Watch Me

Remus wants Sirius to see him.

But, oh, he is subtle. He is quiet. Perhaps Sirius won’t see him. Perhaps, when Sirius gets up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet, he will walk past Remus’ open drapes without even looking.

Remus is sprawled out naked on top of the bed covers. He bites his lip and stretches his bare legs out. The sheets underneath him rustle and the bed springs creak. Ooh, noise. Must be quiet, must be as quiet as he can. He doesn’t want to deliberately attract attention. That’s no fun at all. No, he wants Sirius to chance a look, to peer in out of curiosity. Remus wonders if he will. The thought excites him. His prick throbs. Oh, yes, imagine that; imagine if Sirius sees.

He softly places a warm palm on his naked chest, teasing his nipple with his forefinger. His other hand is on his stomach, caressing it, smoothing over it. A snore comes from the other side of the room. That’s Peter. Remus holds his breath, listening closely for any sound of Sirius stirring, of anyone stirring.

Silence follows, save for Remus’ slow, steady breath.

He casts his eyes to the parting of the drapes and imagines seeing Sirius’ shadow, seeing him wander past. He can picture Sirius glancing sideways at him. Would he stop? Would he pay no attention? Would he…approach the drapes…?

Remus curls his toes and slides his hand down his stomach to his prick, biting his lip harder to suppress a groan. Oh, goodness. Fancy that. Imagine if Sirius not only stops but approaches him. Remus curls his hand around his hot, hard cock and gives it a gentle tug, picturing the way Sirius might timidly step towards him, his dark eyes wide and his lips parted.

The thought is almost too much; Remus grips his prick and tilts his hips up. This fantasy makes him so aroused, and oh, how he wants to stroke himself.

But, no. No, he should wait. Just in case.

He forces himself to let go of his cock, slipping his hand on his thigh, rubbing it sensually. No, wait, Remus, he tells himself. Wait. Watch. Perhaps you will be pleasantly surprised.

Another loud snore comes from Peter. Remus holds his breath again. He listens closely.

Rustle.

Bed sheets. He can hear bed sheets being thrown back.

Creak. Creak-creak. Creeeak.

Remus’ heart beat picks up. Someone is getting out of bed. He swallows thickly, his breath a little faster as he feels excitement surge in his chest. God, he wants to touch himself, stroke himself. The suspense is incredible; the fact that he could be caught, seen, looked at as he lies there naked.

Shuffle. Scuff-scuff. Screeeeech. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

He hears feet being slid into slippers. He hears drapes being pushed back. And, oh, he hears footsteps; slow, tired footsteps. They are approaching. They are coming from Sirius’ side of the room.

Remus wants to groan. He wants to grasp his prick and stroke it. Sirius is getting closer, closer, closer. He can’t contain himself. He arches his back and writhes in anticipation, his eyes peeled on the open drapes. It seems to be taking Sirius forever to reach Remus’ side of the room.

He slides his hand down his chest and swarms his sweaty palm over his stomach as he spreads his legs wider; so wide, one leg slips from the edge of the bed and dangles over the side. Should he feign sleep? Should he touch himself? Or should he just lie there and watch, and wait?

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Sirius is so close. Remus’ heart is hammering and his breath is now rapid and shallow. Oh, he could come from the anticipation alone. His prick pulses, the way it does when he is moments from coming. He knows that if he touches it, if he closes his hand around it, that would be enough to send him over the edge.

Movement catches his eye. He dart his eyes quickly down to the floor and sees a shadow of Sirius, cast by the pale moonlight from the window, looming. It is getting bigger. He is getting closer. Remus is getting so excited. Each sound, each footfall makes Remus’ muscles twitch. His skin is becoming slick with perspiration.

Remus licks his lips. The drapes sway slightly as Sirius walks past them. Remus can’t help it; he glides his hand across to his prick and his fingertips skim over the velvety skin of his shaft.

There he is. There is Sirius. Sirius is walking past.

Remus holds back a gasp and watches. Sirius only has to turn, only has to glance.

Sirius is scratching his head with one hand as he yawns and has his other hand up his shirt, rubbing his stomach.

Remus holds his breath.

Sirius casually glances to the left at the open drapes.

Remus lets out a sharp breath. Sirius has looked.

Sirius is looking.

He is still looking.

He is staring.

Remus meets Sirius’ eyes as he closes his hand over his cock. He arches his back, the bed creaks, the sheets rustle and Sirius takes a slow, timid step forth, his grey eyes wide. He is gazing at Remus’ naked body. He is taking in the sight of Remus sprawled out, his cock hard, his chest heaving, his lip clamped within his white teeth.

It is too much, too exciting. As Sirius reaches a hand up and fumbles with grasping the drapes, clutching the edge of it in his fist, Remus strokes his prick once, twice, three times and comes over his stomach in quick, fast spurts. He is gasping, holding back the urge to moan, not wanting to wake the others.

The only sound that follows is Remus’ quick, ragged breath, shuddering and panting. He holds eye contact with Sirius, watching the way his friend is mesmerised, staring unblinkingly.

They don’t say a word. Remus feels his leavings trickling down his stomach. His breathing slows.

Another snore comes from Peter. Sirius flinches, as if he has been roused from being hypnotised and he slowly lets the drape go and drops his arm to his side. He takes a step back. He turns. Remus watches him walk on in silence. He hears his friend’s footsteps on the floor and then the sound of the door creaking open and closing.

Remus smiles.