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“Oh come on, Moony,” Sirius says through his grin, crooked and blinding, woven together by those words that Remus knows he can’t say no to—he’s known he couldn’t say no since the very beginning.
Not when Sirius is the way he is, looking the way he is, perched on top of his motorcycle like he’s perched on top of the world. Slight and beautiful, features etched into that grin that never leaves, that buries itself into Remus’ heart. Really, it’s so unfair. It’s cruel. Sirius is beautiful—silver-strung and face flushed with adrenaline. Remus pictures it flooding those veins on the curves of his wrists, dancing beneath his skin, as he stands there on the pavement.
Remus might not be able to say no to this, and he might have accepted this, but if he can do one thing, it’s push saying yes back.
“And why should I?” he quirks an eyebrow.
Sirius never stops grinning, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like he’s fully aware of what he does to the rhythm of beats in Remus’ chest.
“Because you’ll love it. Because I really, really want to take you for a ride.”
“Where to?”
The grin twists into something smaller, a lopsided lift of the lips that feels drowned in sincerity as he answers, “Anywhere you want, Moony.”
At that, Remus smiles too, and he feels it digging itself irremovably deep on his face. He’s helpless. He crosses his arms over his chest, watches as Sirius follows that movement with bright eyes, then back up to his face with a corner of his mouth caught behind his teeth. God.
Remus is truly, truly helpless. Wordlessly, he moves forwards, catching the way everything flickers and brightens in Sirius’ face, gathering in a pleased flush on his cheekbones. It’s a touch victorious, a touch knowing. And before Remus can let that simmer any longer, he’s dropping a hand onto Sirius’ shoulder and clambering onto the bike—if a little clumsily, a little wobbly.
It’s only once he’s hitched himself fully onto the seat, insides of his thighs pressed up against Sirius’, that he speaks.
“We can go anywhere you want. I don’t mind.”
It’s low, close to Sirius’ ear, and when Remus looks up at him, it’s almost alarming to find those silver eyes already trained upon him, unmoving. It’s a gaze that pierces, that tears Remus limb from limb and reduced to so, so little.
“How generous of you, Moony,” Sirius quips, slight and teasing.
“Shut up,” Remus only scoffs in return, grinning to him, letting his eyes flick over every part of his face, sharp and breathtaking.
There are eyes on them.
There will always be eyes on Sirius—a fact that Remus has long-since resigned himself to. This is different, though, and he knows it. Eyes are always on Sirius, always caught and lost so easily, watching him slip away and never forgotten. Now, eyes are on the hand that rests on Sirius’ shoulder, large and spanning over the jagged curve of his bones. Now, Remus wants to feel the stares, digging into his spine.
Remus wants.
Slow and teasing, because he can be as devilish as he wants to be now, Remus lets that hand curve closer to the junction of Sirius’ neck.
Something flickers in Sirius’ expression, untouched. It flickers even more when Remus’ second hand brings itself upwards too, travelling to the dip of Sirius’ hip, light and ephemeral—Sirius’ breath hitches. Remus grins, raw and as victorious as he feels.
“You need to—both hands round my waist,” Sirius manages to get out, airy and light. “To drive. Both hands.”
Remus does nothing but let his hands travel. His left thumb is brushing up against the curve of Sirius’ neck, brushing over muscles and tendons that lean into the touch. Remus is greedy. He asks for so much; his right hand curves around the curve of Sirius’ waste, all the way round.
“Remus Lupin,” is all Sirius breathes.
“Ooh, the full name,” Remus grins, something curling in his chest that he doesn’t have a name for. It grapples with his heart, tosses and turns any restraint he has. Helpless, really. “How serious.”
“Can’t believe you just made that joke,” Sirius manages to say, voice wavering in the stretch of his throat that Remus’ hand is gradually moving across. “Can’t believe you just did that, with—with your hand on my neck.”
Taunting and drowning in that, Remus leans forwards even more. They’re impossibly close. His hands seem to have minds of their own, they really do, his fingers playing with the hem of Sirius’ shirt, brushing over the skin of his stomach.
Sirius is blushing now, heavy and dark. It’s a condemning, burning low on his cheeks. Remus wants to drown in it.
“People can’t help but watch you, you know,” is what Remus then breathes out, rougher than he means it to be leaving his throat. It’s out now, lost in the air, and Sirius seems to drink it all in, eyes darkening by the second, reaching out and tracing every part of Remus’ face.
“Well, of course they’re gonna watch with you here, your hands—you’re—you’re impossible,” Sirius mumbles, lips clumsily shaping words that are just loose breaths.
“I want them to watch now,” Remus lets out, voice somewhere near a whisper.
Before he can even think about it, his fingers are twisting in the material of Sirius’ top, digging in deep, gathering it in his fist and tugging. It pools in his palm, Sirius’ skin pooled beneath his other, stretched out before him.
Remus thinks something’s burning in his chest. It’s turning him inside out, as he presses into Sirius’ back, pulls the boy as close as he can get.
If he could, he’d bury himself in Sirius’ ribcage, living and breathing alongside his heart, etched into those scalding insides—in front of him, Sirius swallows thickly. Remus feels the movement beneath his fingertips.
“Merlin,” Sirius says, voice strained. “Moony, when you’re—like this—”
His voice then trails off entirely, trembling and falling before their eyes, as Remus dips his head and presses a light kiss against an exposed sliver of his neck. He feels dizzy. Lightheaded. Completely lost to it all, and willingly so.
And because nothing’s ever enough with Sirius, Remus leans in and presses another, and another, dragging himself upwards to the curve of Sirius’ jawline. He kisses that too, touching every part he can reach.
When he draws back ever so slightly, all he whispers is a teasing, “When I’m like this?”
There’s a slight pause.
Remus tilts his chin back up, ever so slightly, just enough to catch the way Sirius blinks in recovery, hasty and reckless before he mumbles, “Shut up.”
And then Sirius is pushing forwards, catching his lips with his own, small and wild. The burning in Remus’ chest soars high, licking at his heart, his mind, charring it all as Remus kisses back, just as reckless, with just as much want. It is want, in the end, that always consumes them.
They’re watched, they’re balanced upon a motorcycle that Remus had once been deadly afraid of, and now he couldn’t care less—not when he’s cupping Sirius’ jaw like this, tracing his lips with his own, feeling the surge of Sirius’ hand coming to land by his knee, the tips of his fingers brushing between waves of hair that curl back around him, pulling him in. At least he’s shut up now. At least Sirius achieved that—the rest, it feels etched upon Remus’ skin, like the punishing scars upon his forearms, like the artful tattoos inked over his knuckles. This is purposeful; this is everything.
When they finally draw back from one another, Remus watches greedily the way Sirius’ dark lashes flutter, the way his lips are painted flush and rosy.
Sirius blinks, heavy and trembling.
“You’re impossible,” is what he whispers, breath stroking Remus’ skin.
A grin growing on his lips again, Remus unravels one hand from Sirius’ neck, dragging it down to join his other at the curve of Sirius’ waist. He releases the bunched-up fabric and smooths it down, grinning like nothing happened, like neither of them are painted in rosy hues, like nobody’s watching.
“Mm,” he just hums, overly-smug. “Now c’mon. Gonna take me for a ride or what?”