Title: Addict
Author: celandineb
Characters/Pairings: James, Peter, Remus, Sirius; Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: capnolagnia: arousal from watching others smoke (i.e. smoking fetish)
Other Warnings: oral sex
Word Count: 1285
Summary: Remus loves to watch Sirius when he's smoking.
Author's Notes: I've been an ex-smoker now twice as long as I actually smoked. I still occasionally miss it. Scary.


There is just something about watching a bloke smoke a cigarette, you know? Especially someone like Sirius.

James makes too big a production out of it. He taps the pack, then taps the cigarette itself, and flourishes his lighter—he says it's a Muggle habit, so a person should use the Muggle gear, not a fire spell—as if his life depended on touching the flame to the end in precisely the right way.

Peter fumbles around with his cigarettes, half the time managing to lose part of the tobacco onto the floor, or breaking them at the filter. It's obvious that he doesn't really enjoy smoking; he just smokes because everyone does, to be cool. I don't think he even inhales.

I tried smoking last summer and it made me ill. Seriously ill. I tried a couple of other times and the same thing happened, so I don't know if it's some kind of allergic reaction, or because I'm a werewolf, or what. It's not exactly the sort of thing I can ask my parents, if you know what I mean.

So I can't ever even hope to achieve the kind of seemingly effortless, casual way that Sirius smokes. He can shake out a cigarette from the pack in a single movement, light it, and let it hang from his lips without ever looking affected. He uses a Muggle lighter too, silver, with the family crest and his name engraved on it, and somehow it belongs in his hand, whereas James is too conscious of what he is doing.

I watch Sirius take a drag. He lets the smoke trickle out this time, drifting upward past his face. It never gets in his eyes. I don't know how he does it, but his smoke always seems to blow in Peter's direction. The way his lips purse as he inhales again has me shifting uncomfortably and glad that the school robes offer a lot of concealment, because I can't help imagining those same lips around my cock instead of the cigarette.

He catches my eye and gives me a slow grin. I suspect he knows what I am thinking. On his next drag he blows a smoke ring in my direction.

"How do you do that?" Peter asks, but Sirius just shakes his head.

"Practice, Wormtail. It takes practice... and a certain control." He winks at me. "Do you have that?"

Now I am certain that he has the same thing in mind that I do. When we first started messing around together, that was a kind of a joke between us, because we both were so excited that neither of us lasted more than a half a minute in the other's mouth before we came. It did take a lot of practice, and learning control, but it was worth it. Plus, the practice itself was more fun than setting off Dungbombs in the girls' loo.

Peter starts to scowl, but then he laughs instead, pretending that it's a joke.

James rolls his eyes and goes through his ritual again with a fresh cigarette. A stray gust of wind pushes his smoke at my face, and I have to make an effort not to cough. We're all up on the Astronomy Tower tonight because Professor Usil gave us extra homework for the prank we pulled in class last Tuesday. He has no sense of humour at all.

"I've had enough of this," Sirius says eventually, with a theatrical shiver.

"Go on then," James says. "I have to do rounds first; I'm supposed to meet Evans downstairs in half an hour."

"Coming, Moony? Wormtail, didn't you say that you had to get a book from the library? Better hurry, Pince won't like it if you're still in there when she wants to lock up."

It's true about the book, but that's also an excuse. The library won't close for nearly an hour. There's a girl in Hufflepuff that Peter fancies, though, and she is almost certain to be there, which means he won't come back to Gryffindor Tower for quite some time.

Sirius takes one final drag from his cigarette and drops the butt, grinding it out with his heel. I follow him inside, down flight after flight of stairs, and then up again to Gryffindor quarters, and our room. We don't lock the door, but I do put charms on Sirius's bed curtains so that they can't be opened and no sound will escape.

The only thing I don't like about Sirius smoking is the way his mouth tastes afterward. He keeps saying that he'll buy some Indian cigarettes that have cloves in them, which are supposed to taste a lot better, but he hasn't got round to it yet. I'm used to the ashy flavour by now any road, and it's worth it to have seen how sexy Sirius is when he smokes.

I strip down quickly, sliding under the sheets. Even though Sirius knows that I'm a werewolf and has seen all my scars practically every day in the showers since we were firsties together, I still don't like to have him look at my ugly body. I wish I were handsome like him, or James... or even just average-looking the way I might have been if I had never been bitten. Sirius doesn't care, as far as I can tell, but I do.

He gets in after me and we kiss, pressed together. His arms wrap around me and our legs tangle up as we roll around under the covers. He's a marvellous kisser, or so I think. I don't have anything to compare him to, but he's kissed a few others besides me—both boys and girls—and he says I kiss pretty well myself, so I guess we're both all right when it comes to that. After a while I can't taste the cigarette smoke any longer, and my cock and Sirius's are trapped between our stomachs, sticky with sweat and pre-come. Sirius reaches between us and uses two fingers and his thumb to hold me, delicately, with the same gesture he uses to hold his cigarettes, and I gasp at his touch.

"Padfoot..."

Sirius doesn't answer in words. He bends and dives under the covers, and then his mouth is on the head of my cock, sucking, and again I envision him taking a drag from a cigarette, sucking on it, and I wonder if he thinks of doing this while he is smoking. I would. I think he might, too, because the slow speed of his lips and tongue and hands seem to correspond to the time it takes to smoke a cigarette down, maybe eight minutes or ten, and when I come I think of the glow of the tobacco ember bursting into fiery sparks as it is ground out.

I can't smoke, but I can try to duplicate that experience when it's my turn to suck Sirius off, and I do. He inhales sharply each time my lips close around him, and I roll his bollocks between my fingers the way Sirius used to roll his own cigarettes, before he decided it was too much fuss and he didn't like the way the tobacco fell out on his tongue. That tobacco tasted better to me than what they put in the premade cigarettes, but he's the one who smokes.

He is panting now, close to coming, and I redouble my efforts, rewarded by the sharp bitter taste that fills my mouth at his climax. Even that has a slight flavour of smoke, but I don't mind it. Sirius may be addicted to his cigarettes; I am addicted to him, and I never hope to quit.