Title: Downpour
By: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167yahoo.ca
For: Erin.
Ratings: PG-13 (mild R at worst)
Disclaimers: None of the characters are mine. And that's a shame!
Spoilers: none really.
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Timing: MWPP Era, just after Hogwarts.
Summary: One must remove wet clothes after being caught in the rain.
Completed: December 21, 2005
Notes: For Erin! She once asked me for a prompt, and this is what came to mind. At least sort of. The first of my Christmas Gift Fic!
We are both breathing hard, chests heaving and skin slick. Trying desperately to grab onto something, anything. But slipping.
We're laughing, tripping over our feet and doubling over. The pair of us, soaking wet from the unexpected rain, dripping onto the floor at the front door of Sirius' small rented room, laughing at the absurdity of it all. The son of the noble house of Black and his pauper pal in drenched sweaters and squishing shoes, trapped in a Muggle neighbourhood and underage. Seventeen is never as far away as when it's two weeks away and you're without a drying charm.
Sirius shakes his head, like a dog after a bath, spraying more rainwater onto the dingy walls and adding to the puddle at his feet. He has the cutesy of acting bashful, with the half shrug of regret, but that smirk betrays him. He loves it. It's the naughty little boy part of his personality.
But I won't feed that, no, I won't punish him – I just smile and shake my own head. Making my own mini-downpour. My own puddle.
He lets out a characteristic throaty bark of a laugh and my knees go weak. The deep sound of his voice had started having this kind of effect on me. It started when I didn't respond to James' Wicked Witches magazine, in the normal teenaged manner, or how it wasn't Jena's face I saw when she tried nibbling my neck. No, I always saw his face…
The same face is now peeking out from under his shirt, as he pulls it over his head. That same cocky smile under that mop of black hair…and rain wet chest. He's standing here in front of me, bare chested – like anytime in the dorms. But nothing like that at all. I swear there's an energy in the air, and the space is much more confined, close. Charged.
He must feel it.
I'm licking my chops before I know it. Drooling like a wild animal.
His hands are on the buttons of his slacks, and my heart stops. The wet wool is, no doubt, constricting, but there is another reason I'm shifting in my pants. The reason my heart's beating faster.
The real reason I'm sweating now.
I'm staring at his hands, and I think I see them tremble. Tremble and wait.
Slowly, painfully slowly, I drag my eyes up. Up the ropy muscles of his chest, up the sharp curve of his lips, up to his eyes.
The steel eyes that are watching me.
The eyes that are flashing with fear, anxiety and excitement.
He smiles. Not that usual cocky smirk, or mischievous grin, but a smile. Almost shy.
And I blush. The heat rushes to my face, but I can't look away.
Something is charged, and on the brink of changing. A new downpour is going to break.
Sirius gives me an encouraging nod, a flick of his head that tells me to go on…
And my hands understand – as my mind is clouded – pulling the damp sweater over my head to drop it on the floor with our rain and mud.
We're panting again, hearts racing and it has nothing to do with the rain, or the run home. This is us. This is about us, standing here with our shirts off and our skin slick. Shivering and shaking…but we're not cold.
As my hands reach my fly Sirius stops me. A moment of panic drifts away when his hands replace mine. His fingers slip into the band of my slacks…
A moan escapes my mouth. A sound so strange, and yet so right. And Sirius laughs silently.
How odd we are: the bastard son of Black and his dark creature kissing and touching, exploring like the true deviants everyone else sees us as.
The slip of his tongue on mine as his hand reaches into my pants, grasping. My hands slide up his back: touching, clawing, pulling him into me.
It's all coming down, now.
End.