Title: "Full"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Characters: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Much swearing and insulting of vicars :P
Themes/kinks chosen: Enemas
Word Count: 1930
Summary: “Because I want to,” Remus informed him in a low pitch that sent gooseflesh rippling up Sirius' spine. “Because I want to see just how much you can fucking take before you start begging me to stop. Because I want you to feel just what it would be like to have every inch of your arse straining and stretched until it's indistinguishable from your intestines and all you know and all you are is full.”
Author's notes: I think I need to change my username to "nooneelse" so when these particular themes come up everyone will know that "nooneelse" will right them. :P And alisanne? I promised you fluffy after the July necro fic, so here. This fluffy enema is for you. :P



Sirius groaned; his back and knees were killing him. That was the point, he knew, of Remus leaving him like this, bent over the piano bench. He wasn't tied to it, no leather or rope or silk wrapped around his wrists or thighs. That would have improved things considerably from Sirius' perspective. Again, the point of not doing it. So instead of waiting with a raging hard-on in the sitting room for Remus to come fuck the living shit out of him while he strained under the restraints, Sirius had to wait patiently for fuck-knows-what, of his own damn accord, all while staring at a scuff into the oak finish that didn't even have a good story behind it. It didn't have a story at all as far as Sirius knew; he'd bought the piano for Remus at a charity shop and it had come pre-scuffed. Probably some old codger's cat, Sirius decided. A big ugly one. With one eye. No elegant black and gray tabbies on this piano. All hairballs and torn ears.

He decided that beating his head on the bench might be acceptable, might even be interesting. And it damn well might distract him from the fact that his lack of clothes (and bondage and hard-on) meant that he was just fucking cold and not gloriously naked for all to see. And by all, Sirius meant Remus. But even that bastard wasn't in the room. Where is he? He's gone to the store. Or out for a pint. Or moved to fucking Birmingham. Sirius shifted his hips slightly to try to avoid the edge of the bench then realised that no one moves to Birmingham voluntarily. Maybe there's a werewolf enclave there. And pints. And stores. “Fucking hell.

“I suppose I didn't tell you to stay quiet.”

“Shit! Fuck and shit and Jesus fucking Merlin on a rainbow cross. Why don't you make any bloody noise when you come into a room?” The edge of the bench had, in Sirius' startlement at Remus' voice being suddenly about four feet above him, decided to become intimately acquainted with his spleen. Not the kind of pain I was after, thanks. Sirius glared murderously at the bench.

“Please remember that we're having dinner with Ted and Andromeda tomorrow night and that his father is a vicar,” Remus commented blandly.

“Right. Goddamn vicars,” Sirius muttered, quickly deciding that the owner of the furniture destroying cat had been a vicar and had probably put some sort of anti-spleen curse onto the bench. But Remus said nothing in response to this and things had gone far too quiet again. “Moony?”

Nothing.

“Moony?”

Still nothing but the pratically audible throb of blood welling up in his spleen and probably about to cause his death... At least I'll make a good looking corpse, naked or not. “If I die, bury me with Marla. You know, if you even care now that you're gone again and it's damn cold in here and my knees- holy shit.” Sirius stiffened as something warm and distinctly slick was rubbed over his exposed arsehole. Things were starting to look up. He pushed his hips back instinctively toward it, moaning as whatever it was slipped inside him.

“No.” Remus said and Sirius froze, certainly not about to risk having obvious promise of a good time taken out again. Remus chuckled softly from behind him, sliding the narrow object deeper into Sirius' arse. “That's not what I meant, Padfoot. I meant, no, I'm not burying you with the damn motorbike.”

“But... I promised her...” he said breathily, Words. I know words..., “Promised her we'd be together... Til the end.” He was moving, he realised, as the scuff on the bench was not quite as in focus all the time as it had been before ... before Remus. BR. In the year of our werewolf... . After a moment he was sure he gave his hips permission to start this rocking and he was sure he remembered the year because that would make the BR much funnier in his head, but there was something working gently in and out of his arse, narrow and smooth and god why isn't that bigger?

“When you're dead, that's the end, Padfoot. That's 'til the end'.” Remus reasoned calmly, slowly fucking him in shallow strokes.

“Fuck you... and your... damn wolf logic... Moony,” Sirius responded half-heartedly as he squirmed between the too narrow whatever and the piano bench. This earned him another low laugh but it also made the fucking stop. Sirius whined quietly.

Remus patted him on the hip. “Steady now, Padfoot.” There was something in that tone and those words that worried Sirius. Like he needed calming. Wasn't he calm? Was he going to need calming? That's the tone that Remus used when Sirius was about to punch Regulus' nose in for contributing to Regulus' existence. And that time when James had put the tortoi- Fuck. “Fuck. What... What are you-” His words broke off in a strangled groan. Something was expanding in him. Something warm and wet?

“Steady. Don't fight it.” That tone again. No wonder he was using it. Sirius' arse was starting to feel very full and not in the “I've got Remus' brilliantly huge cock up there” full either. Uncomfortably full. Bad uncomfortable.

“Good boy,” Remus murmured.

Good boy? Good boy?! Sirius could nearly feel his eyes straining from his sockets. Was Remus trying to make him need to shit? This was not sexy. None of this-- okay, maybe the hand that hand just moved down to caress his balls was sexy. It certainly felt sexy.... Yes. Yes, sexy was definitely rubbing over his balls. “M-moony?”

The pause before he answered clearly told Sirius that Remus was enjoying this to gloating status, but luckily the hand on his balls didn't stop so Sirius minded the gloat less. And he was starting to mind the odd sensations in his arse a bit less too. “It's warm water, Padfoot. A little bit of soap, but mostly water.”

“Why?” Something about what warm water plus arses meant was tickling the edges of Sirius' brain, but Merlin, Remus' hand is God.

“Because I want to,” Remus informed him in a low pitch that sent gooseflesh rippling up Sirius' spine. “Because I want to see just how much you can fucking take before you start begging me to stop. Because I want you to feel just what it would be like to have every inch of your arse straining and stretched until it's indistinguishable from your intestines and all you know and all you are is full.”

Sirius trembled, eyes now fixed on the bench before him, but seeing nothing. His hands gripped the bench legs, knuckles gone white with the effort to stay there under the weight of Remus' words. At some point he might remember to breathe, might remember that there is anything beyond Remus and what Remus can do to him. Anything moaned the tiny part of his brain that was capable of higher functions.

Remus shifted to one side of him, a quiet rustle of fabric on fabric, and the push inside of him expanded, water seeking out new twists and corners of him to fill. His stomach... his gut was tightening up, cramping slightly around the liquid being forced into it. “Don't push against it, Padfoot. You won't like what I'll do to you if you do.”

Sirius went stiff, desperate to comply, obey, but the more he thought about it the more his body begin to do it. No. No. Beyond the pleas of his own brain there was a quiet shushing sound, not Remus, but something he had. A something that was adding more pressure inside of him, just inside the tight, lubed ring of muscle.

“This will help some, keep you from losing too much of it. Provided you stay still.” Remus had that particular sound of equal parts amusement and warning and Sirius knew, completely knew he was fucked. So fucking full. Every bit of his arse and his stomach and he swears he can feel it sloshing inside of him. Sloshing? Shit. Not staying still. Stay still. You can do it.

He couldn't do it. His weight was shifting from one knee to the other, hips moving restlessly, squirming, wanting, needing. He needed to not be so full. He needed to come. To end the fullness of balls and cock that he didn't even know had become such a throbbing weight until that moment. They seemed to be pulling on him, somehow adding to the aching fullness inside him that was reaching ever farther, higher, deeper into him. He started to shake, breath ghosting hotly against the wood, desperate whines escaping from his parted lips that seemed swollen though he didn't remember biting at them.

“Moony,” he finally managed to beg though how audible it was, Sirius had no idea. He heard it in his head above the roaring how did fullness have a sound anyway? and he felt the air move over his lips but it seemed years before Remus asked quietly, “Yes, Padfoot?”

“Please.” If he had more brain function he'd be using it to hope that Remus knew what he was asking for but Sirius wasn't even sure himself and what did it matter to him anyway? He was so full, aching, straining full. Nothing but full everywhere, even his tongue felt thick and heavy as he licked over his lips.

One of Remus' hands closed on Sirius' cock, tightly squeezing its swollen length. The object in him moved, drew back with a deep tug against the inside of his arsehole until it popped out of him with a rush of fluid. Then more and more, pouring out of him, down his thighs and over his calves, splashing farther over his heels as he tensed under Remus' gripping, stroking, beautiful hand. The soapy water spewing from his arse seemed to be drawn from every nerve inside him, draining them tight and hot and he let himself be washed over, under, and away by the liquid fire that filled his balls and brain.

***

Sirius' eyelids fluttered faintly; this he knew because there was fuzzy light intermittently disturbing his happy darkness. He groaned, wishing it would go away. Now the warm body pressed against him was definitely supposed to stay. “Sit. Stay. Good dog.”

He sniggered into something soft and smelling distinctly tweedy. “Mmm, Moony.”

He burrowed into it, nose pressing closer to smell the warmth of tea and dusty novels beyond the tweed... and maybe somewhere in there was Wolf or Control or that strange soap from Lily's friend Heliotrope had made during her last “communion with the earth” which Sirius knew translated to sleeping in the backgarden of her house in Luton.

“You can't crawl inside of me, Padfoot.” Remus chided softly.

“S'where y'wrong...” Sirius slurred and continued wriggling closer to Remus' jumpered chest. “Make you asfullas me. Was. As I was.... Make you full of me.”

Remus smiled at the top of Sirius' hair, as he laid his wand aside, cleaning charms long done. “I already am, Padfoot. No room for anyone in here but you.”