pre_raphaelite1 (pre_raphaelite1) wrote in pervy_werewolf, @ 2008-05-01 21:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | #lmom 2008, author: pre_raphaelite1, kink: wanking (solo or mutual), remus/sirius |
LMoM: Scentillation (Revisited) #1 [Remus/Sirius, NC-17]
Title: Scentillation (Revisited): Hymn to Proserpine (#1)
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Kink(s): Wanking
Challenge: LMoM 2008
Word Count: 708
Notes: All subtitles and summaries are names and descriptions of perfume oils from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and therefore belong to the BPAL powers that be. I'm merely fangirling them with Remus/Sirius pron. And HP belongs to JKR, of course. Click on the tag of my username for previous entries.
Today's Scent Description/Summary: "The darkening amber of faith’s sunset, deepened by the dark fruits of Proserpine."
Scentillation(Revisited): Hymn to Proserpine (#1)
He trails Remus like a shadow, dark and silent. Through the narrow streets, heedless of the cold bite of the wind which whistles around corners and set the hanging wooden signs creaking. His footsteps make no sound though Remus' shoes tapped out a steady beat over dark grey cobblestones. The streets are oddly empty. Doors chained shut and windows boarded up. Fallen leaves and discarded sweet wrappers flutter helplessly against the sides of the buildings, trapped between wind and stone.
Remus pauses at a door half-hidden by an overgrown shrubbery, the paint peeling away from the door in faded blue curls. When Remus has to shoulder the door open, a few paper-thin pieces of decaying paint and wood crumble to the ground. They haven't even life left enough to move as Sirius walks over them, following Remus up the stairs to his flat. He doesn't bother with the lights; there's just enough light trickling through the dirty windows to show the outline of sofa, chair, bed. Sirius sidesteps over the morning's papers as Remus shrugs out of his worn coat and drapes it over the back of the chair. He sits on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes, setting them neatly beside one another. Standing back up, he deftly unbuttons his shirt with practiced fingers and pulls it free of his trousers before pulling it off. His trousers are next, unbuttoned, unzipped, taken off.
He walks into the tiny bathroom in his boxer-briefs and turns on the taps in the shower, murmuring- not a spell- but a prayer that the water heater will work tonight. It takes it a few clatters and groans but eventually the water falling from the metal head above him starts to steam lightly, and both Remus and Sirius exhale a sigh of relief. Only then does Remus bother getting out of his pants, stepping smoothly in under the water, graying hair turning dark as it is soaked.
Sirius lingers outside the shower, watching Remus as he just stands there for a few moments, letting the heat suffuse his body, visibly ease the tightness in muscles bunched and knotted over a too thin frame. Steam fills the small room when Remus begins to wash himself, the crisp scent of soap mixing into the warm vapor. The soap lathers into bubbles, delicate translucent rainbows that slip down his skin, over his flat nipples, down his sides, across the pink bite scar, around the jutting hipbones. His fingers almost seem to chase the lather, sweeping it back up then down as if not to waste any of it.
But then, his hands move to his groin, with the same shameless directness of scrubbing his arms. He curls his right around his cock, the left cupping his balls for a brief squeeze. His eyes close as he starts to wank, hand tight around his hardening cock, pulling it into a full erection. His hand moves quickly over his shaft, soap bubbling up under the head then pushed off by the ring of thumb and forefinger. Sirius watches him without speaking, transfixed by the sigh of Remus' hand and cock, the flushed skin and the pale streaks of soap. Sirius curls his hands at his sides, wanting to reach out and touch him, to use his hand or his mouth on him, to make him arch and thrust, to make him come and cry out his name. But he remains where he is, just watching; and Remus makes no noise, no moan of pleasure, no groan of release, as he brings himself off, his release falling with the water and lost into the darkness beyond the rusted drain.
Sirius closes his eyes then, sighing in frustration and shoving his hands into his pockets, while Remus rinses his body off. There's nothing he can do now. No comfort or apology or pleasure he can give to him. Not here. Not now.
“Fuck you, Sirius.” Remus growls as he reaches out for his towel then steps out of the shower. Sirius' head bows at the tired anger in his voice but he does nothing more than mouth his apology.
Jaw set, Remus dries himself off before walking unknowingly through Sirius' penitent form.
First person to leave feedback gets to choose the BPAL scent as the prompt/inspiration for the next day’s ficlet! Should this not work out, I'll pick a reviewer at my discretion. Thanks to marilla82 for this one.