Marauder crack

Secret Recipe

If on Tuesday Sirius had heard of a headache, he would have asked cheerfully what the heck is it. On Wednesday, he would have preferred to let himself ripped an arm before having to experience once again and on his own behalf. Pain, pain. He wants to blow his head off. It's like one hundred drums banging into his head constantly. Au, au, AUCH. He stumbles into the room on his way, as Peter sees him pale and haggard.

- Sirius, you don't have a good face.

It is the undervaluation OF THE CENTURY. He is dying. He wants to die.

It is so intense, it is so horrible that he even has spasms in his arms.

McGonagall recommends rest, and for the first time since he has memory, he obeys a teacher and goes upstairs thinking of bed bed bed bed bed. He throws himself unceremoniously. The world is a blurry haze and it hurts, his whole head is a huge giant bruise that hurts, bothers, irritates, pains. Hears the door as if it had been opened terribly far away.

- I brought you a sleep potion. Peter says you look horrible.

With an effort, he lifts his head from the pillow.

- Has HE looked in a mirror?

- It shouldn't hurt so much if you want to be an ass.

He sets the sleeping potion on the ground, and Remus crouches next to the bed. It may be the pain and that feeling of vulnerability that so little often provokes him, but he feels the urge to ask him to get on the bed with him, draw the curtains and snuggle until he gets better.

"That's something a fucking girl would want" Sirius complains to himself.

- It hurts me a lot.

- Head?

The head and shoulders and arms. And the skin. "And what's wrong with him lying down with me if I want?". He thinks about asking him to do so after all.

- A lot.

He speaks very softly, any effort to make it louder alone could cause enormous stabs of pain at the base of his skull. Is not an option. To hear him, Remus has to get closer and support the head on the bed, until they're barely a few inches apart, whispering.

Sirius sees him blurry and thinks it is from the pain until Remus pushes him a curl of hair from his face with those fingers that treat him with so much care. So soft. No one has ever treated him like this. Sirius wouldn't have let anyone do that. Maybe he likes it. "So what if I like it?". Maybe he is dying and is entitled to a moment of weakness. Remus has long eyelashes and a loooong freckled nose.

- Moony.

- What.

- Have you always been so handsome?

He blushes. It's one of those wacky things that Sirius loves. When they tell him how handsome he is, his answer is always "I already knew" if whoever flatters him dislikes the person asking, or an invitation, "Is not my best quality" if he likes the person in question. And Sirius is not handsome like Remus, handsome in the only way it means anything.

- No, like seriously. When did you decide to be so handsome?

- That headache is bad, Pads. He is making you delirious.

It is a mystery how Remus always sees everything so clearly and he does not see himself the same.

- Make the pain go away and I'll keep asking you.

There are many kinds of magic and as heir to the power of the Black, he knows almost all of them. But there is a form of white magic, a mysterious and old one in which Remus will always get ahead of him. He will be a teacher with lots more knowledge than he could ever dream of.

- Lie down, Padfoot.

Sirius obeys, lies on his stomach, and closes his eyes so that magic takes place. Notices the nice weight of Remus on the bed, listening to enchantments that he does not know and above all, feels "Lord" the pressure of his fingers at the base of the nape "Just like that". The pain is silent for an instant and when the next wave arrives it is more generalised throughout the body but easier to bear, more unhearing. Remus inquires into the mysteries of the muscles and tendons, right where the hair is born and the relief is immediate, causing cold, a breath of warm air into the muscles that were too hot. Sirius feels him sinking into the bed, enveloped by a soporific relief and prayer, that endless succession of words in Latin, kindly inviting him to rest. As the pain subsides, the sensation of Remus's physics kneading all the invisible contracts from his back makes it more intense.

- Better?

- Hmm, keep up.

And bloody hell he continues. Remus takes his shirt out of his pants, sits on his legs, close to the ass, and squeezes hard, hard exactly across the back. First on the shoulders, with both hands -Sirius moans-, and then on both sides of the spine -Sirius feels that he breaks - pressing and kneading at the same time. The whole back of him, from above, until approaching the edge of the pants. The sudden absence of pain amplifies sensations. Hands on his back, skin against skin. Remus on top of him.

- From now on you will dedicate yourself only to my personal diversion, Lupin.

He laughs and Siruis's whole body vibrates.

- Like a house-elf?

He maneuvers under his body. He turns around, ends up wrinkling his shirt uniform, he sees him on his bed and can't resist. He pulls on the tie to get him closer.

- A little different.

A foot away, their clothes intermingle, their arms, the smell of Remus's books, the scent of the roost, the soap on the sheets. They are so on top of each other, pelvis to pelvis and it's hot for autumn. The bed seems the beginning and the end of the world likewise.

- Will I have to obey you?

Sirius nods in response with studied solemnity.

- In my house, merciless disobedience is punished.

- At the moment, I am not planning to say no to you. - Remus takes a deep breath, making more pronounced the drooping of the eyes, the tongue just behind the teeth, a withering intensity, so close, so accessible, so in his hands, as he was just a second ago under his. Languid, liquid, insinuating like a panther. - That I have to do?

Too many things occur to Sirius. He chews evil ideas. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so arduous that he is salivating. But now that he has all the power in his hands, he can get whatever he wants, he finds out, "what a surprise", that what he wants it is to continue being kneaded by Remus Lupin, under his spell, drawn by his magic.

- Kiss me, Lupin.

"Devour me".

For him, and for those sublime kisses in which he loses himself. Remus tempts him, kisses without haste, moistens his lips with the tip of his tongue, and then drops it in and out and in and out again. The shadow of the beard, the softness of the lips, the caressing blackness inside his mouth. Sirius is assaulted by the desire to fall inside him and get lost. "That mouth". He wants that mouth everywhere, elsewhere.

- Anything else?

He feels something, a pulsing stiffness against him, in the gap where the legs and he starts everything else. And it's funny how after a pain such as a torturous headache, that moment gives him a fabulous clarity of mind.

- I already told you to kiss me.

- I've already kissed you.

- But I haven't told you where exactly.

He pushes Remus to make space between them, he crawls a hand between the two of them, and he quickly unbuttons his pants and the room becomes filled with the sound of his own zipper going down.

- Kiss me now, Lupin.

He sounds aggressive and domineering and he is sure that Remus will not accept the challenge. Sure until he sees that lunatic gleam in his gaze, lowers his head, as he starts licking the end of her stomach. He thinks that Remus, under the harmless facade of a model student, will always be a marauder, and then comes the first brush of his tongue on his cock and then he no longer thinks about anything.