"What was that you said about not being sixteen anymore?" Sirius asked, blowing hair out of his eyes to look sideways at Remus.
They were sprawled in Sirius's four-poster bed, tangled in the sheets and each other, trying to get their breath back. The hangings on one side had been torn down and lay in a heap on the floor; Remus thought idly that all they had done was get in the way.
"I'll tell you when I remember," he said, rolling over onto his side and reaching over to drag his fingertips lightly down Sirius's ribcage; Sirius leaned into the touch, seemingly unable to stop smiling. "I don't think my brain is functioning properly at the moment."
"You seemed to be fairly in control of your faculties a few minutes ago," Sirius pointed out, catching Remus's hand in his and lacing their fingers together.
Remus took a moment to reflect on what had just happened, and couldn't help but reminisce on similar occasions from two decades previously. It was the professor in him, he supposed; even sex wasn't safe from analytical thinking.
Sirius was certainly as enthusiastic as he had been then: he had fairly tackled Remus the second they had gotten to the landing outside his bedroom door. Remus had managed to catch him, but barely, and they hit the closed door hard enough to rattle the frame. It had been a bit hard to think with Sirius's legs around his waist and tongue down his throat, his hands everywhere, but after a time Remus succeeded in pushing the door open – they tumbled into the room and onto the bed, and then got tangled in the hangings and crashed, laughing, to the floor.
Another happy familiarity was that Sirius was still as vocal as he had been in their school days: from the first kiss to his climax he had kept up a fairly steady stream of talk or at least encouraging noises; Remus had never managed to do so and had to admire him a little (he was also happy to note that Sirius still did that lip-biting thing, something Remus had forgotten he'd liked).
Predictably, there was something distinctly canine in all of Sirius's sounds and the way he moved – Remus supposed the marks he now sported across his neck, shoulders, chest and hipbones would bloom into bruises within a day or two and he had to smile. He recalled a night in their dormitory at Hogwarts on which Sirius had explained, "You've already got so many scars, Moony, why not have a few fun memories attached to some?"
For all the familiarity, there had been differences too: Sirius was leaner than he had once been, thanks to Azkaban, and now sported a number of faded but nonetheless brutal-looking scars of his own. They had no reason nowto dress and collect themselves again as quickly as possible – Remus knew it would be a while before anyone downstairs missed them. He chose instead to indulge in the opportunity ot luxuriate that they had rarely had before, and stretched until his spine cracked, settling back against the pillows.
He realized that Sirius had been watching him, wearing the "I've just slept with your sister" grin that Remus remembered as a constant from their school days (although it was usually Remus, and not anyone's sister, that Sirius had recently slept with).
"You cannot want to have another go already, Padfoot, it's not humanly possible," Remus told him flatly, but couldn't hide his own smile.
Sirius shook his head and chewed on his lower lip a moment before he spoke. "It's just nice to know that some things haven't changed," he said simply, and Remus vaguely considered the possibility that their earlier impact with the door and subsequent tussle with the bed hangings had made him a little loopy (it wouldn't have been the first time sex had left him a little starry-eyed, Remus mentally added, a little smugly).
Before he could reply, though, Sirius was above him again, pinning both of Remus's wrists in one hand, running the other through his hair, grin back in place. "Although, speaking of having another go... I did, at great risk to myself and others, become an illegal Animagus for you, so..."
Remus laughed and leaned up to kiss him again.