy replies. His voice is stiff and formal, a sure sign he’s fuming. “Seems I talk to your secretary more than you these days.”

Great. Just what Remus needs – a fight with Benjy over the phone, right in the middle of this party. And this week, of all weeks. It’s perfect timing.

He forces out a tight, “I see.”

“I have my own life too, Remus. You need to get that.”

Remus clenches his jaw. He knows Benjy has a life, of course he does. But this week is the culmination of everything he's been working towards the past months, it’s the biggest deal of his career. Surely that trumps planning another pointless cocktail party for some socialite in Kensington?

“This is a very important week for me, Ben,” he forces out, keeping his voice low. Begging isn’t his style, but Benjy should understand the weight of this. “I need you here.”

“Well, you never give me any notice!” Benjy explodes, finally tossing politeness aside. “You just think I have to be at your beck and call, twenty-four-seven!”

Remus grits his teeth further. “I never asked for that,” he mutters. Wanting your boyfriend by your side during a critical week is hardly unreasonable.

“But that’s how you always make me feel, Remus!” Benjy’s voice cracks, on the verge of a whine. Remus can practically picture the glistening eyes forming if they were face-to-face. A dramatic pause hangs heavy on the line, then he says “Ugh, maybe I should just move out!”

Remus doesn’t respond right away. He lets those words hang there for a minute. Lets Benjy feel the weight they carry.

He and Benjy have been living together for three years now. In a way, he was the reason Remus divorced his wife. Yes, wife. It sounds so ridiculous now, that he had actually been married to a woman – and for over a decade! – when a significant part of him always knew he was attracted to men. That’s how deep denial can go. Ok, so maybe Benjy wasn’t the reason per se, that marriage had been doomed from the beginning, but he was certainly the catalyst for the divorce.

And yet, here they are now, three years later. Just as doomed as his heterosexual facade marriage.

Remus feels a familiar coldness settle in his gut. “If that's what you want, Benjy,” he replies, voice flat, “then that's what you should do.” He knows it's a bluff. Benjy, the boy who cried wolf, throws tantrums but rarely follows through. 

A beat of silence hangs heavy. Then, a flicker of uncertainty creeps into Benjy's voice. “Alright, when you get back to London, we can talk about it.” It's a half-hearted attempt, a plea for Remus to fight for him.

But Remus is done. Tired of the endless cycle of arguments. Exhausted of begging for someone he's not sure wants to be with him. At least, not the real him.

“If you’re leaving, now is as good a time as any,” he replies, still flat, still cold and distant.

He hears Benjy’s breath catch on the other side of the line.

“That’s fine with me, Remus,” he says, and then the line goes dead.

It was a short conversation, not even five minutes. That’s all it took to undo three years of commitment. He looks down at the party outside, at the people still drinking champagne and eating canapes, at the jazz band still going at it as if Remus Lupin hadn’t just made himself a single man for the first time in… fifteen years? Damn.

He digs into his pocket for his fags, lights one, considers his next move.

Going back to an empty flat in London doesn’t scare him. Honestly, a weird kind of relief washes over him, which probably isn’t the right feeling to have about ending a three-year relationship with someone you supposedly loved. The relief makes him feel a little guilty, but it’s not like he can help it.

But yeah, he can handle being alone in London. It’ll be fine. What terrifies him is this damn week in Manchester. The endless dinners, cocktail parties, and bloody polo matches – all solo. No familiar face to anchor him, no hand to squeeze for support, no lifeline.

Pathetic, really. Forty years old and still stuck with this social anxiety crap. A successful businessman who needs pep talks before meetings and a fucking hand to hold at parties. How ridiculous. The thought of going through this week alone, in a strange city, with only his arsehole of a lawyer, Peter fucking Pettigrew, for backup? Makes his throat close up. He coughs, smoke stinging his lungs.

He looks at the party again through the window.

He must get out of here.

Gritting his teeth and forcing a smile, he descends the stairs. Three times he is forced to stop; each encounter a shallow exchange with a face he can’t remember. By the time he gets to the front yard, his breath hitches with annoyance and social fatigue. He scans the mess of parked cars for the sleek lines of his hired limo.

Marvin, his chauffeur for the week, is sitting on the driver’s seat, listening to a football game on the radio. He grimaces at Remus then says, “I’d be happy to drive you anywhere, Mr. Lupin, you know that. But there are at least five cars blocking us out of here, I think it will take a while.”

Remus glances at the boys Peter hired as valets for the party. Two clueless kids, fiddling with the car keys entrusted to their care. Useless.

And then, he sees it.

Peter’s prized Lotus Esprit parked right at the front of the driveway, blissfully unblocked by the partygoer’s haphazard parking.

He waves at the valet boy and yells across the parking lot, “Hey there! You wouldn't happen to have the keys for that Lotus, would you? Mr. Pettigrew's?”

The valet shrugs, a sheepish apology on his face. But a second later it doesn’t matter, because suddenly Peter’s beside him, hand on his shoulder.

“Remus, where are you off to?” Peter asks, half-concerned, half-annoyed.

Remus cuts straight to the chase. “You got the keys to your Lotus?” He doesn't have the patience for a lecture on missed networking opportunities or how crucial this party is for the negotiations. He needs out, now.

Besides, he doesn’t pay Peter to be his babysitter.

“Why? What’s wrong with the limo?” Peter asks, craning his neck to see if Remus’s car is parked nearby.

“Look, the limo’s stuck in a sea of cars back there, Marvin’s dead in the water. Just gimme the keys, alright?” Remus throws his hands up in exasperation.

Peter fishes the keys out of his pocket, a frown creasing his face as he hands them over. He can’t help but nag anyway. “Alright, alright, but listen. You look a little… keyed up, to say the least. Maybe not the best time to be driving…” he says half-heartedly, “let me sort something out…” Peter throws a helpless look at the valets. “What's the system here, lads? Can’t you move some of these cars?” The valets blink back at him, utterly lost. Peter sighs, defeated. “Remus... Remus, listen. Uh, you good with a stick shift? Driven one lately?”

Remus is already halfway in the driver’s seat, fingers hovering over the ignition. Of course he’s driven a stick. Used to be all he knew. Back on the farm as a kid, then his first car fresh out of uni, grinding gears as he built his business. Sure, the past decade or so had been all automatics and chauffeurs, but muscle memory’s a thing, right? “Yeah, yeah, I can handle it,” he mutters.

Peter doesn’t look all too convinced. “Look, alright,” he sighs, exasperated. “Just...be careful, okay? Brand new car.”

Remus offers a curt nod. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” He throws the car into gear and the engine growls to life.

Pulling out of the driveway, he catches Peter’s last desperate plea. “You don't even know where you're going! You'll get lost in the dark!”

The shout fades behind him as Remus slams on the gas, the sleek Lotus surging forward, its driver finally being able to breathe.

 

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

 

By the time Sirius finishes putting his outfit together, the sun’s vanished completely. He checks himself out in the mirror – black leather pants hugging his legs tight, a sheer black top showing off the nipple piercing he’s so proud of. The black waves of his hair brushing on his shoulders, the front strands falling out on his face, framing his light grey eyes that are rimmed with dark eyeliner. Combat boots, obviously. The whole look is topped off with a mess of rings and chipped black nail polish. Sure, the fake leather pants are a bit frayed at the edges, but a black marker did a decent job of hiding it. And hey, nobody’s gonna see the hole under his arm in the blouse, right?

“I’d fuck you,” he mutters to his reflection. It smirks back at him.

He dodges around the usual disaster zone that is their apartment – a battlefield of clothes that haven’t seen a hanger in weeks, magazines with dog-eared corners, records stacked precariously high, and makeup scattered everywhere. It’s a hell of a tight space to be sharing with someone, especially if that someone is James Potter, every bit as messy and chaotic as Sirius himself.  But it’s theirs, and it’s a million times better than the crappy homes they both grew up in.

He grabs his keys, his fags, his empty wallet. Looks like tonight was one of those nights, the nights when his bare pockets force him to consider things he hates doing. Things he only does when there is absolutely no other option.

Sirius is about to go down the stairs when a voice slithers up from below, making his blood run cold. It’s the unmistakable, reedy drone of their vile landlord, Mr. Filch. He seems to be talking to another tenant downstairs.

“Hold on there, lad! You seem a bit thick on the uptake," Filch’s voice echoes through the grimy halls of the building. "Rent’s due at the end of the month, for everyone. Now cough it up, or you’re out on your backside!”

Rent money. Of course.

And they definitely don't have it. Not yet at least.

He scrambles back inside, a flicker of hope urging him to check anyway. Maybe a miracle happened while he was preening in front of the mirror? But no, the chipped jar precariously balanced on the fridge still mocks him with its emptiness. He counts the meagre sum – 14 pounds and 65 pence. Not even close to covering their rent.

He considers his options. Filch will probably be pounding on their door any minute now, and there’s no way Sirius can slink past him in the hallway unnoticed. And he has to leave, because staying inside won’t earn him a pound.

So, there’s only one thing to do.

He scrambles out the window onto the fire escape, careful not to make any noise and hoping nobody spots him. Of fucking course, the ladder at the end is stuck, forcing him to jump the last bit. He lands with a grunt, scraping his knee, but at least the fake leather pants hold up.

Slipping through a hole he’s made in the fence, he lights a fag and starts to make his way towards the Hog’s Head. That’s where James must be.

The pub is packed, of course. It’s the same old scene, and the faces blur together – some friends, some strangers, some he best avoid tonight. The air smells of beer, smoke and leather and punk rock blasts from the speakers. Sirius leans against the bar and catches Albie’s eye – the old barkeep has his usual grumpy expression on.

“Albie,” he says, half-yelling to be heard over the blasting music, “you seen James around?”

“Upstairs in the pool room,” Albie grunts, shoving a pint towards another customer.

Sirius throws him a quick nod and weaves his way through the Sunday night crowd. The punk rock song gives way to The Cure as he reaches the top of the stairs, and he’s barely stepped into the second floor when a familiar, boisterous voice cuts through the din.

“Yo, Pads!” James bellows from a table he’s sharing with Barty, Evan and Mary.

Sirius grins, relief flooding his features. “Alright, lads? How's the craic?” A murmur of greetings acknowledges his arrival, but the conversation continues without missing a beat. “Come on, Prongs, need a word,” he mutters to James, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him from the table.

“Nah, mate, not now. Barty hooked us up with some top-shelf stuff, we’re having a party. Sit down, have a spliff,” James slurs. His voice is relaxed, almost drowsy, and the redness around his eyes isn't lost on Sirius. He sighs, a deep, frustrated sound, biting back the urge to yell.

“You’re telling me you just splurged out on drugs when we don’t even have rent money?”

It’s ridiculous sometimes that he, Sirius Black, the rebel, the rule-breaker, has to be the responsible one in this friendship. Responsibility was never in his vocabulary, that’s what landed him here at nineteen, disowned, no money, no diploma, resorting to giving cheap blowjobs to pay the rent on a crappy apartment. God, he cringes just thinking about it.

Maybe he does need a spliff.

James flinches at the outburst. He throws Sirius a sheepish grin, then sighs heavily. “Alright, alright, Pads, simmer down. Let's get outta here, shall we?” He pushes himself up from the table, already heading for the stairs. Sirius trails behind.

“If you had any spare coin,” he mutters as they descend the crowded stairway, “you should've chucked it in the jar, not wasted it on this rubbish.”

“I know, Pads, I know,” James whines, and he does sound remorseful. “It's just been a crappy week, alright? Needed a bit of a lift."

Sirius sighs. He knows that feeling all too well. Sometimes the darkness just gets too fucking heavy, and the only way to escape, even for a little while, is to numb it all out. Get high, get drunk, shag someone random in a black alley – you’ll do anything to make the world stop spinning for a minute.

“Yeah, alright,” he concedes, just as they step outside, and the cold air pinches his cheeks. "But Filch isn't going to accept apologies for rent, Prongs. We still need the money, and that greasy git will be camped outside our door until he gets it.”

James waves a dismissive hand. “Relax, Pads. I’ve been dealing with landlords and rent money for longer than you’ve been sharing this shoebox we call a flat. I managed alright before you showed up, didn’t I?” The last sentence comes out a little sharper than he probably intended, like he’s getting defensive.

Sirius couldn’t deny that. James had been battling the world on his own for a lot longer. Orphaned at nine, the foster system, a supposed safety net, had been nothing but a series of dead ends – one neglectful family after another until James, at the tender age of fourteen, decided he’d had enough. He ran away.

Sirius met him three years ago, a skinny, streetwise eighteen-year-old with a wild glint in his eyes. Sirius himself had just escaped his own personal hell – a childhood riddled with abuse at the hands of his loving family. Unlike James' parents, who are tragically gone, Sirius’ are very much alive. Alive and monstrous. Sixteen years of physical and emotional torture finally broke him. No amount of money, no inheritance, could have ever compensated for everything he endured in that house.

He’s about to respond to James’ remark when a sudden roar of an engine slices through the night air. Both boys whip around, eyes drawn to the source of the commotion. A sleek, expensive car is making its way down the street with all the grace of a drunken tap dancer. The engine whines in protest, clearly being manhandled by an inexperienced driver.

“Woah, catch this!” James exclaims, excited.

“Bloody hell, that's a Lotus Esprit!” Sirius blurts, in pure disbelief. Luxury cars are a rare sight in their part of town.

As the car parks awkwardly near the sidewalk, a few feet from where they are, a mischievous glint sparks in James’ eyes.

“No, mate, that's rent!” he declares, and it takes a moment for Sirius to catch up. Of course. Why would a rich prat be cruising their dingy street, if not for... “You should totally go for it, Pads,” James nudges him. “You look hot tonight.”

Sirius shoots a glance at the Lotus. James does have a point. Sirius hates doing this, but it’s not his first rodeo, and it hasn’t killed him yet. Besides, a fancy car with a clueless driver? It’s probably some rich kid slumming it in daddy’s wheels. Not a worst-case scenario.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, taking a deep breath.

James immediately cracks into professional mode. “Ok. Don’t settle for less than a hundred!” He says, ruffling Sirius’ hair, then using a spit-moistened thumb to clean a smudge of makeup off his cheek. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll try and sober up a bit and see if I can hustle up some cash myself. Take care of you, alright?”

“Take care of you”, Sirius echoes and, with a deep breath, strides towards the car, ready to unleash his most seductive persona.

The window is shut tight. He raps on it three times, and, with a soft hum, the window glides down. Drawing in a deep breath, he leans in with a graceful, sensual tilt.

"Hey sugar, you looking for a date?" Sirius purrs, finally raising his eyes to look at the driver. The practised charm evaporates on his tongue, replaced by a surprised hitch in his breath.

This isn't some spoiled kid with borrowed wheels, nor one of the usual creepy clientele that haunts their street. No, this is a vision in a tailored suit. Short, light brown curls, with a hint of bronze catching the light, frame a face perfectly sculpted with a strong jawline. A hint of stubble adds a touch of dangerous appeal, a contrast to the warm, sun-kissed skin. He’s wearing an expensive suit that fits his tall, slim frame perfectly. There are laugh lines around his eyes, like they’ve been crinkling with his smile for decades – Sirius assumes he must be on his late thirties or early forties. Definitely very attractive. Definitely not the street’s usual target audience.

If the driver notices Sirius’ reaction to his looks, he doesn’t show it. He’s cursing under his breath as he fiddles with the gearshift. When he finally speaks, Sirius gets goosebumps from how deep his voice is. “No, actually,” he mutters, still not looking up. “I’m looking for Spinningfields. Can you point me in the right direction?”

“Sure,” Sirius replies with a sly grin, “for five bucks.”

The man finally throws his head up, revealing eyes that match the rich, dark chocolate Sirius has a weakness for. At first, his gaze is cool, appraising. But then, something flickers deep within those eyes as they travel down Sirius’ form – a look Sirius knows all too well. It’s hunger.

It’s in the fucking bag, Sirius thinks smugly.

But the moment passes. The man’s expression hardens, a scoff escaping his lips. “Ridiculous,” he throws back, annoyed.

Sirius smiles wickedly. “Uh, oops. Price just went up to ten.”

The stranger scoffs again. “Hey, you can’t just charge me for directions!” He protests.

“Oh, I can do whatever I want, sweetheart,” Sirius retorts in a saccharine tone. He leans down further, holding the man’s gaze hostage. “I ain’t lost.”

He finishes with a playful but pointed tut, straightening up and turning away with a deliberate sway of his hips. He knows exactly what the view from inside the car is – the curve of his arse accentuated by his tight pants, the way his sheer blouse clings to his slim waist. No way this guy will be able to resist.

Sure enough, a beat of surprised silence hangs in the air, then...

“Alright, alright, alright,” the man concedes, chuckling frustrated. “You win, I lose. Do you have change for a twenty?”

Sirius spins on his heel and smiles triumphantly as he opens the door and slides in the passenger seat. The man pulls out a crisp twenty from his wallet.

Taking the bill, Sirius winks. “For twenty, I'll show you personal.” He slips the money into his pocket and clicks his seatbelt into place. “Now, down the street there,” he points, “take a right.”

The stranger fumbles with the clutch for a moment before roaring the engine to life, and the sleek car lurches forward with a surprising lack of grace. Sirius throws his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Lights! Lovely things called headlights, wouldn't they be nice here?”

The man in the tailored suit lets out a long-suffering sigh, but Sirius swears he catches a hint of a smile as he flicks on the car’s headlights.

Sirius huffs a laugh. This guy, with his expensive car and clueless driving, seems completely out of his element. God help this idiot, he thinks to himself. Seriously, what was this guy thinking, rolling up in such a flashy car and looking so lost? He’d be a walking target for anyone else on this street, he’s so lucky Sirius was the one who saw him first.

They take the corner, and the man still hasn’t said anything. This isn’t unusual behaviour for the kind of men that picks up boys from the streets; sometimes they are just very shy and socially awkward and sometimes they just prefer to do the deed and not exchange too many words.

Sirius stares at the man’s hands on the wheel. He should test the waters.

“Now that's a sweet ride,” he remarks, leaning back in the leather seat and taking in the car’s swanky interior.

The stranger lets out a chuckle. “It’s a little temperamental.”  

“Yours?”

The driver simply shakes his head negatively and offers nothing further. Sirius narrows his eyes at him. Yeah, he could be one of the shy ones, but he seems different. There’s some kind of quiet confidence about him – even as he fails miserably at this task – and that is… very, very attractive.

“Stolen, then?” He presses.

The man smiles discreetly. “Not exactly,” he replies, deflecting again. He stops at a red light and gives a glance towards Sirius, then asks, “And what’s your name, if I may ask?”

Sirius holds off a beat before answering. He could offer his name, sure, but where would be the fun in that? He smirks innocently while leaning forward slightly. “What would you like it to be?”

The man doesn’t answer, he just holds Sirius’ gaze for a moment. The reflection from the streetlight paints parts of his face an orange hue, making it impossible to decipher his thoughts – but this feels like some sort of challenge.

After a beat, Sirius clears his throat. “Alright, alright, you win,” he concedes with a grin. “Sirius. The name’s Sirius.”

The man rolls the name around on his tongue. “Sirius,” he echoes. “The night's brightest star, huh?”

“Exactly,” Sirius can't help but be impressed. Not many people catch the astronomical reference behind his name so quickly. He desperately wants to know the man’s name, too, but he knows better than to ask so soon. He settles for calling him Mr. Lotus in his head.

The light changes, and Mr. Lotus fumbles with the clutch once more. The engine groans in protest, the sound making Sirius cringe. “So, what hotel you staying at?” he asks, trying to distract himself from the man’s questionable driving skills.

“Edwardian,” Mr. Lotus replies, finally managing to find second gear with a triumphant clunk.

“Alright,” Sirius says, pointing ahead. “Then just down the block, take a right.”

The engine continues its tortured symphony every time Mr. Lotus steps on the gas pedal. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to Sirius’ ears, and fights the urge to offer to take the wheel himself – that certainly would be crossing the lines.

“Man, that thing must corner like it’s on rails,” he remarks, thinking out loud about driving the Lotus.

“Hmm?” Mr. Lotus grunts, confused.

“Doesn’t it just blow your mind?” Sirius continues, glancing at Mr. Lotus. "This is only four cylinders."

The car lurches to a stop again, the engine groaning in protest. Mr. Lotus lets out a long-suffering sigh, but if he’s embarrassed by his total ineptitude as a driver, he doesn’t show. Sirius is positively intrigued by this man. Part of him wants this night to turn into something more, and not just because of the money he could earn from that.

“You know your stuff about cars,” Mr. Lotus observes as he manages to wrestle the Lotus back into motion, the engine sputtering a grudging agreement. “Didn’t figure that.”

Sirius arches an eyebrow. “What, just because I’m queer I can’t appreciate a well-tuned engine?” he teases, feigning offence. “That's a little stereotypical, wouldn’t you say? Now, the real mystery here is how someone with access to a car like this doesn’t know how to drive a stick.”

The man shrugs, not a single hint of embarrassment in his voice as he says, “Well, I usually have a chauffeur.”

Sirius’ eyes widen in surprise. Okay, rich boy. It isn’t the answer he expected, but it certainly explains the driving woes. There is a certain nonchalance in Mr. Lotus’ voice, a casualness about having a chauffeur that makes Sirius scoff internally. Like paying someone to drive you around is the most natural thing in the world. Something Sirius once thought himself.

The engine lets out another tortured screech, a sound that would make a lesser car wince. Mr. Lotus throws the gearshift into what seems like third with a resounding clunk, but the grinding persists.

“I think you left your transmission back there,” Sirius remarks playfully. At this rate, they are going to get in a car crash before they even reach the hotel, and, contrary to what Morrissey might say, Sirius doesn’t think being hit by a double-decker bus is a heavenly way to die, regardless of who is by your side. “You’re not shifting right. This is a standard H.”

Mr. Lotus raises an eyebrow and chuckles, quietly. “Like I even know what that means."

Sirius laughs at that, but internally, he groans. How did he always manage to find himself in these situations? At least James would get a kick out of this story later.

“What about you, ever driven a Lotus before?” the man asks.

Sirius scoffs. “No,” he says. Actually, it’s not far-fetched that he’s driven an expensive car before. Back in the day, the family’s chauffeur had indulged his teenage curiosity with secret lessons in his father’s Bentley. But that was a lifetime ago, a world Sirius had carefully left behind. He certainly isn’t about to share that little tidbit with Mr. Moneybags here.

To Sirius’ surprise, Mr. Lotus throws the car into park – with a surprising amount of finesse for his earlier struggles. They coast to a stop in front of a row of darkened shops that are casting long shadows under the dim streetlights.

“Well, then you're about to,” he declares, sounding very playful suddenly. Before Sirius can even voice his disbelief, the man’s already unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the car.

Sirius just stares, jaw agape, for a moment before following suit. "You're kidding, right?" he sputters, out of the car, half-amused, half-alarmed. This had to be some kind of elaborate joke.

Mr. Lotus smiles, leaning back against the car. “Not a bit,” he says, nonchalantly. “Seems the only way I can get you off my coattails is if you prove you can drive this beast yourself.”

Sirius barks out a laugh, disbelief battling amusement. Score one for dumb luck! He thought he’d have to suck cock for a cheap coin tonight and now he was getting paid to wheel a fucking Lotus Esprit – granted, it’s only twenty quid, but still. It’s a Lotus Esprit.

He quickly makes his way around the car. "Buckle up," he announces, settling into the driver's seat and snapping on his seatbelt. “Hold on tight, because this is going to be a ride you won’t forget. You ready?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” Mr. Lotus replies, also clicking his seatbelt on.

Sirius throws a quick glance at the rearview mirrors, adjusting them as necessary. “Alright, here we go.”

The engine coughs to life, and the rumble makes Sirius shiver with excitement. He slams the car into gear, the clutch engaging smoothly under his practised touch – a supposedly forgotten skill instantly remembered. The tires chirp faintly in protest as he rockets forward, and the world transforms into a blur of colour as he tears down the street.  It’s been ages since he’s driven anything, let alone a car like this. Every fibre of his body vibrates with the raw power of the machine. It's pure adrenaline, and he wants to scream, but he holds himself back.

“This has pedals like a race car,” he says instead, eyes glued to the blur of traffic whipping by, “They’re really close together. So it’s probably harder for you to drive it. You’re tall, you must have big feet.”

A strangled snort escapes Mr. Lotus, but he remains silent, gaze glued to the road ahead. He’s still shy, and a flicker of worry sparks in Sirius’ gut. If he can’t get this really going by the time they reach the hotel, then this will be it for the night. Twenty quid is something, but he needs a lot more if he’s going to make rent by tomorrow.

He has to make some money tonight, and if he’s going to do that, Mr. Lotus – with his big hands, his handsome smile and his quiet confidence – is by far the preferable candidate. Hell, honestly? Sirius would even do him for free, given the chance. He’s dying to feel that man’s touch on his skin, find out how he smells, what he tastes like.

Taking a gamble, he throws a playful jab. “You know your foot’s as big as your arm, from your elbow to your wrist?” he says, extending his pale arm towards the silent stranger as they screech to a halt at a red light.

Mr. Lotus glances down, his eyes snagging on Sirius’ thin wrist and soft hands. “No, I didn’t know that,” he mumbles.

“It’s a little bit of trivia.” Sirius winks and pulls his arm away, gripping the wheel again.

Another chuckle bubbles out of Mr. Lotus, then he throws out a casual question. “So, tell me, what kind of dough do you hustlers rake in these days? Just a rough estimate.”

Sirius fights back a triumphant grin. This question was music to his ears – Mr. Lotus is definitely at least considering it. He remembers James’ advice and throws out a number. “Can't go lower than a hundred.”

The stranger scoffs, a choked sound that betrays a flicker of interest. “A hundred quid for a night? You must be joking.”

Sirius smoothly corrects him. “An hour.”

Mr. Lotus lets out a strangled gasp. “An hour? You mean to tell me you pull in a hundred an hour, and you’re rocking a safety pin as a belt? C’mon.”

Sirius keeps his eyes focused on the street. "I never joke about money."

They are not far from the hotel now. If he’s going to make a move, it’s got to be now.

“Neither do I,” the stranger echoes in a low murmur. “Hundred an hour...” he trails off, more to himself than to Sirius. “Pretty stiff.”

A sly grin spreads across Sirius’ face, unseen by Mr. Lotus. That seems like the perfect opportunity.

He reaches out his left arm again, now towards the other man’s crotch. Mr. Lotus doesn't flinch, doesn’t stop him, maybe he’s too taken aback by the direct approach to even react. With his skilled hands, Sirius cops a feel, feeling his own pants get a little tighter as his fingers touch the man’s cock through the thin material of his tailored trousers. It’s soft, so Sirius can’t be sure about the size, but he can estimate. Impressive, he thinks, heat spreading through his body as he imagines what would be like to touch Mr. Lotus while he’s hard and there are no stupid pants in the way.

“Stiff?” he says, playfully, retracting his hand and throwing all his impure thoughts aside to focus on his seducing duties. “Well, no. Not yet. But it’s got potential,” he purrs, his eyes flickering down to Mr. Lotus’ lap for a fleeting moment before meeting the stranger’s gaze. A slow smile is spreading across Mr. Lotus’s face, but his lips remain sealed.

The Edwardian Hotel looms ahead, bathed in the warm glow of evening light. Sirius pulls over, parking the car right in front of the opulent building.

As they step out of the car, a hotel employee, crisp in his uniform, practically materialises beside them. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greets with a polite nod. “Mr. Lupin, will you be needing the car again this evening?”

Mr. Lupin. The name echoes a few times in Sirius’ head. Lupin. Now he knows what to call his handsome stranger, and the name certainly suits him.

“Let's hope not,” Mr. Lupin chuckles. The valet gives a small nod and moves towards the car to whisk it away, leaving Sirius and Mr. Lupin bathed in the soft glow of the hotel lights.

Now that they are standing face to face, he can really look at the man. He really is tall, even taller than Sirius, and he doesn’t consider himself to be short. His eyebrows are thick. There’s the tiniest hint of a dimple by the corner of his mouth.

“So… we’re here,” Sirius throws out, his words landing flat on the polished pavement. Is this it? Sharp and unexpected, disappointment pricks at him.

“Yeah,” Lupin holds Sirius’ gaze.

And then there’s this awkward silence.

Lupin doesn’t leave, but he also doesn’t say anything. And Sirius is not about to turn his back unless he’s clearly being rejected. The word hangs heavy in his mind – rejected. It shouldn’t sting like this. It’s just that… the way Lupin looks at him sends a warmth through his body that really has nothing to do with money. He just doesn’t want this night to be over. He doesn't want to leave.

Lupin finally speaks again, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re gonna be alright?”

Sirius tries for a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, course. Grab a cab with my twenty.” (Yeah, right, like he'd waste that on a taxi.)

Lupin nods. “Well, thanks for the ride then.”

There it is. The flat rejection.

It stings more than he’d like to admit. It’s just money, Sirius tells himself, forcing a swallow. You'll hustle something up.

“See you,” he says, trying to hide his disappointment, as he turns on his heels to walk to the bus stop, just a few feet from the hotel entrance.

“Goodbye,” Lupin calls after him, but Sirius doesn’t look back.

It’s over, he tells himself.

There’s a bench by the bus stop, a clear sign that he’s in the upscale part of town. It’s ironic, really, that the bus stops are so fancy here, where hardly anyone takes the bus. In their own neighbourhood, where people actually need the buses, they have to wait for them standing up in the rain near a fucking lamp post with a bus stop sign on it.

He tries not to dwell on what he’ll have to do once he gets back. He sits there for a minute, hoping there will be time to secure another customer tonight, wishing for James to have had more luck than him.

Then suddenly, a hand lands on his shoulder. Sirius jumps, whirling around. Lupin is standing there, with a smile that looks like an invitation.

“Couldn’t get a taxi, eh?” he asks, amused.

Sirius lets out a shaky breath, halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Nah,” he mumbles. “I’m just a big supporter of the public transit system, see. Huge fan.”

Lupin chuckles. “I was thinking,” he says, leaning casually against the lamp post. He looks handsome here, the streetlight casting shadows over his sharp features, bringing out the bronze in his hair. “Did you really say a hundred pounds an hour?”

There it is. Sirius fights not to let his triumph show his face.

“Yeah,” he confirms.

Lupin echoes him, “Yeah.” He bites his lower lip, staring at Sirius with an intensity that almost makes Sirius blush. For a beat, it’s only silence – until Lupin breaks it. “Well,” he drawls, “if you don’t have any prior engagements, I’d be very pleased if you’d accompany me into the hotel.”

Fucking finally, Sirius thinks, both relief and excitement washing over him in equal amounts.

“You got it!” He stands up from the bench and, this time, he's unable to hide his wide grin. It's all over his face before he can help it. “So, what do I call you?” he asks casually, feeling like the ice has been broken enough for this question, as they walk towards the Hotel doors.

Lupin glances at him. “Remus,” he replies simply. “You can call me Remus.”

Sirius exaggerates on the surprised face, cranking up the charm. “Remus, really? That's a coincidence! Absolutely my favourite name in the whole wide world,” he declares dramatically.

Remus huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, looking down at his shoes. “Yeah, right. Bet you haven’t met another Remus in your entire life.”

“Touché,” Sirius chuckles, mirroring Remus’ laughter.

As they reach the hotel doors, Remus pauses. His voice drops a touch lower, becomes more serious. “Listen,” he murmurs. “Why don't you slip into this?” He extends his arm, offering the luxurious trench coat he’s been holding since leaving the car.

Sirius doesn’t question it. He understands the unspoken message. This fancy establishment likely wouldn’t appreciate his signature look – the long hair, the tattoos peeking out, the glint of a nipple piercing. With a silent nod of thanks, he shrugs on the coat as they step through the doors.

The grand entrance of the Hotel unfolds before him, a familiar yet jarring sight. Memories flood in – childhood trips with his family all around the world staying in places like this; the opulent chandeliers, the ornately decorated walls, the men in crisp suits gliding by like characters in a black and white movie. A strange disbelief strikes him. This place is like a gilded cage, like time somehow stood still here, oblivious to the tornado that swept his life away in the past years.

A blonde woman with a Chanel tailleur that screams old money looks offended at from across the lobby. Sirius throws her a mock salute, smirking as he closes the trench coat, hiding the beat of his chest that was still peeking out. He knows how to play the game in these places, act all posh and proper, the way his mum would want him to. It’s just another costume, really.

Remus strides over to the Information Desk, and a tiny woman in a uniform greets him with a sugary smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lupin,” she chirps.

“Evening, Martha,” Remus replies politely, flashing her a smile that could melt glaciers, in Sirius’ opinion. “Any messages for me?”

“Yes, we have several,” Martha says, picking up a thick stack of papers from her desk and handing it to Remus.

Remus flips through them, his expression turning serious. “Thanks,” he says, tucking the messages away. “Could we maybe get some champagne and strawberries up to the room, please?”

Sirius fights back a snort. Strawberries and champagne for a hustler like him? This Lupin guy was definitely one of a kind. Not that Sirius is complaining, he hadn’t had champagne – real champagne – in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for them to go up to his room – the penthouse, nothing less.  Once they are inside, Sirius starts to get a little restless. Normally, clients go straight for the main course – him. But here is Remus, calm as can be, strolling over to a corner of the huge penthouse apartment. He sinks into a chair in front of a desk, the stack of messages from the hotel lady joining the mountain already claiming the table. Frowning in concentration, he mutters to himself as he scans the papers. One of the messages makes him chuckle and shake his head.

Sirius can’t help but watch, a small smile on his lips. The man’s undeniably attractive, and judging by the penthouse and the car, loaded too. What exactly possessed him to bring Sirius up here is a mystery, though Sirius has a few juicy theories. One thing’s for sure – this isn’t the disaster of a night he’d envisioned back at his flat. Hell, it might even be fun.

He tosses the borrowed trench coat onto a plush couch and clears his throat to grab Remus’ attention, then saunters towards the wall, feigning interest in the pretentious artwork. “So,” he drawls. “What exactly do you have in mind for your little hired entertainment?”

“Honestly?” Remus responds almost absent-mindedly. “I have no idea.”

“No?” Sirius quirks an eyebrow, and throws a glance over his shoulder to see if Remus is finally looking at him.

He is.

“I hadn’t exactly planned this,” the man says, looking directly at Sirius curiously.

Sirius raises an eyebrow, musing. “But you're the type who plans everything.” It’s not a question.

Remus chuckles, a soft sound. “Always,” he nods and smiles.

Sirius throws himself on the couch and props his legs causally on the coffee table. A cocky grin spreads across his face as he throws Remus a wink. “Me too,” he drawls, sarcastically.

Remus lets out a surprised laugh, but that quickly melts into something else. He shakes his head and seems speechless for a moment, leaning back on his chair.

There’s a moment of awkward silence, both of them just staring at each other. Is this guy ever going to make a move? Sirius shivers as he thinks maybe the man is going to back away from their arrangement. Disappointment he can deal with, but if nothing else is going to happen between them, he at least must secure his payment. It’s half of their rent there.

Leaning forward, he disengages his legs from the table. “You know, you could pay me,” he says. “That’s one way to break the ice.”

Remus looks startled, like he’d forgotten. “Oh yeah, sorry,” he pats his chest searching. “Uh, I assume cash is acceptable,” he adds as he dives his hand into his blazer’s inner pocket, pulling out his wallet.

Sirius can't help but stare, dumbfounded. James is never going to believe this story.

“Uh, yeah,” he manages, thick with disbelief. He pushes himself off the couch and saunters towards the desk. “Cash is… acceptable.”

Remus fishes out a crisp hundred-pound bill and lays it on the desk. Sirius snatches it up, mouthing a cheeky ‘thanks’, then perches himself on the edge of the desk, the papers crinkling beneath him. He folds the bill and tucks it away safely within his combat boot.

“Uhh,” Remus blurts out awkwardly, “you're sitting on my fax.”

Sirius glances down and smiles wickedly. His gaze flicks back to Remus, and he raises a suggestive eyebrow, winking. “Well, that’s something I haven’t sat on before.” He leans slightly, shifting his weight to one leg, creating a gap between his arse and the papers he has apparently sat on top of.

Remus, still sitting in his chair, leans forward and slides his hand under Sirius to snatch the papers. “Cute, very cute,” he mutters, a mix of exasperation and something else entirely colouring his voice. “Thank you.” He throws the papers back onto the desk, the previously neat stacks now a crumpled mess.

Sirius smiles to himself, happy to see his attempts at seduction are at least partially working. Maybe that’s it, maybe he needs to be more forward to get things going.

“Alright, then! Let's get this party started, shall we?” He reaches into his pocket and produces a pack of condoms, then flips the pack open with a flourish like a dealer showing his wares. They’re all brightly coloured options – red, green, yellow. “Seems I'm out of purple, sorry,” he adds with a mock pout.

“Quite the selection you have there – a veritable buffet of protection,” Remus remarks amused. He leans back in his chair, looking at Sirius with intensity.

Sirius flashes him a grin. “Can't be too careful, right?” he counters.

Remus stares at the colourful condoms for a beat, then shakes his head and lets out a deep breath. He rises from his chair and, when he does, he stands dangerously close to Sirius, who seizes the opportunity to start some physical contact already. He reaches out, fingers brushing against Remus' belt loop.

“Alright, let’s get one of these on you,” he starts to tug at the belt buckle, but before he can follow through, Remus’ hands close around his wrists, holding him back.

Sirius looks up, confused, and finds Remus shaking his head and chuckling nervously. 

“Hold on, look, not– wait!” He tries to say and then takes a step back, releasing Sirius’ wrists. He carefully slips out of his blazer and places it onto the back of the desk chair, takes another deep breath and continues, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let's just... talk for a bit, alright?” It’s the first time Sirius has seen his confident facade flicker off all night.

“Talk?” Sirius echoes, momentarily thrown off balance. Now the possibility that this guy has never done this before comes to his mind. Sirius might be his first sex worker, or worse, his first man. That can be tricky to navigate through – or so he’s heard. “Uh, okay,” he says, his mind racing on the search for a neutral topic. “Remus, are you in town on, uh, business or pleasure?”

“Business, I suppose,” Remus mutters, turning away from the desk, seemingly drawn towards the plush comfort of the couch. Sirius watches him go, eyes narrowing with curiosity.

He pushes himself off the desk and follows suit. “Business, huh?” he echoes, playfully dragging out the word. “So that makes you...” He lets the sentence hang, leaning forward as he lowers himself onto the coffee table in front of Remus. “A lawyer, perhaps?”

Remus throws his head back with a surprised laugh. “A lawyer?” He repeats, clearly amused by the insinuation. He’s acting confident again, leaning back on the cushions and creating a comfortable distance between them. “What makes you think I’m a lawyer?”

Sirius leans forward, elbows propped on his knees. “Just a hunch, really. The way you hold yourself, that fancy suit, the sleek car..." He lets the words trail off, eyes flickering from Remus’ face down to the expensive fabric of his trousers.

Remus chuckles. He doesn’t shy away from the nearness this time. “I bet you’ve known a lot of lawyers,” he says casually, as if their noses aren’t practically touching.

Yes, Sirius had. His father was one, Sirius himself was expected to be one too all his life. That’s all out of the window now. “I’ve known a lot of everybody,” he replies enigmatically, finally reaching out, touching Remus’ thighs, his fingers brushing against the soft material of his expensive pants.

The man doesn’t flinch at the touch, but just as Sirius considers taking it a step further, a harsh buzz cuts through the air – the doorbell ringing. 

Remus promptly gets up and looks over at the door. This new position finds his crotch immediately in front of Sirius’ face, Sirius hands lightly touching his calves. The boy throws his head back, looking up at the man above him, and throws on his most efficient bedroom eyes. “What is that?” he says, deliberately innocent.

Remus stares down at him, and Sirius feels like he could burst into flames right there. His heart definitely skips a beat. The raw desire he witnessed when they first met on the sidewalk, as Sirius was leaning on his car window, is back in the man’s eyes, staring at him with pure hunger. Remus might be good at hiding his cards most of the time, but it seems this position – Sirius looking up at him – has somehow made his mask slip for a moment.

Remus moistens his lips and clears his throat. “Champagne,” he says in a low, intense tone, his eyes still fixed on Sirius.

Oh, this is going to be fun, Sirius thinks. He’s going to find this man’s strings and pull on each one of them, one by one. Or his name isn’t Sirius Black.

He ditches the bedroom eyes and shoots up from the coffee table, throwing on his most wide-eyed innocent smile.

“Oh well. Might as well make myself useful then,” he says casually, then saunters away, practically skipping as he heads towards the door.

The waiter on the other side is pushing a service cart – a bottle of expensive-looking champagne sits inside an ice bucket, and there’s a bowl of strawberries beside it. “Where can I put this, sir?”

“Uh, just by the bar over there, thanks,” Sirius replies casually.

The waiter nods and steers the cart away. As he moves off, Sirius can't help but glance back at Remus. There he stands, by the couch, looking a little lost and dazed. He seems to sense Sirius watching him and turns, catching Sirius’ smile. A momentary frown flitting across his face before he shakes his head and sets into motion.

The shy confidence he displayed earlier is back now. He tips the waiter with a polite ‘thank you very much’ as the man leaves the room.

“Do you mind if I take off my boots?” Sirius asks casually as soon as the door clicks shut, sinking into a chair near the bar, leaning back and stretching his legs.

Remus shakes his head. “No, not at all,” he mumbles, heading over to the bar.

Sirius watches Remus fumble slightly with the champagne bottle for a moment while he unties his boots before working up the courage to ask another probing question. “So, do you have a wife? Girlfriend?” He throws it out in a casual tone. It’s not unusual for clients to be closeted men who have a whole picket fence fantasy back at home. “Boyfriend?” he adds as a playful afterthought, not truly expecting an answer to that one.

Remus lets out a chuckle. “Two out of three,” he says, punctuated by the pop of the champagne bottle being opened.

“Oh! Where are they, then? Shopping together?” Sirius exclaims sarcastically as he sets his feet free from the boots and stretches his legs, wiggling his toes. He's fishing for information, trying to gauge if Remus is new to this scene, or if he’s perhaps a straight guy on a one-time bender.

Remus chuckles as he pulls two champagne flutes from the bar. “My ex-wife is now in Cardiff, in my ex-home with my ex-dog,” he replies, filling the glasses. “And my ex-boyfriend is in London, moving out of my flat as we speak.” He hands a flute to Sirius, smiling.

This wasn't the answer Sirius expected. He takes the glass, the sweet fizz tickling his nose. “So, you're, uh, out then?” he asks, swallowing the bubbly. “Openly, I mean?”

Remus settles onto a barstool, swirling his champagne. “Been out for a while,” he replies simply, taking a drink.

Sirius thinks it’s probably a brave move for Remus to be openly gay in his line of work – whatever that is. Law seemed out of the question, considering his reaction earlier. Then again, people are willing to overlook a lot of things if you throw enough money at them, and Remus undoubtedly has that going for him.

So, he isn't a closeted guy, nor a straight curiosity seeker. That left a dwindling pool of possibilities. The most likely scenario now is probably a heartbroken man looking for a way to drown his sorrows.

“You should try a strawberry,” Remus says, pulling Sirius out of his thoughts.

He looks over to see Remus holding out the bowl of strawberries, a smile on his face. “Thank you, Mr. Lupin,” Sirius drawls, picking up a fruit and taking a slow, deliberately seductive bite, never looking away.

Remus simply retrieves the bowl and sets it back down, then settles back onto his stool.

“Aren't you going to have one?” Sirius asks, tilting his head just after he swallows the fruit.

“Nah, not really a strawberry fan,” Remus replies, crinkling his nose in disgust.

Sirius can't help but raise an eyebrow. He ordered strawberries, yet he’s not a fan? – Then, it hits him.

“Listen,” he says, his voice losing its earlier amusement. “I really appreciate this whole seduction scene you got going but let me give you a tip. I'm a sure thing, okay?” he says, making a gesture with his hands to indicate his body. “You don’t have to win me over. And… I’m on an hourly rate. Clock's ticking, Mr. Lupin.”

Time we could spend doing much more fun things, he wants to add but refrains himself.

Remus lets out a small, wry chuckle, crossing his arms. “Somehow, I'm getting the feeling this time thing is a real sticking point for you.” He pushes himself up from the bar stool, taking a purposeful step closer to Sirius. “So, how much for the whole night?”

Sirius’ jaw drops for a beat, completely thrown by this unexpected turn. Here he has been for nearly half an hour, and the guy hasn't even made a move, and now he wants to keep him all night? For what, he wants to ask.

Besides, he has no idea how much to charge for a whole night. He’d never even considered a whole night. His experience was limited mostly to quick blowjobs in parked cars and only a handful of encounters in cheap motels that rent rooms by the hour. This... this was completely uncharted territory.

“To stay here?” he scoffs, throwing out the first thing that comes to mind. “You couldn’t afford me.” It's a blatant lie, an attempt to buy some time and fabricate a number on the fly.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Try me,” he challenges.

“Three hundred pounds” Sirius says, finally. That amount feels astronomical to him. It’s enough to cover this month’s rent and it even leaves a bit to spend on groceries.

Remus doesn’t blink. "Done," he says simply, looking satisfied. He takes the empty champagne flute from Sirius’ hand and sets it on the bar. “Thank you. Now we can relax.”

 

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

 

They relax, alright.

Remus loosens his tie, slumping back into his desk chair to resume his battle with the mountain of paperwork. Sirius, after a few futile attempts to recapture Remus’ attention, resigns himself and settles to drinking more champagne and eating peanuts. They do have all night now, so there’s really no need in rushing it. And, as he replays their interactions, a realisation dawns on Sirius. This guy – Remus – he thrives on control. He likely dictates the whens, wheres and hows in every aspect of his life. Hell, he even said it.

You're the type who plans everything, Sirius said.

Always, he responded.

So, there it is. Remus will make the first move, on his own terms, when he is ready. And Sirius… Well, Sirius has no problem waiting all night, especially for a windfall like three hundred quid.

That’s not to say he isn’t still set on finding Remus’ strings and pulling on them, one by one. Oh, he’s looking forward to it. Remus likes being in control and he liked looking down on Sirius. That gives the boy a few hints on exactly what he can try out to make this night especially fun for the both of them.

Because if Remus craves control, Sirius isn’t at all opposed to surrendering it. It’s, in truth, one of his favourite things.

So, that's what he'll do. When the time is right.

And that time, clearly, hasn't arrived yet.

Remus has been on the phone for the past forty minutes. His voice is crackling with a professional tension – patient, but on the verge of snapping. “Yes, that may be true, Vance," he’s saying. "But I still need the numbers on The Weasley Industries…”

Sirius, on the other hand, is sprawled on the plush living room floor of the penthouse, having an absolute blast watching reruns of Doctor Who.

“Uh-huh. Yes, I’ve got them from London. I still need them from Tokyo,” Remus says on the phone just as The Doctor, a mop of curly hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes, expertly dodges lasers fired by the salt-shaker-shaped Daleks.

A booming chorus of “EX-TER-MI-NATE! EX-TER-MI-NATE!” echoes from the TV, punctuated by Sirius' laughter. Man, he used to love this stupid show as a kid.

“Yes, I’ll call down and get them when I want them. Thank you very much.” The phone clatters down on the receiver and Remus lets out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. Sirius can’t help but notice the shift in his demeanour. Gone is the composed businessman, replaced by a man weary and stressed. His eyes are red-rimmed and glazed with exhaustion.

“Hey,” Sirius calls out, concerned. “I’m having a little carpet picnic here. Want to join the fun? There’s still some champagne left, and you look like you could use a drink.”

Remus only chuckles, barely glancing up from the notes he’s scribbling. Finally, he looks over at Sirius with a wry smile. “I’m high on life, can’t you tell?”

Sirius lets out a matching chuckle but shrugs, turning his attention back to the TV. Sarah Jane’s in a bind, and the Doctor’s dashing to the rescue. He’s caught up in the scene, laughing as the Doctor gets his scarf tangled and momentarily stuck. But a flicker of movement on his peripheral vision catches his eye.

He glances over to see Remus has abandoned his desk. The man is now sprawled on the couch, leaning back and bathed in the dim glow of the TV. There's a look on his face – a specific look that makes Sirius shiver in anticipation. That look.

Sirius licks his lips slowly, holding the man’s gaze for a moment. Then he picks up the TV remote and presses the ‘mute’ button, silencing a Dalek just as it outlines its evil plan to The Doctor in its annoying, robotic voice. Silence falls over the room. Sirius leans forward from where he’s sitting, shifting onto all fours, and crawls the short distance that separates him from the other man, never breaking eye contact.

Once he reaches him, Sirius sits back on his heels, kneeling in front of Remus. He moves slowly, like approaching a skittish cat, never looking away. Raising one hand, he tugs at the hem of Remus’ pants and slides it inside, lightly touching his calf. Remus smiles and tilts his head, watching him intently.

God, that gaze. It’s burning Sirius to the ground.

Sirius lets go of the man’s leg, his hands moving to the hem of his own shirt. He pulls it up and over his head, tossing it carelessly behind him. Then, he leans forward, positioning himself between Remus’ knees. Remus finally moves, raising his hand to touch a strand of Sirius’ hair very, very lightly. He tucks it behind Sirius’ ear.

The boy’s hands move to the man’s tie, loosening it enough to pull it over his head. The first button of his shirt is already open, and Sirius starts to undo the others, slowly and carefully. Remus watches him, his eyes flickering between Sirius’ hands descending his abdomen and Sirius’ eyes. As the last button is undone and Sirius' fingers brush against his stomach, hands poised to spring the shirt open, Remus flinches slightly, his breath catching.

The TV’s faint light washes over Remus, revealing a long, jagged scar that starts just below his right nipple and slices diagonally down to his hip bone. Sirius can’t help but stare, his hand reaching out instinctively. But before his fingers can even brush the pale flesh, Remus shoots out a hand, grabbing Sirius’ wrist in a tight grip.

"You don’t have to,” Remus whispers, his eyes squeezed shut.

Sirius leans in closer. "It's okay," he murmurs. He lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss right on the scar itself. Remus lets out a shuddering breath, his grip on Sirius’ wrist loosening.

The boy pulls back, observing the scene. The dim light illuminates Remus’ bare chest, and his body is all sharp angles and defined muscles. Sirius’ mind goes blank with how much he’s turned on already. All he can see is the man in front of him, the heat building in the air between them. Right now, he doesn't care why the scar is there or what story it tells, if that might be the reason Remus has held back for so long. He’s completely lost in the moment.

“What do you want?” Sirius whispers. He looks up at Remus, his chin propped on the hand that rests lightly on Remus' chest.

“What do you do?” Remus asks back, his face hovering close to Sirius’. The warmth of the man’s breath tickles Sirius’ face as he speaks, making all the hairs in his body stand up.

It’s a fair question.

“Anything you want me to,” Sirius purrs. But then a sly grin spreads across his face as he adds, “except kiss on the mouth.”

The truth is, he's burning with want, every fibre of him screaming to taste Remus. But that’s exactly why he holds back. Kisses feel too real, too intimate. This isn’t about getting attached, and after just a few hours with this man, Sirius knows damn well he could easily fall if he let himself. So, no. No kisses.

Remus reaches up and brushes his thumb against Sirius’ bottom lip, catching it between his index finger and his thumb and pulling on it lightly. His gaze flickers down to Sirius’ mouth, desire smouldering in his eyes. “That’s alright,” he murmurs. Lifting his gaze back to meet Sirius’, he adds with a suggestive smirk, “Are you okay with being ordered around a little bit?”

These words go straight down to Sirius’ cock. His leather pants feel incredibly constricting at the moment, tight and uncomfortable.

“Would love to,” he rolls out, sincerely. He’s probably sounding too eager, but he’s too far gone to care.

“You’re familiar with the colour system, right?” Remus asks, his thumb lingering on Sirius’ bottom lip in a slow, teasing caress. Sirius tilts his head slightly, a furrow appearing in his brow.  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for anything too… out there. That being said, you're perfectly alright to ask me to stop if things get a bit much. So, if you want to stop, just say–”

“Red, yeah, got it,” Sirius interrupts him, finally clicking with what the other man's on about. “I’m not going to, though,” he adds, playful.

Remus' hand has moved to cradle Sirius’ face, his thumb brushing a playful circle against the younger man’s cheek. Ignoring the delicious shivers that sends down his body, Sirius moves his head to the side and presses a kiss right on the man’s palm, but he straightens Sirius' head with a gentle touch, forcing their eyes to lock again.

“It’s important to me that you know you can,” he presses further.

Sirius nods slowly, mirroring Remus’ seriousness for a beat. “I know I can,” he replies, enunciating it clearly so there’s no doubt left. He waits for a beat to make sure they are done with that part. Remus doesn’t say anything else, so he shifts slightly on his knees, leaning a bit further between the man’s legs so that their noses are almost touching. “So, what’s your first order, Mr. Lupin?”

That name there, it’s intentional. He’s testing to see if this guy is a ‘Mister’ kind of guy, a ‘Sir’ kind of guy… perhaps a ‘Daddy’ kind of guy? That’s one of the strings he wants to find and pull the hell out of tonight.

Remus holds Sirius’ gaze for another beat, then slowly withdraws his hand from his face and his voice, when he speaks, is curt. “Sit back,” he instructs.

Sirius obeys, sinking back onto his heels. The absence of Remus’ warmth beneath him is immediate. Remus himself sits up straighter on the couch, leaning forward to stare down at Sirius’ face. Sirius, hands resting innocently on his lap, pants oh, so, so, tight, just waits, anticipation thrumming through his veins.

“You’re beautiful,” the man whispers, his hand twitching as if he wants to touch, but he stops himself mid-movement.

A shaky breath escapes Sirius’ lips. This is a far cry from the usual encounters he’s accustomed to when he must… provide this type of service. Hell, it's a far cry from any encounter he’s ever had.  Never has anyone said those words to him before like that.  He doesn’t know quite what to do with it.

Remus rises from the couch, the movement sending his shirt tumbling off his shoulders to land forgotten somewhere. He takes a single purposeful step sideways, coming to a halt directly in front of Sirius.

Just like before, when the champagne arrived, Remus towers over him, his form dimly lit by the faint glow of the television. A rustle of fabric draws Sirius’ attention downward as Remus’ hands move, unbuckling his belt and then slowly undoing the button of his trousers.

“Open your mouth,” he orders as he yanks down the zipper. Sirius complies promptly.

The man frees his cock from his underwear, and Sirius can't see much because of the dim light, but what he sees makes his mouth water. Standing there, jaw agape, he’s worried he’s going to start drooling.

It’s gorgeous. Long, thick, and flushed. And very stiff, Sirius thinks, remembering their interaction back in the car with a little amusement. His own cock twitches inside of his pants, wetting his underwear.

“Stick out your tongue,” Remus asks. He’s palming his cock just inches away from Sirius’ face, and it’s taking every ounce of self-restraint the boy has to not just lean forward and take it into his mouth.

Sirius sticks out his tongue, and Remus uses his hand to guide the head of his cock to touch it, the bitter taste of pre-come invading Sirius’ palate immediately. Remus brushes it back and forth, a slow, deliberate movement, letting out a shaky breath, “Fu– uck.”

Sirius remains perfectly still, never looking away from the man’s eyes. He really, really wants to put his whole mouth on it. So, he decides to test another nickname, seeing if that one can get things going, as ‘Mister’ certainly didn’t do the trick.

He pulls away slightly and says, in a mock innocent tone. “Can I suck it, please, Daddy?”

A low groan escapes Remus just as the last two syllables leave Sirius’ mouth, a guttural sound that sends a jolt through the boy’s body. The man bites down on his lower lip, muttering a low ‘fuck’ under his breath, shuddering slightly.

Oh, yes, there it is, Sirius thinks, biting back a smile. A beat of silence stretches between them. Remus takes another shaky breath, slowly regaining his composure. “Yes,” he finally rasps. He swallows hard, his voice rough with suppressed desire. “Yes.”

It’s fitting, really, that Remus’ preferred filthy nickname is also Sirius’ favourite. God, how did he even find this man?

He pushes those thoughts aside, not wanting to waste any more time.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he says, cheekily, as his hands, previously resting innocently in his lap, spring into action. One reaches up, gently closing around Remus’ cock, while the other grazes the dip of his hip. With a wiggle, Sirius uses that first hand to guide Remus’ erection towards his open mouth.

His lips stretch wide, swallowing the cock whole. He starts slow, working the shaft back and forth, building heat and wetness. Then, his focus shifts, tongue darting out to explore the head, lapping delicately at the sensitive skin at the slit. His gaze never leaves Remus’ eyes, observing the man’s every reaction.

He’s staring back down at Sirius, eyebrow raised in a challenging expression, but his mouth is open, panting. Sirius lets the cock fall out of his mouth for a moment, keeping the movement of his hands. “Mmmm, you taste so good, Daddy.” he hums, licking his lips and smiling innocently at the man.

Sirius takes his time. Patience. That's the key he's gleaned from Remus tonight. Certainly, he’s not the kind of man that’s looking for a quick blowjob and then goodnight. Remus asks for a slow savouring, a deliberate exploration. So, Sirius takes it slow, choosing a languid pace.

With a slow bob of his head, he draws Remus’ cock deeper, his hand travels along the shaft, covering the portion that he can’t fit inside his mouth. He hollows his cheeks, creating a vacuum around the plump flesh. The suction intensifies, and he pulls on Remus with a wet pop after a while, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, just to take him in again a second later.

“God, Sirius, you’re– Fuck– Very good at this–” Remus says, his hands reaching out, brushing lightly against Sirius’ cheeks. This unexpected touch jolts Sirius back to reality. He realises his eyes have fluttered shut, breaking eye contact. He opens them to find Remus staring down at him, mouth agape. “Think you can manage without the handwork, baby boy?” The man murmurs, voice shaken with pleasure.

The endearment ‘baby boy’ catches Sirius off guard. The ‘Daddy’ thing had been a calculated move, an attempt to see how Remus would react, but Remus is the one who has well and truly gotten under Sirius’ skin now, as he feels his cock twitch inside his pants and has to bite back a moan. “That would please Daddy very much,” the man adds, eyes still locked on Sirius’.

“Anything, Daddy,” Sirius whispers, the words frightening him as they leave his lips. This isn’t the usual playfulness he used with previous partners. This feels... different. Like he actually means it, like he actually would do anything to please Daddy.

“Such a good little boy,” Remus praises and Sirius feels like he’s melting. He meets Remus’ gaze, and silent surrender flickers in his eyes as his hands fall away from Remus’ body. He leans forward, opening his mouth wide, closing his lips around the man’s cock again.

Remus’ hands tangle in his hair, a soft yank that sends a jolt of unexpected pleasure shooting down his spine all the way down to his crotch. He forces himself to keep his eyes open, holding Remus’ in a silent challenge. Remus, with a low growl, pushes his cock deeper, urging Sirius to swallow the entire shaft.

“Look at you, swallowing Daddy whole,” Remus says – and it's a stretch, alright. The plump flesh hits the back of his throat and triggers a gag reflex. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, but he wants to please his Daddy, so he forces his throat open, pushing his face further, until his nose burrows into the patch of brown hair at the base of Remus’ cock. Then, he lets out a muffled hum.

Remus moans back, raw and primal. His fingers tighten their grip in Sirius' hair. He feels Remus tensing, his thigh twitching, and he begins to fuck in and out of Sirius’ throat, slow at first but suddenly quicker, picking up a pace.

Sirius doesn’t move. He keeps his hands on his lap as he feels his throat burn with the in and out and his scalp tingle from the hands forcefully pulling on his hair. None of it feels painful. It's actually blissful, jolts of pleasure running down through him, making his cock twitch and leak inside his pants every time Remus lets out another groan or moan.

He closes his eyes, feels tears streaming down his cheeks. A stray thought flickers across his mind – a fleeting image of how his makeup must look, a mess of mascara and eyeliner.

“Good boy, Sirius,” Remus says in a husky voice, cutting through the haze and catching his attention. It makes him want to open his eyes again. “You look so pretty letting Daddy fuck  your mouth like that.” His voice is low and rough. He sounds far, far gone.

A choked whimper escapes Sirius’ lips as he looks up at Remus, a soft sheen of tears coats his lashes, blurring his vision. Remus slows his pace, panting heavily. "You're gonna make Daddy come, baby," he rasps as he slips his cock free from Sirius’ mouth.

“Please, Daddy,” he whines, voice hoarse, throat burning, widening his eyes at the man above him. “I want to.”

“Not yet, baby,” Remus says, leaning down and brushing a gentle kiss to the crown of Sirius’ head. The tenderness of the gesture catches him off guard. “Daddy has other things he'd like to do to you tonight, okay?” Sirius nods and then Remus adds, “Can you untie Daddy’s shoes?”

Sirius glances down at Remus’ feet, his tailored trousers are bunched up at his ankle and he’s still wearing his dress shoes. Sirius nods and lowers himself back onto his heels, reaching down to untie the laces, then he slides the shoe off Remus’ foot with a gentle touch. He repeats the process on the other side and then sits back on his heels, watching as Remus kicks off his trousers. “Thank you, baby,” Remus murmurs, “Now, let's get you back on your feet." Sirius nods wordlessly, reaching out, and taking Remus’ hand, using it as leverage to haul himself up.

He didn’t realise until now how his knees were hurting from kneeling on the carpet floor, especially the one he scraped when he jumped from the fire escape earlier. A soft warm chuckle escapes Remus’ lips as he watches Sirius struggle to his feet. He reaches up, his thumb brushing a teasing line across Sirius’ cheek, wiping away the remnants of his tears. “You did so good, baby. Daddy’s so proud of you” he praises. "Now, let's get you to the bedroom, yeah?”

They make their way to the bedroom, still hand-in-hand. It’s a sensation unlike any Sirius has ever experienced in this world. His mind, pleasantly fuzzy from the encounter, struggles to process the simple act of hand holding. He’s just following Remus’ lead.

Remus pushes open the bedroom door, and they step into a slightly brighter space. Unlike the living room bathed in the cool glow of the television, a soft, yellow light emanates from the ensuite bathroom, casting a warm glow over the room. Remus settles on the edge of the bed and pulls Sirius closer, and the boy allows himself to be nestled between Remus’ outstretched legs. Remus rests his chin on Sirius’ chest, his gaze tilted upwards. The rhythmic rise and fall of Sirius’ breath makes his head sway gently.

After a beat, Remus lowers his head, and his lips start trailing kisses across the expanse of Sirius’ tattooed sternum. He doesn’t linger there long, however, his tongue flickering out to graze the sensitive peak of Sirius' pierced nipple. A gasp escapes the boy's lips, his eyes fluttering shut as a jolt of pleasure shoots through him. His cock twitches involuntarily against the unforgiving leather of his pants, a silent curse forming in his mind. If he’d known a night like this was on the menu, those pants would have been the very last thing he'd chosen to wear.

As if he’d just read his mind, Remus’ hand moves to his waistband. “Let’s get you out of these," he says with a chuckle as he opens the safety pin that’s holding his pants closed. Sirius feels a blush creep up his cheeks, but Remus doesn’t say anything about his poorly kept clothes. With a gentle tug, the pin comes undone, and the man yanks down his trousers. He wastes no time, his hands moving to lower the waistband of Sirius' black boxer briefs in sequence.

Sirius kicks his own clothes aside, self-consciousness battling with the thrill coursing through him. He tries to hold himself still under Remus’ intense gaze, a heated weight that seems to travel over every exposed inch of his skin. Remus reaches out, hands settling on either side of Sirius’ hips, pulling him closer again. He places another soft kiss on Sirius’ sternum, then whispers against his heated skin.

“Lay down on the bed, on your stomach,” he murmurs as he releases his hold.

The boy obeys the command, his body sinking into the welcoming softness of the pillows. He can feel the weight shifting on the bed, the rustle of fabric as Remus manoeuvres. A few moments pass before Remus settles above him, straddling Sirius’ legs somewhere around his knees.

“Are you okay?” the man asks. The question feels genuine. A check-in

Lifting his head slightly, Sirius strains his neck in an attempt to meet Remus’ gaze, but the angle is too awkward. He settles for a mumbled response. “Yeah, I'm fine. Keep going.”

Remus’ hands creep up to cup Sirius’ arse cheeks, squeezing gently before slowly drawing them apart. He leans down, placing a kiss on the sensitive skin on the small of the boys back. Then, with a light nip, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of his left cheek. Sirius can't help but flinch at the unexpected contact, shivering.

“Alright, baby boy, time to get you opened up,” Remus murmurs, low and raw. A single fingertip brushes lightly against Sirius’ rim.

“Yes, please, Daddy.” Sirius says– no, he whines. Fuck, what is this guy doing to him?

A chuckle escapes Remus’ lips and then a clatter announces his struggle with what’s probably a bottle of lube. A moment later, a slick and chilling sensation replaces the dry touch on his hole. Sirius can’t help but hiss, though he makes a valiant effort to relax. He welcomes the intrusion despite the initial coldness. It quickly warms, however, as Remus expertly glides the fingertip around the inside.

“Good boy,” Remus coaxes in a husky murmur. A moan escapes Sirius’ lips, muffled by the pillows. Soon, another finger joins the first, and Remus works them both inside him with slow, gentle strokes. He uses a scissoring motion, patiently getting him open. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

Words fail him. A choked “Feels s’good, Daddy,” is all he can manage, muffled by the pillows. The friction of his cock scraping against the mattress sends waves of pleasure down his body and his eyes roll back in his head. It’s been ages since he's been this level of turned on.

“You’re doing so good, baby, can you take a third one?” Remus praises and doesn't wait for a reply before slipping in a third finger. Sirius clamps down on the pillow, a sharp exhale escaping his lips as he tries to adjust to the sudden stretch. It’s a delicious paradox – it’s too much and it’s not enough. He aches, desperate to feel Remus’ cock inside of him.

Then, Remus shifts his fingers just right, pressing against that bundle of nerves, igniting a burst of pleasure that rockets through Sirius’ body. A strangled cry escapes his lips as he arches his back instinctively, fucking himself on Remus’ fingers, leaking against the mattress underneath him.

“You’re so tight, baby,” Remus breathes out, now hitting that soft spot inside of Sirius with every flick of his wrist.

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” Sirius whines.

“It’s okay, baby. Daddy loves opening his little boy up,” Remus soothes, warm and reassuring. He keeps moving his fingers in and out, causing Sirius to cry out and writhe repeatedly under him. “Such a tight little hole, just for Daddy.”

Sirius is considering he might come just from this, which has never happened before, when Remus swiftly removes all his fingers, ignoring the whimper of protest that escapes Sirius’ lips as he does so. Leaning close, he brushes a soft kiss against the boy's shoulder, a husky murmur against his ear. “Think you're all set, aren't you? Ready for Daddy now, baby boy?”

Sirius strains his neck, desperate to see Remus’ face. The man's eyes are pools of liquid darkness now, the intensity threatening to melt Sirius into a puddle. “Yes, Daddy,” he rasps, swallowing hard. “Please, fuck me.”

Remus offers a smirk. “Good little boy,” he murmurs, before placing another soft kiss on Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius feels the strong hands bracketing his chest, supporting Remus’ weight over him, and the press of Remus’ thighs flanking his own. The air crackles with his anticipation.

The man sits back again. Sirius can feel his hips pressing against his ass, his cock sliding over his left arse cheek. He hears the tearing of the condom wrapper and lube being popped open again and his mind pictures Remus sliding lube onto himself. Oh god, he wishes he could see it.

“You ready, baby?” Remus asks and Sirius nods, then realises he might not be able to see his movement.

“Yes, Daddy,” he manages to say against the pillow.

Sirius feels Remus' cock press against him, and he’s rubbing himself on the entrance a little. “Fuck,” the man pants, and then grabs Sirius’ hips, pushing forwards. Sirius hears himself cry out against the pillows. It burns and he can feel every inch of Remus pushing into him, regardless of how much he was stretched before. He loses his breath, fisting at the sheets.

“Breathe, baby.” Remus commands, and it’s good that he does, because relief washes over Sirius as soon as he obeys, the burning sensation receding slightly as his ragged breathing evens out. He starts to melt into Remus’ touch, the tension slowly uncoiling.

Strong hands return to either side of his chest, followed by the warmth of Remus’ damp kisses trailing across his shoulder blades. A heated forehead presses against the sensitive skin of his neck. Remus is holding himself perfectly still, seeking permission with his touch. Sirius takes another shuddering breath, craning his neck so his gaze can meet Remus’ in a silent plea. “Fuck me, Daddy,” he whispers.

Remus begins his movements, slow and deliberate at first. The world seems to melt away, condensing into a single point of this amazing feeling. The constant friction fills him, the dull ache morphing into an undeniable pleasure. It starts as a faint echo, but with each thrust, it builds into a wave that crashes over him over and over again. And then there’s just Remus, the heat of his body searing against Sirius’, the guttural sounds escaping his lips, the whispered praises a sweet melody in his ear. “God, baby, you feel incredible. Taking daddy like such a good boy.”

The handful of times Sirius had to do this for money, he had to completely disassociate from what was happening in order to keep going. He doesn’t even think about those experiences much. They live in a dark corner of his mind; one he doesn’t visit very often. But this. This feels raw, electric. Sirius wants to etch every detail onto his memory, to play it over and over again like his favourite record. He's fully present, absorbing every delicious sensation, every whispered word, every glance, every touch. This, he will make sure to carry with him once it’s over.

“Harder, Daddy,” he demands. The slow pace is a delicious tease but ultimately leaves him yearning for more. Remus instantly responds, adjusting his position. A firm grip on Sirius’ hips precedes a shift in rhythm, the thrusts becoming quick and powerful. Sirius feels himself leaking on the mattress once more. Remus’ hand settles on the back of his neck, keeping a firm pressure, and somehow it feels like a comforting touch. Daddy’s here, he’s here, he’s all fucking over.

“Like that?” Remus asks, nails digging at Sirius’ skin. “Is that how you want to be fucked, baby boy?”

A strangled gasp rips through Sirius as Remus brushes against the spot he was rubbing with his fingers earlier. It feels even better now, and Sirius feels his muscles start to tighten around him, which only intensifies the sensation. He hears himself crying out yes, yes, yes, yes as heat explodes across his skin. He arches his back instinctively, pushing his hips up to meet Remus. Their bodies move together in perfect rhythm.

Remus’ thrusts pick up a frantic pace, and Sirius can tell his orgasm is probably near. “Baby, can you–” Remus groans, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Can you touch yourself for Daddy?” Sirius swallows hard, nodding even though he knows the faint movement is lost in the heat of the moment. Reaching down, his hand disappears between his body and the mattress, wrapping around his neglected cock.

He doesn’t need much stimulation at this point. His eyes flutter shut, bursts of light dancing behind his eyelids as his hand finds its rhythm. “Can you come for Daddy, Sirius?” Remus rasps in his ear, his voice laced with the same desperation Sirius feels coursing through him.

“Yea– Yes, Daddy,” Sirius manages between breathless moans.

“Good boy,” Remus whispers, husky against his ear. “That’s it, c’mon, come for Daddy, baby boy–"

A surge of heat explodes through him, a confluence of sensations: the dirty words, the warm breath on his neck, the sharp dig of nails on his skin, the relentless rhythm of their bodies. He’s coming, shooting out into the mattress, and a strangled cry escapes his lips as the pleasure crashes over him. Embarrassing noises leave his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Daddy,” he says, and he keeps coming, keeps coming as Remus keeps thrusting into him, riding out his orgasm.

The aftershocks of his own climax have barely faded when a ragged groan tears from Remus’ throat. His hips snap with a newfound urgency. “Daddy’s– Daddy’s gonna come, baby,” he rasps, desperate. His grip tightens momentarily, his nails dig deeper into Sirius’ skin, probably bruising, burying himself deeper into Sirius as his orgasm hits him and he groans, deep and masculine, as he rides it out, small thrusts until he’s done.

And Sirius feels so well fucked now, laying down on that expensive mattress, with Remus above him, his breathing slowing to a steady rhythm, his forehead resting gently against Sirius’ back. Fingers, recently tight with urgency, now trace calming circles on the small of Sirius’ back. A soft sigh escapes Remus’ lips as he carefully withdraws, and Sirius lets out a quiet hiss at the slight pull. After a moment of rustling with the used condom, a comforting touch returns to Sirius’ back.

Remus’ murmur breaks the silence. “Are you okay, baby?” he asks, and Sirius wants to cry and laugh at the same time, because no one ever asks him that after sex.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he mumbles.

“Good,” Remus sighs, his lips trailing down to place a kiss on Sirius’ back. “Let's get you cleaned up, then some sleep, yeah?”

“Okay,” Sirius agrees.

Remus does exactly as he said, cleaning Sirius up with a wet towel. When he returns to the bed, he gathers Sirius close and places a soft kiss on his temple. “Good night, baby boy,” he murmurs.

Exhaustion washes over Sirius, a delicious combination of sleepiness, contentment, and satisfaction. His eyelids flutter closed, and a moment later, he’s asleep.

Notes:

Okay, this was intense and I definitely didn’t mean it to be so long!

The whole deal with writing this fic was to scratch a very specific itch I got when I rewatched this movie. I really wanted to imagine it, scene by scene, as wolfstar, because I felt like Vivian and Edward’s characters just fit the wolfstar vibe so well. As the story progresses, though, the plot will slowly divert from the movie (still following the same rough storyline).

Anyway, this is completely written, it has 5 chapters, and I'll update probably once a week.