Title: Confession
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Characters: Remus/Sirius, Remus/Tonks, Remus/Various, James/Lily
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-linearity
Themes/kinks chosen: Satyriasis, Coitus a Mammalia, Infantilism, Salirophilia, Power Tools, Fellatio, Castration, Orgies, Claustrophilia, Hedonism, Courtship, Lacing, Sacofricosis, Flagellation, Fornicatory Dolls, Pheromones, Relics, Romantic Marriage, Confessions, Frottage, Suturing, Tantra, Adultery, Anal Plugs, Computer Sex(of a wizarding sort), Drugs, Coprophagy, Gender-bending
Word Count: 2222
Summary: "I like sex. I always have. But it's not as simple as that."
Author's notes: I figured rather than picking one kink I didn't write last year, I'd pick all the kinks I didn't write last year. Yes, I am crazy. Don't you all know that by now? Some are brief references, but they're still there, damnit.

Confession

I like sex. I always have. But it's not as simple as that. Few things ever are. It's more than the thrust of cock into mouth or cunt or arse. It's more than physicality and stimulated nerves. Sex is about power. About domination and submission. About the exchange of trust, control, and yes, even love. So when someone tells you that it's all about the sex, you have to remember that it's never really about sex.

“Godjesusfuck, Moony.” Sirius' voice was strained nearly as much as his arms were in their restraints. Remus could hear the widening of Sirius' eyes in the roughed syllables, useful considering the blindfold Remus has placed on him when he'd tied him up.

Two hours of waiting in silence. Of his toes barely touching the floor. Of cool air over his naked body. Two hours until Remus had looked over Sirius' suspended body once more before striking his back sharply with the leather whip. It could have been anyone at that point. Remus could have left and any passerby could have entered and whipped him, and Sirius would be at the mercy of a stranger. That threat only made his cock harder, Remus knew, so Remus said nothing as he struck him again, then again; leaving pink welts over the pale skin of his back and shoulder. Every bite of the leather drew out ragged cry from Sirius and another drip of moisture from the tip of his cock. He twisted in the bindings, body bowing into a tight arc of need only enhanced by the heavy silver plug humming away in his arse.

He laid the whip down and stepped around so he could face Sirius whose lips were red and swollen from where he'd been biting them to try to resist pleading for Remus not to stop. Reaching one hand out, he cupped Sirius' balls smoothly then squeezed them tightly, watching the twist of Sirius' lips, the way they pulled back from his teeth until Remus let go again. He could smell the hot scent of his desire, of the moisture pearling on his cock. It made him ache in his balls and in his chest- that perfect, intoxicating scent of Sirius when he was hard and desperate. It was a scent that would only be topped by the taste of it, the salty bloom over his tongue when he finally bent down to lap over the damp flesh then sucked it deeply into his mouth.

Some people might think it's also about pain. And I won't deny that there's a good element of pain in many of the things I've done to people. But pure pain is torture. Pain mixed with pleasure can be exquisite. When in the right hands, the human body can find pleasure in the most extreme torments.

It was easy enough to cast a few spells onto the instruments, to limit blood loss and ensure absolute cleanliness. If it weren't for the atmosphere and role, he wouldn't have even needed the tight latex gloves which he was wearing. He never liked the powdery way they clung to his fingers, never quite enough length to the material over his fingers. But this was not about him; it was about the muggle who lay restrained on the table before him, cock straining and nipples peaked.

Remus caressed the curving length of the man's erection, ran a single finger over the black thread that neatly crisscrossed the tip of his cock, suturing his foreskin together. The man shivered, anticipation raising gooseflesh over his flushed skin.

“Are you ready?” Remus questioned unnecessarily as he picked up the scalpel.

He nodded quickly, thighs spreading even farther apart than the thigh cuffs were already pulling him open. More than ready. Eager.

Nodding once, Remus moved his left hand down from cock to balls to hold them steadily then he carefully drew then scalpel along the midline of the man's scrotum to the sound of his high pitched scream.

Don't misunderstand. I don't need that level of intensity and I only rarely enjoy it. I won't deny that the power is intoxicating, to have someone given over so completely that they will plead for any touch- whether it is a gentle caress or the sharp stab of needles over their back. But a lot of times it's the clandestine knowledge of another person, seeing a side of them that is private.

He nudged Tonks onto her back, watching how her legs spread naturally apart when she lay under him. He smile gently at her and she nearly beamed with pleasure at seeing the graceful curve of his lips. He gave a quiet, rueful laugh to acknowledge the rarity of the expression, the difficulty of the past two years. She blushed, lavender tinting the roots of her brown hair, and smiled just as ruefully back- an apology for the dogged attention, the constant gifts of tea and chocolate and books, which she had sent or given in person until the blow up at Hogwarts and subsequent discovery of her pregnancy.

Remus drew his fingers down her cheek and she turned and kissed the inside of his wrist, the tender adoration making him smile lightly again- not all that comfortably, but he was doing the best he could and she accepted that. Just as he accepted her desire to reshape her body with little to no provocation. Her breasts would be small and pert one day then large and full the next. Sometimes they were just the right size to nibble the dusty pink tips and other times they could press fully around the generous girth of his cock, allowing him to rub between them, cockhead brushing over her open mouth and eager tongue. On rare occasions she pushed her body to the limits of morphing, transforming the small nub of her clit into a hard cock-like shaft that would make any man proud.

But then there were days like this, where it was just Dora. Brown-haired, brown-eyed, Dora. Her body was small and slightly rounded, a bit more weight around hips and thighs than she would care to acknowledge, a few light stretch marks over her belly, the scar on her shin from one particularly bad topple out of her boots and into a display of aubergines. This was the Dora who just wanted to be loved and caressed and have the inside of her ankles kissed. He lifted one of her legs and brushed his lips softly over the skin just below the ankle bone.

Mind you, not all the knowledge of a person's desires and kinks is pleasant. I may be a hedonist, but even I will find a man's desire to eat shit whilst clad in oversized nappies and getting fucked with a rubber duck jammed onto a muggle power drill a bit worrying. But, as they say, to each his own. And the one that is most my own is mad and insatiable. Always has been.

“Oi! Moony!”

Remus looked up from his book, grateful Sirius had chosen this time to speak rather than simply start spelling dirty messages to appear in the middle of a chapter on the Rune Diaries of Mother Adelaide. “Yes?”

“Put your hand in my pocket.”

“Excuse me?”

“Put. Your hand. In my pocket.” Sirius explained with great care. Remus didn't like his expression.

“If you got another biting galleon in there, I'll hex your hair off. Again.”

Sirius grimaced. “C'mon, Moony. I learned!”

“You mean you were trained.”

“Learned. Trained. Whatever.” Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “Just trust me.”

“The last time you said that, my hand was stuck in your trousers for five hours,” Remus reminded him.

Sirius sighed dreamily, “Shit, what a brilliant five hours.”

Remus rolled his eyes while Sirius attempted to return himself to the present-- “Almost as good as that day with the Engorgible Love Hag.” -- and failed.

“Sirius?”

“Mmm?”

“Why do you want my hand in your pocket?”

“Oh. Right.” He scooted closer then picked up Remus' hand, and despite the half-hearted resistance, managed to slip it into his pocket. Remus turned his fingers slightly, trying to figure out what he was supposed to be feeling- then after a moment it dawned on him what he wasn't feeling. The cloth of Sirius' pocket was completely gone. His fingers found only Sirius' skin, warm and slightly damp, then the unmistakable line of Sirius' half-hard cock.

“See, Moony. This will make Transfiguration much more interesting.”

“You daft bastard.”

Sex should be laughed at- it's a ridiculous thing, really. But there is also serious magic in sex. And sex in magic- it just is a bit more obvious when it's witches or wizards fucking, more visible. It exists there for muggles too, but few are aware of what can be done with the rare gift of intimacy.

Remus' hand cupped Lily's breast, fingers curving around the lower edge of it and offering it up for the others to see. She moaned at being displayed like this, writhed against Remus' body as his thumb and forefinger slowly drew together to pinch at the rosy tip of her nipple. His eyes never left James' face, never stopped watching the slack-jawed stare of mixed lust and disbelief at seeing his wife naked in his best friend's flat, held and caressed his best friend's lover.

The best friend in question was, at the moment, lying on the enlarged sofa behind James, holding him still while his hips rocked slowly against James' bare arse. Their clothes were scattered over the floor and sofa; someone's sock dangled from the painting of a rather perplexed looking Welsh Green. James moaned loudly when Remus' hand took one of Lily's and slid down over the small mound of her belly and into the nest of red hair at the apex of her thighs. Her wedding ring caught the light, glinting in small sparkles over James' face.

“With this ring...,” Remus murmured into Lily's ear but loud enough that James could hear. James' cheeks turned a light shade of pink, a colour that darkened as Sirius took up James' left hand and set it against his groin.

“With this ring...,” Sirius echoed quietly. “Let's see you two have a nice wank, Prongs. Show us how much you love your wife, love seeing her like this- naked and wet in front of you.”

“Fuuuuck” was all that James managed as he started to fist his own cock. His tongue darted anxiously over his lips as Remus drew his wand and began to weave the young Potters' magic together. Deep red blended with pale blue, bright and trembling with the same love and arousal that made man and woman quiver in the steadying arms of another pair of bound lovers.

Sex is also about loss. No matter how perfect it is, it ends. There is a time your cock will be soft and untouched. Your cunt or arse empty. Even the anticipation itself is about loss, about what you do not have, and the agony of waiting to end that loss.

Sirius liked to be fucked into walls. Brick walls, wooden walls, shower walls. If he was trapped between Remus' body and some thing, any thing solid, he'd be hard as the stones scratching his chest. There was a security to it, knowing he wouldn't fly apart, knowing that Remus was just as secure and strong as the walls which surrounded him.

It gave him some threadbare comfort when Sirius was in Azkaban, knowing that the small confines of the cell would be less harrowing for him than the large expanse of ocean beyond. Had James been in there- James liked the wind in his hair and over his antlers and couldn't survive. But Sirius, Remus knew, was a survivor; more, he was a Marauder and, for all the evil and sadism of it, a Black. The odds were in his favour that he'd do more than just exist in Azkaban- he could survive.

The thoughts rarely did more than dull the sharpness of his loneliness. There were other things, just as weak on their own: the soft feel of Padfoot's leather collar, the scent of Sirius' preferred shampoo. There were potions he took that blurred the edges of everything, quieted the guilt when he first took another to his bed; half-expecting, half-hoping for Sirius' rage in finding his partner with another. But the years of his incarceration toiled on and Remus learned to adjust to the inevitability of comparing everyone he fucked to Sirius.

They always came up lacking. And no matter whether or not Remus had found his release in his own hands and spilled over the face of the latest person he dommed at one of the clubs or in Rosmerta's bed, he'd excuse him a short while later to stroke himself once more with Padfoot's collar in his hand.

But if things are right- if the partner is right, that loss can become powerful, beautiful. Not something physical to be mourned but something to be treasured, valued for the exquisiteness. That's what you deserve, what my son deserves. Make him happy, Victoire. Treasure him- and fuck him until he forgets his name.




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