Play me
AN: WARNING: sex is explicitly mentioned.
If you don't look the other person in the eye during an Eskimo kiss, does that mean you fucked it up?
I wonder now, do you think differently? Have I seemed insincere, all this time, because I played you like I imagined you were playing me?
I suppose the difference is that I did not play you at all. I was sincere until the moment my intentions caught up with my words and as carefree as I may seem to you, that's how insecure my mirror image looks to me. I hate to think of you, now, today, because I saw you, looking at my face, and it scared me.
Because, have you always been so insincerely honest?
It is strange but Sirius never seems to smile at you like he does at him. Perhaps it is delusion, but you are sure it is there and that hurts.
When he fucks you behind the bleachers you want to laugh at the irony but you're too busy trying not to moan and your stomach makes a thunktwirlthud inside your body and your hands are graspingslippingtight and you can't think coherently and afterwards you'll think it over but not now, because now is for hothardheat.
It is funny how even when he's loving you, he still loves him.
But is that true?
You try not to over-think it, because sometimes your head hurts and it feels full with useless facts and pointless information and sometimes you want to fall to the floor and cry your eyes out but you never do.
Because he never seems to smile around you.
There was one time while you were blowing him during detention that you felt him tugtwitchpull and when you looked up he was looking down and your eyes locked and it was scarystrangefrightening because you never saw eyes as black as his. The next moment he is closed off from the world and his eyes slip shut and you wonder, who does he see, if not me?
You think you know but can't bring yourself to think it. Illicit.
When his lips touch yours for the very first time you hear your heart go bouncebambreak and you feel sick but it's so lightnicedelicate and that is perhaps worst of all.
There is a sway in the way he plays your body, every key just right.
And you move on and all you do is prayhopewhisper that one day you will be enough for him. And you fakesmilemakesmile until you get there, every day again, just as if it doesn't go hurtstingpain in your chest each time he smiles.
He plays you like he plays all others and if he uses you it's because every time he nearly loses you it turns his world upside-down and if you serve no other purpose than at least you serve this, himhisyours.
When he groans your name you imagine it is not yours at all, but his instead and you wonder if Sirius hears his own breath hitch, because you feel every single second of it, pressed against dampsoftsweet skin. You wonder if he is yours, or if he is his and whenever you wonder, you wander and that is the one pulsinggpressingpushing thought that lingers in the back of your head, always.
"Dat je aan mij echt genoeg had."
AN: this was so damn necessary. God, it's like that's all I say in AN's these days. But it hurts and it just... ugh. I hate this.
Last sentence is a quote from 'Afscheid' by 'Volumia'. It basically means: "that I was enough for you/that I sufficed."
The 'you' person is Remus, Sirius is the one he loves, Remus thinks James is the one Sirius loves. Note the 'thinks' and draw your own conclusion.