Volatile Spook Tree

Laura Fairburn: right shoulder. Specifically the heart-shaped birthmark that graced that part of her body, though it was her smile that got him started. Slow and coy – of course he’d wanted to trap that smile, taste it, explore it.

But now it was her birthmark he wanted to explore. Sirius lingered on that spot, probing the soft skin with the tip of his tongue.

Irritably, Laura shook him off. “There are other parts to my body, you know.” And then she gasped.

Sirius chuckled. “I know,” he said, twisting his fingers inside her, working them in and out until she came with a whimper. Once more, he kissed her birthmark.

She laughed and, dropping down to her knees, said, “Let’s see if you have any birthmarks.”

Elizabeth Cole: left ear. It seemed that she purposefully drew attention to it; she was always rubbing her thumb over her earlobe and distracting Sirius from Professor McGonagall’s lecture. After more than one sharp “Mister Black! Are you with us?” Sirius decided that it was time to act. He snogged Elizabeth behind Boris the Bewildered. Having finally gotten his taste of that ear, he didn’t need to take it any further. He didn’t need to, but the prefects’ bathroom was right there, and what was the use of having Prongs as Head Boy if not for this very purpose?

Caroline Warren: fingers. He didn’t bother snogging her; he just touched those slender, graceful digits when he came across her in the library. She colored and promptly dropped the book she was holding, her full attention on Sirius. He slipped away with a vague comment about taming beasts.

She gaped, and he nodded helpfully toward her book, The Dragon Dialogues. “Oh! Of course.”

She watched him for a week after that, first hopeful, then tearful. Perhaps he’d given her the wrong impression, but he’d gotten what he’d wanted. And a week after that, she was fine.

There were others, although contrary to popular belief, he did not have sex with all of them. He was concerned with the parts; only rarely did the whole girl appeal to him. If a few hopes were trampled on, he regretted it, but never enough to stop. The girls figured it out, anyway, and they went to great lengths to accent what they believed were their best assets. He was amused to discover that some Hogwarts girls had even taken to using make-up on their cleavage. Their efforts didn’t change his selections, but they were entertaining.

It was all very simple, until now. Until this ratio.

Remus Lupin: wrist.

Sirius wasn’t really alarmed that he found part of a boy attractive. It was aesthetics for him, and if it happened to be a boy, it happened to be a boy. He’d long had an appreciation for Kingsley Shacklebolt’s hands, but he had never acted on that. There was no reason to act on this. But this was different. Yes, Remus was his mate, and mates don’t do that – but Remus was always there. Remus’s wrist was always there. Usually it ducked out of sight, lurking under the sleeve, but then Remus would raise his hand or reach for the salt or pull open the curtains, and there it would be. Taunting him, looking soft and touchable.

He managed to touch it – just barely – in History. He didn’t mean to, but he was in a semi-stupor from the lecture, and Remus’s wrist was taunting him again. The contact was brief and did not involve the normal amount of exploration, but it satisfied the ratio. Sirius could move on.

To the next ratio. Remus: the place where his neck met his jaw.

Why wasn’t there a name for that tempting, maddening spot? He had gotten the wrist; this would harder to get at. He was going to let it go, in fact. Showing commendable self-control, he didn’t do anything when Remus fell asleep in the common room, his head back and that spot wonderfully exposed. He didn’t do anything when the afternoon sun hit that spot and made the skin glow. He didn’t do anything when they were lolling on James’s bed, and Remus was lying right next to him, and if he moved his hand up just a little he could touch that spot…

All right, he did. Sirius brushed his fingertips over Remus’s jaw, a touch that could have been accidental and as easily glossed over as the incident in History, had his fingers not come back to press gently against that spot. This was so much better than the wrist. A pleasant, prickly sort of feeling, which couldn’t be stubble, because that berk was always clean-shaven.

Remus sat up, and Sirius jerked his hand away. “Sorry, you had… um…”

Remus rubbed his neck. And no, it didn’t bother Sirius that he was rubbing away his touch. Nor did it bother him that James and Peter were staring at him with puzzled and – in James’s case – knowing looks. What bothered him was the fact that before the awkwardness had dissipated, he had to slide off the bed – narrowly missing further contact with Remus’s body – and get to the loo. And it bothered him that when he came, he had to grit his teeth to hold back the name that was trying to get out.

The situation didn’t improve after that.

Remus: back. There wasn’t even anything appealing about Remus’s back. He was bony and pale, and his skin was slashed by scars. Sirius wondered, as he lay in bed, what those scars felt like. Then he wondered what they tasted like. Then he stopped wondering, because he refused to get off to thoughts of Remus’s back. He’d get over this soon enough. He assured himself of this several times before he couldn’t take it anymore and shoved his hand down his pants.

Remus: collarbone. He could ignore that.

Remus: lips. He could – had Remus always had a habit of licking his lips like that? It was downright lascivious.

Remus: knees. Knees, for Morgana’s sake. Remus: frown. Remus: smile. There were so many pieces, there was a danger that they might come together and form a whole.

James noticed, of course. He took Sirius aside after breakfast – a very successful one, in which Sirius had managed to sit thigh to thigh with Remus. Apparently, this wasn’t as pleasing to James as it was to Sirius.

“Don’t fuck with him,” was James’s succinct command.

“I wouldn’t.”

“You fuck with everyone, Padfoot. Just… don’t.”

Not long after that exchange, Peter became Remus’s shadow, sitting next to him in class so that Sirius couldn’t and even blocking his touches. One accidental grope of Peter’s doughy chest should have been enough to get him to stop, but Sirius couldn’t stop, because the ratios wouldn’t stop.

Remus: elbow. Remus: eyes. Remus: laugh – laugh! He couldn’t even touch a laugh.

But if he didn’t touch Remus soon, he was going to lose it. Now it wasn’t just McGonagall demanding to know if he was fully present – and of course he wasn’t, how could he be when every movement Remus made was clearly an erotic display? And really, the wanking was getting out of control.

It was Lily who got him his reprieve. She intercepted the four boys as they were heading back to the tower. Crooking one finger under James’s chin, she led him away. “I need to talk to you,” she said, a slight bite to her tone.

Sirius saw the realization bloom on James’s face, but it was too late. He was caught, and now he was going to endure a lecture that perhaps – perhaps – had to do with something she had learned from Kaitlin Dorson, who’d heard from Pacey Clemens, who’d listened to Jacob Malone, who’d caught a conversation between Sirius and James that had to do with Lily’s intimate articles of clothing. It was not a conversation he had wanted to have, but it was worth it. James was not going to be returning soon, and there was no way Peter would stop Sirius without James around.

Sirius had to give him credit, though. When he seized Remus’s wrist and pulled him toward an empty classroom, Peter did take a step forward and say, “Um,” before he fell silent.

The door was closed now, and Sirius was trembling, and he had Remus’s wrist in his hand. Wrist to mouth. He obeyed the impulse, bringing Remus’s wrist to his lips. His other hand jumped up to finger the spot along Remus’s jaw.

Remus made a small sound. “What are you – ”

“Don’t,” he said, his voice strange. Sirius pushed into Remus, touching and tasting fingers, shoulder, throat. He started to unbutton Remus’s shirt, but after a struggle with the top two buttons – to hell with it – he yanked the edge of the shirt out of his trousers. Oh, fuck, Remus: that noise he made when Sirius’s hand began to go up his back.

Then – “Sirius” – Remus’s hand closed on his elbow.

The impulse was direct, unavoidable. Sirius kissed him, his mouth working a desperate plea into Remus’s. Because Remus had spoken his name like this was really happening, like Sirius really had him up against the wall in some classroom, with one hand up the back of his shirt and the other working on his trousers, because Sirius just needed to get off –

“Fuck,” Sirius gasped and tipped his head toward Remus’s shoulder. “Fuck,” as his chin touched the wet patch he had left there.

A moment passed, and then Sirius moved his hands to the wall. Remus pushed past him. Silence.

Sirius’s body still burned with Remus. Remus, just Remus. Not the parts, just Remus. He tried to hold on to the impression, but the heat passed from him, and he looked to its source.

Remus was buttoning his shirt. His gaze was on the door, and his body was tensed. Ready to run.

“Would you just – stop.” Sirius needed him to do it. Merlin knew what he’d do if he had to stop Remus’s hands.

But Remus did stop, and he looked at Sirius. He was sort of smiling, though not really.

Sirius had to say it, he had to –

“What part was it?”

Sirius’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

“You’re about the parts, not the whole.” Still wearing that not-smile, Remus crossed his arms.

Attempting levity, Sirius said, “You make me – ”

He meant to go on, but Remus latched on to that and shot back, “I don’t make you – ”

“Yes you do!” Sirius flexed his hands helplessly. “Yes, you do. You make me want you – you.” He reached for Remus.

Remus stepped back, knocking into a desk, and went back to getting himself in order. Roughly, he straightened his tie. He was staring at the door again. “For weeks. You’ve never done that before.” His tone was conversational, but Sirius could see that Remus’s hands were shaking slightly. “The longest you ever waited was with – ” Remus had turned away and had placed his hands on the desk. “That Ravenclaw girl. Shaw. Emma.”

“Moony.” Sirius slipped his arms around Remus’s waist. How easily their bodies fit together. It did not escape his notice.

“What part was it?”

“Moony,” he said again, because it was the only word his mouth could make. Something had happened to the shape of his mouth, he thought. Something had changed.

Sirius pressed his hand against Remus’s midsection and, slowly, moved it down. Remus grabbed him. There was a pause, during which Sirius briefly wondered what he was doing. Then, Remus let go, and Sirius grasped his erection. The contact ricocheted through him. “Oh God,” he said, because that was what Remus would have said, but Remus wasn’t speaking. “Christ.” He liked the sound of that. He’d especially liked it when he’d heard Remus moaning it, the night following the incident on James’s bed. Remus had forgotten the silencing spell; that hadn’t been like him.

Remus wasn’t moaning now, but he was taking in short, sharp breaths. His knuckles were white; Sirius could tell that he was close. He quickened his movements. “Oh God, God.” Sirius’s own breaths were shortened, perhaps in sympathy, or empathy.

One sound. One long groan that, Sirius judged, originated from Remus’s toes and traveled up through the arch that was his body to be transmitted directly to Sirius’s cock. It was almost enough. Almost.

Sirius raised his fingers to taste the sticky warmth that now coated them, but before he could, Remus pushed him on to the edge of the desk. Swiftly, he opened Sirius’s trousers and took him in his mouth – all of him, all at once.

“Gah!” The unsexy exclamation burst from his mouth, followed by some vowel sounds. “How the hell,” he tried to ask, but then Remus did something spectacular with his tongue, and Sirius’s next utterances were several variations on the word “fuck”. Until he managed, “Mother of – you’ve done this before!”

Remus’s “mmmm” went straight though his cock, and “How the hell?” no longer mattered. Sirius’s awareness was restricted to the slick slide of Remus’s mouth, up and down, to the sight that accompanied that sensation, and to the half-confessions that were emerging from his own mouth.

“Thought I could – oh – I didn’t – didn’t – Remus, I’m – ” His body was a tight coil of almost-nearly – there. He arched forward, and in his release, he couldn’t hold back the name. “Remus, Remus.”

Remus pulled away and spat out Sirius’s come. Sirius was slightly offended until he realized that Remus was laughing. Sirius watched him, bemused.

“Sorry,” he choked out. “It’s just. Sirius, what do we do now?”

“Um…” Sirius was distracted by his right hand; he still had Remus’s come on his fingers. “Clean up, I guess. Lily can’t detain James forever.”

For a moment, Remus just looked at him, no trace of his outburst left on his face. “Right.” Turning away, he vanished Sirius’s come with more force than necessary.

Sirius slid off the desk and his trousers fell to his ankles. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, zipping his fly. “I mean, this was good, right?”

Remus was silent.

“Remus?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice controlled. “It was.” And then he almost – almost something.

“Well then,” said Sirius, overly bright. “We’d better get to the dorm.” He moved to the door, Remus at his side.

It happened very quickly. He had barely processed the fact that Remus was cupping his cheek when Remus’s tongue – oh, that tongue – was probing his lips. Sirius sounded a note of surprise, then pleasure. Their mouths fit together as easily as their bodies, and this kiss, which tasted slightly of him but mostly of Remus, wasn’t a plea of any kind.

It ended gradually. “To the dorm,” Remus echoed.

And they walked back, not quite parted, not quite touching. This was new, this Remus: Sirius (Sirius: Remus?), and for the moment, Sirius was content to keep it at the edge of his mind. It was pushed into his full awareness when he caught Remus’s eye, before they entered the dorm to James’s explosion.

“This is all your fault, Sirius! Because of you, I will get no more of the frilly little things with bows. You know how much I love the bows!”