Chapter Text
It was one thing to talk a big game. One thing to brag to his friends about how he was going to seduce Sirius Black. But when Remus peeked out from the locker rooms of Pete’s rink to see hordes of people, dozens of cameras, and a fifteen-year-old figure skating prodigy whose only goal is to steal the coach that Remus was finally ready to admit he was in love with … well, that was something else entirely.
Dorcas had done his eyeliner. Marlene had affixed a silver feather barrette into one side of his dark curls. Pete had given him a shot of whiskey from his cache in the basement. He’d had pep talks from his parents, his grandparents, from James, but there was one glaring void. Remus hadn’t seen Sirius since the night before when Sirius had bolted from Remus’ bedroom. That was the point, of course, Sirius wouldn’t see either skater ahead of their short program, so that he could watch impartially.
But if what he’d said to Remus was true, Sirius was anything but impartial. He wanted Remus to win. He wanted to stay with Remus. Apparently, he wanted to kiss Remus. And nothing in the world had given Remus this level of confidence as knowing that Sirius wanted him. It was compounded by the fact that Remus was wearing Sirius’ outfit from his free skate, amplified by the memory of a video in which Sirius had been shamelessly moaning into Remus’ open mouth. If he could pull Sirius Fucking Black, he could do anything in the fucking world. He could land a quad lutz in the latter half of a technically difficult short program choreographed by the most skilled figure skater in the world, no problem. After all, Sirius had choreographed this program for Remus, chosen the song for Remus. He’d given it to Remus as a gift.
Remus could finally give it back to him the way it was intended to be given, landing that quad lutz and the combination, and he would do it easily. He would skate onto that ice dripping with seduction, just like Sirius wanted, and he would leave everyone in the rink flush with wanting more. But he wasn’t skating it for them. He was skating it for Sirius. And if he skated it right, Sirius would know that.
Per the agreement that Sirius had negotiated when the competition had been set, Draco would skate first, and Remus resigned himself to watching from the locker room doorway with the intent that he would save his own dramatic entrance for after Draco finished skating. He hadn’t seen Sirius yet, and he was hoping that an element of surprise would be on his side, aiding in his quest for seduction.
Despite the boost of confidence from wearing Sirius’ clothes and watching Sirius lust after him, both on tape and in real time, Remus was still nervous about Draco’s short program. After all, the kid was a prodigy, and for good reason. He was slender enough, light enough, athletic enough that he was the first person in the world to ever attempt a quadruple axel at Junior Worlds and, for the most part, land it, though it had technically been a quarter rotation short. The doubt in Remus’ mind crept in quickly as he watched Draco confidently take the ice in a solid black outfit, sharply contrasted to his white-blonde hair.
When the music started, Remus couldn’t name the song. But it was clear that it was by the same artist that Remus would be skating to later on. Where Remus’ music started with a driving beat and impatient breaths, bleeding with sensualism, Draco’s started with choral voices and softened piano, filled with sentiment and emotion. It was starkly different from the pieces that Draco typically skated to, but watching him now, Remus wouldn’t have been able to tell. His every movement was focused and careful, sweeping over the ice with a level of passion that Remus had never seen from Draco Malfoy, the ardent expression on his face correlated perfectly to every delicate but deliberate turn of his skates.
In the programs of Draco’s that Remus had seen before, it was clear that he tried to cram as many difficult jumps into his programs as he could, only using the artistic parts of the program to gain speed to land harder jumps. This was nothing like that. If anything, Remus was surprised by the fact that Draco hadn’t attempted a single jump yet. At the same time, if he wasn’t a skater, he likely wouldn’t have noticed, because he was absolutely transfixed by Draco’s performance. Every turn was breathtaking.
He was so affected by this skate that when Draco finally did make his first jump, the quad lutz that Remus notoriously had trouble with, the singer crooned with the line of, ‘Every sway just breaks me a little.’ When Draco landed it, he did it so fluidly, Remus found himself taking in a sharp, staggering breath at how impressively easy Draco made it look, how he made every gesture look woefully elegant.
Remus had a hard time focusing on the technical aspects of the program, watching this skate from a critical standpoint, because it was so spellbinding. There had been jumps in between his focus, jumps that Draco landed just as smoothly as any other, but strangely, the jumps were not the central focus of this short program, as they usually were for Draco. Instead, Remus found himself watching the deep furrow in Draco’s brow as the song moved on with ‘I’m afraid to find out that I might be right for you,’ and the way Draco kept skating to a particular side of the rink where James’ skater, Harry was standing at the wall, looking as if he were thinking about leaping over it to skate with him.
When the beat of the song got heavier and more insistent, after the lyric of ‘I can’t decide what I want,’ Draco did the thing that Remus was afraid he would do. He attempted the quadruple axel. The moment Draco leapt off of the outside edge of his left skate, Remus sucked in a deep breath, holding it deep in his chest as Draco was in the air. His right skate came down, but it wasn’t quite on the outside edge, and he stumbled a bit, leaning down to the ice to keep himself upright, brushing it with his fingers.
There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the audience, and the frustration was clear in Draco’s expression. But before he could even fully right himself and continue on, there was a sharp, ear-piercing whistle from across the ice. Remus tore his gaze away from Draco to find Harry with both forefingers in his teeth, delivering another whistle of keen approval. At once, the smile on Draco’s face manifested, undeniable but strangely bashful, and when he swept past that area of the rink with the words of the song stating, ‘I know you can’t take this back and forth,’ he reached out and let his hand brush over Harry’s cheek. The contentment on Harry’s face was palpable, smiling from across the ice.
From that moment on, Draco’s movements transitioned from somber and forlorn to blatantly enthusiastic. Where once the expression on his face had been tight and troubled, it was now light and carefree, just the same way Sirius’ face had been when he’d skated Bird Set Free for the first time.
During the step sequence, when the song moved into, ‘I ain’t scared of my emotions, but I’m afraid to let you see,’ Remus couldn’t help but watch the way Harry leaned forward onto the wall around the ice, letting his face fall into his waiting hands, propped up by his elbows as he watched Draco skate for him. And Remus imagined what it would look like if Sirius would watch him that way. He let out a breath.
But he didn’t dare let his gaze wander around the rink to look for him. He wanted the first time his eyes landed on Sirius to be when he was on center ice with Sirius’ hungry gaze already on him. He wanted to glance over and see Sirius’ silver eyes travel down to his skates and back up to the feather barrette in his hair that he’d placed there just for Sirius to see. He wanted Sirius to whistle for him the way Harry had whistled for Draco. He wanted Sirius to smile at him the way Draco smiled for Harry.
The song came to a close with, ‘If you close that door, you’ll see. You’re unhinged, you’re just like me,’ the singer going high and delicate in his notes as Draco used the last of his momentum in a layback Ina Bauer that skirted him around the edge of the ice next to where Harry watched him dreamily. As the choral vocalization from the beginning of the song returned, Draco moved back to center ice just to take his closing stance, one arm draped heavily behind him, the other held over his now heaving chest.
At first, when the music ended, the rink was completely silent, all of them in communal awe from watching this program. All at once, the crowd exploded with applause, Remus included. Part of him wondered how he could ever measure up to this short program. But Sirius had choreographed it, Sirius had coached Draco, just the same as he had for Remus. Their programs were on opposite sides of the spectrum, and Remus knew that Sirius had done that intentionally, giving them music and choreography that was starkly different from what they were used to skating, used to draw out their absolute potential.
Remus remained tucked into the entrance of the locker room for a few minutes, giving the applause time to die down, giving fans time to throw their flowers and gifts out onto the ice, giving Draco time to take his graceful but exhilarated bows. After the last one, without a shred of hesitation in the kick of his skates, Draco skated over to the wall where Harry was waiting. Draco swept in briskly, not a single pause as he took Harry’s face into his hands and pulled him into a tender kiss. The audience erupted again, and just like the last time, Remus was among them. This time, he was the one to whistle.
There was a brief intermission of sorts as Draco skated off the ice, as the ice was cleaned of debris, as the audience was given time to discuss the specifics of Draco’s short program. In that time, Pete came into the locker room, finding Remus leaned up against the wall, taking deep, calming breaths.
“You’ve got this,” he said, massaging Remus’ shoulders. “Listen to me. You’ve got this.”
“That skate was incredible, Pete,” Remus said, blowing out a breath through pursed lips. But before Pete could present his arguments, Remus smirked, eyes shimmering. “But I will win this.” There was a prideful wrinkle in Pete’s nose as Remus continued. “I won’t let anything take Sirius away from me.”
“Then go show him what you’ll do to keep him,” Pete said with a wink. As Remus stood to his full height, augmented because of his skates, Pete squeezed him by both arms, nodding encouragingly. As Remus stepped out from the locker room, Pete delivered a sharp, reassuring smack on his arse.
By the time Remus had removed his skate guards at the edge of the rubber flooring directly surrounding the rink and stepped up to the wall around the ice, every eye in the rink was on him. He could hear the whispers spreading like a wave through the crowd, starting with those closest to him, flourishing and growing until eve the ice was buzzing with it. But Remus barely paid them any heed.
At first, he didn’t see Sirius. Couldn’t find him for all the faces watching him. But he knew he was here. He knew he was watching. That was all that really mattered. With one last cleansing breath to rid him of his anxieties, he skated out to center ice, waving and smiling as the crowd cheered for him.
As he turned to wave to the side of the rink that was behind where he stood, that was when he saw him. Across the ice, leaning on the wall at one end, was Sirius Black, looking at Remus much the same way as he had the night before, when he saw Remus wearing his free skate outfit. He looked a bit more disheveled than he had the night before, like he hadn’t slept at all since then. His hair was an absolute disaster, tied back into a disorderly knot at the crown of his head, his usually straight hair coiled and frizzy all across the top of his head. The dark circles underneath his eyes were like charcoal painted on his pale skin, sharply highlighting the silver flash that shone through his somber lashes. And when he looked at Remus then, with Remus looking back at him, his whole countenance softened. The dark circles didn’t look so dark, his hair looked more purposefully tousled than absently bedraggled. He looked free.
With intent in his gaze, Remus raised his chin in Sirius’ direction, spiking up a single brow as he deliberately let his focus drag down Sirius’ torso, covered in a black thermal that went down to his fingertips, holes in the seam at the side for his thumbs to stick out. For a moment, Remus thought maybe he wouldn’t understand the message he was trying to send. Or maybe that he would ignore the message.
In the next instant, Sirius took a single step back, just so that Remus could see the full length of Sirius’ expansive waist. With a slight tilt of his head and a suggestive rise of his brow, Sirius lifted the hem of his shirt, willfully showcasing a glorious little slice of his fit stomach, just above the waist of his black boxers. And before Remus could tear his focus away, Sirius slipped his thumb into one side of the waistband of his black joggers and angled them down his hipbone with a fleeting flourish of his wrist. For the briefest of moments, Remus was gifted with a glimpse of black ink on otherwise pale skin, reminding him of the secret tattoo that Sirius promised to show him if he won. A tattoo nobody in the world knew about but him, that nobody in the world had ever seen, on skin that Remus had only ever dreamed about.
The way Remus swallowed was obvious. The way he darted his tongue out before biting down tightly onto his bottom lip was obscene. The way his eyes shot back up to meet Sirius’ gaze when Sirius let the hem of his shirt drop was incited. There was nothing that could keep Remus from winning this now.
With a short nod (and another rousingly risen brown) from Remus, Sirius gave the signal to start the music as Remus took his starting position – both arms raised over his head, elbows jutting out to either side. With one last glance of provocation in Sirius’ direction, Remus tossed his head back and let his hands move down over his hair, careful to avoid bumping the barrette Marlene had so carefully placed.
There were a few seconds of build up before the beat started, and Remus held his position during that gradient, just the way Sirius had done the first time Remus had seen him skate this program. In practice, it had been so technical, so clinical, and things with Sirius during the last month had been so hot and cold that Remus had never given himself permission to enjoy the choreography of this program. It had become all about memorizing the steps and landing the jumps and moving his hips just right and struggling to be seductive that Remus had forgotten the joy of watching Sirius skate this program.
As the beat moved in, Remus let his body move on its own, the way it had when he’d skated Bird Set Free, the way it had that night when he’d pressed Sirius up against the wall of this very rink, the way it had when he’d tilted his head at Sirius’ command. ‘Cigarette,’ the vocalist sang, breathy and inviting, ‘that I never got a chance to hit.’ His hands moved down from his hair to his obedient torso, twisting and curving in all the right places, and it reminded him of the night before, when Sirius had seen him in this outfit for the first time, the reflexive way his hands had immediately moved to touch Remus in it.
When his hips swayed to the rhythm, he remembered the way he had watched them sway against Sirius’ in that video of the afterparty in Minsk. When his shoulders dipped into the melody with his arms above his head, he couldn’t help but think about his fingers pushing through Sirius’ hair when his tongue had been in Sirius’ mouth, tucked into that alcove in the hotel hallway. When he moved into the combination quad flip and triple toe loop, he focused on the stolen moments from that night that he had started to recall more and more ever since James showed him the recorded memory of it. So focused, in fact, that he barely registered the fact that he’d even left the ice, much less that he’d come back down.
‘I was so foolish, on some stupid shit,’ the song continued as Remus swept close to where Sirius stood, wearing the same brash smirk that Sirius had worn when he’d skated this program for Remus, but Remus embellished a little by tilting his head back in Sirius’ direction to remind him of the way Remus had tilted his head last night, eager and waiting to meet Sirius’ lips for what he mistakenly thought would be the first time. By the wanting expression he received in return, Remus knew he’d succeeded wildly.
Not to mention, that last line was so appropriate for this journey because how could Remus have been so foolish, so blind as not to see it? Not to see the way Sirius looked at him with hunger in his gaze, not to hear the way Sirius said his name like nobody else in the world could, not to remember the feeling of Sirius’ lips against his, of his hips against his, of his skin against his? He was so preoccupied with the fact that this was Sirius Black, and Sirius Black could not possibly have feelings for someone like Remus.
The video was definitive proof, but it wasn’t just the video. It was Sirius whispering his name at five o’clock in the morning to wake him up for their daily run. It was Sirius in the open-air bath with his suggestive gaze and his insinuating smirk and his evocative reminders about their time in Minsk. It was Sirius telling Remus that he was thankful for the way Remus had danced with him at that party when nobody else would even dare look at him. It was Sirius telling him that he saw all the little things that Remus did because he paid closer attention than anyone else knew. It was Sirius. It was just Sirius.
When the chorus came up for the first time and Remus got to hear ‘I’ll never get over, never get over not getting under you,’ he could remember how violently he’d blushed the first time he’d heard this lyric and the vindicated smile that Sirius had worn splashed across his handsome face in that moment. It was just before a triple axel that he’d landed with such ease, such grace, and Remus found himself landing it just the same, in a silent resounding slice of the ice, bestowing on him a wide, victorious smile.
In the step sequence, as the racy lyric of ‘Poured a glass, but I never got to take a sip,’ reminded him of the night he could’ve shared with Sirius, a pang of regret shot through his chest. If he had done a little better in his short program in Minsk, if he had a little less champagne to drown his sorrows, he would’ve had that. But maybe Sirius wouldn’t be here now. Maybe Sirius wouldn’t have followed him all the way to Wales to finish what they had never even gotten to start. When he glanced over at Sirius to find him staring openly at Remus with a vacantly awestruck expression, one dark brow raised in sedition, Remus compounded his suffering by dragging his hand down his chest and letting his touch less than subtly dip between his legs, a movement that Sirius himself had orchestrated. That moment of the step sequence was static enough, for long enough, that Remus got to watch the way Sirius’ focus sharply followed the movement of Remus’ fingers, eyes darting up just in time to witness Remus’ reaction to the absolute ruin on Sirius’ face before Remus rolled his body in the opposite direction as he skated off.
Not once in all of the last month, with all the 5AM runs and the endless hours of practice on the ice and the weeks of exhausting muscle training, did Remus envision this scenario, of Sirius watching him with devotion, watching him with fervor. Of Sirius Black gazing at Remus with lust and infatuation.
All along, he’d foolishly thought that Sirius was just coaching him, using whatever methods he had at his disposal to turn Remus from a nervous lump of an unknown Welsh skater into someone who was capable of seducing even Sirius Black. Little had Remus known then that Sirius was simply trying to make Remus see him. Not as Sirius Black, the championship figure skater, but as Sirius Black, the bloke who had a silly little crush on that unknown Welsh skater who got too drunk and forgot about kissing him.
When the pre-chorus returned with a reiteration of ‘Knowing that you left messes with my head, shadows of you haunt me now,’ Remus moved into the spin combination, using a butterfly to enter the spin and then moving to a catch-foot camel spin as Remus agonized over the lyric. The moment he saw that video on James’ mobile, he thought of this line when Sirius practically carried Remus from his hotel room, stating ‘I think he’s a little too drunk for this tonight.’ It only made it worse when he remembered the last dream he'd had of that night, hearing the way Sirius had told him to ‘Call me in the morning, milyy’ and Remus had done so much worse than not calling by forgetting about the whole night entirely.
He would make it up to him. Oh, God, would he make it up to him. He would readily compensate Sirius in a thousand ways, in any way that Sirius asked him. And he intended to start by picking up where they left off, with Sirius’ tongue in his mouth, muttering soft Russian curse words as Remus got him more and more stimulated. If he was lucky, Sirius would let him do the thing that he told Remus to picture him doing to get Remus through these jumps. He would get on his knees. Over and over and over again.
As far as he knew, their agreement still stood. In exchange for winning this stupid competition, Sirius would reward him by celebrating with him in the open-air bath. Just the two of them. And Remus would get to see skin that the rest of the world could only dream about, a tattoo that the rest of the world didn’t even know about. He could barely believe that last year, he was the rest of the world, fantasizing about the day that Sirius Fucking Black would see him, would pay attention to him. It turned out, Sirius Fucking Black was paying attention to Remus long before Remus had even started legitimately trying to attract it, back when Remus realistically thought Sirius Black didn’t even know his name.
The consistent beat of the song fell out with ‘Had a heart attack, full speed, swerve off track, can’t breathe, where you at?’ as Remus moved into the hydroblade, balancing only on his right skate as his left leg was contorted underneath him but parallel to the ice. The fingers of his left hand were spread out wide, ghosting over the smooth edge of the ice, but not quite contacting it, not needing any added stability. He’d learned that from the best in the world, after all. He held the position just as long as Sirius had in the demonstration, giving himself just enough time to glance up to find Sirius’ gaze from across the ice. He wasn’t surprised to find Sirius watching him with total fidelity, lips slightly parted, vacant and empty except for the way his tongue involuntarily stroked across the underside of his top lip. When Remus moved out of the hydroblade and directly into a flying camel spin, there was a smile on his face unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life – blissful and arrogant, all at once, with a splash of fascination.
He could remember being terrified of this program, terrified of looking incompetent in front of the greatest figure skater of his generation, terrified of looking stupid in front of the crush he’d harbored for over a decade. Just then, Remus wondered if he would ever be afraid of anything ever again, because he had somehow impressed that figure skater enough for him to want to be Remus’ coach, attracted that crush enough to earn an invitation to his posh hotel room. If he was enough for Sirius, he could certainly be enough for anyone else. Impossibly, Sirius had even shown Remus how to be enough for himself.
The last jump of the program had been looming in the back of his mind ever since the music started. The irrational faith that Sirius had in Remus meant he put Remus’ most difficult jump in the last half of the program, and even though Remus had always had a remarkable level of stamina on his side, the fatigue was starting to set in, his abdomen and his thighs just starting to quiver and burn. But over the last four weeks, Remus had learned a surefire method of motivation. Picture Sirius Black on his knees.
Sometimes, he would see Sirius in the empty hallway of that hotel in Minsk. Sometimes, he would see Sirius at the edge of the open-air bath. More than once, he’d seen Sirius right on the ice. But even in his fantasy, when Sirius knelt before him, that was all he was doing. Kneeling. Innocently. The suggestion of potential explicit behavior proved to be enough. Tonight, on this ice, with Sirius watching Remus like he would devour him the moment he swept off the ice, Remus found his imagination running rampant.
After the stilted bridge, when the chorus returned, it came in hard and fast, lending the perfect opportunity to time the return of that beat with the most impressive of his jumps – the quadruple lutz, the same jump he’d had such difficulty with before Sirius came into his life. When Remus prepared to take that jump, he did what he’d been doing for the last several weeks. He pictured Sirius on his knees.
What he pictured was not Sirius kneeling innocently in an empty hotel hallway. He wasn’t fully clothed on the ice, he wasn’t wearing a towel at the edge of the open-air bath. Just before launching into that jump, Remus pictured himself holding Sirius by the chin, his mouth hanging open vulgarly as Remus slipped between Sirius’ teeth. In the next moment, his skate was on the ice as he stretched the other out wide behind him, landing precisely and perfectly and cleanly, save for the unclean fantasy in his head.
The grin on his face was uncontainable. Glancing over at Sirius showed him the same – the widest and most brilliant smile on Sirius’ face, additive to the typical softness that was always in the way Sirius looked at him. Just then, Sirius’ fist was raised in the air, as if he’d just celebrated a private victory over Remus landing that quad lutz so faultlessly. He looked like he might jump onto the ice, given the chance.
There were a few little flourishes in the last few chorus repetitions – a few seductive swings of his hips as he worked his way back to center ice, a long drag of his hand down the center of his chest across the sheer feather applique of Sirius’ free skate outfit. Remus made sure it was crystal clear that he performed these motions in Sirius’ direction, to the point that Sirius bit down on his bottom lip in reply.
As the program ended with a final ‘Getting under you,’ Remus gave one last erotic roll of his hips as he arched his back, throwing his head back toward the ice with one arm raised over his heaving chest so that his fingers were splayed up his throat, slightly pushing his face upward. He stood there, panting for breath in the aftermath of the most difficult short program he’d ever skated. The rink was silent.
The scream he heard first was from Sirius’ voice. Immediately, the silence in the rink ruptured into cheers and applause and screams and whistles. Not once in his entire career had Remus been the subject of this much acclaim, this level of praise. It was dizzying. It was deafening. It was incredible.
From center ice, he took his bows, making sure to turn to every side of the rink. With every turn, the screaming intensified, and so did his blushing, though his face was already surely flushed from the chill of the ice and the exertion of skating such a brutal short program. On his last bow, he was facing Sirius’ side of the rink, and Sirius just watched him, silver gaze reverent and wonderstruck.
Slowly, Remus skated toward the gap in the wall, and Sirius walked alongside to meet him there, giving Remus time to savor the expression on his face, to memorize it. The second they were face to face in that space between the ice and the stands, Sirius practically leapt into Remus’ arms, throwing his own around Remus’ neck, and Remus didn’t hesitate to catch him, hands sliding into the curves of his waist.
“Does this mean I’ve won you back?” Remus asked, half a shout to be heard over the crowds.
“You never lost me, Moony,” Sirius said in reply, and even though he was shouting right back to make sure his sentiment was heard, Remus could swear he’d whispered it into his ear. The shiver that ran down his spine was witness. His arms around Sirius’ waist tightened so much, he lifted Sirius off his feet.
For a moment, he had a surge of guilt and worry at stealing this victory from Draco, but when he finally found Draco in the rink, he was standing in a secluded corner, a blissed-out smile on his face as Harry leaned in to place a delicate, tender kiss to his lips. The outcome of their skate-off was clearly the last thing on his mind. It was an immense relief knowing he wouldn’t have to revisit this same fight.
“Go,” Sirius said, pushing Remus off toward the cluster of reporters and cameras and lights that seemed to be waiting for his moment with his coach to finish. “Looks like they might want a word.”
Still huffing from his exhaustion, Remus made his way over. He’d done enough interviews to know the right and wrong things to say. He would mention what a phenomenal program Draco had skated, he would mention Sirius’ ability as his coach, he would mention their plan to make it to Worlds.
He knew all of these things. But when the reporter asked him, “How does it feel to feel to skate a short program choreographed by the greatest skater in the world?” Remus forgot propriety.
“It feels fucking sensational, mate,” Remus said, beaming and breathless. “If you had told me a year ago that Sirius Black would be my coach, I would’ve told you to fuck off.” He was so high on exhilaration, he didn’t notice the reporters exchanging amused glances between one another. “I’ve been in love with Sirius my whole life, so to have him as my coach, to have him as my … friend,” he stated with a weighted pause and a clandestine smirk, “is just beyond anything I ever could’ve imagined for myself.”
“Sorry,” one reporter jumped in quickly, “Did you just say you’re in love with Sirius Black?”
More reporters instantly clamored for a response. “Remus, are you in love with your coach?”
At first, Remus paused, clamping his mouth closed with a tightened jaw, but the deed had been done. On camera. For everyone in the world to witness. No taking it back. With that in mind, he answered with complete honesty. “You’re damn right I am. He’s Sirius Fucking Black. Who isn’t in love with him?”
“Remus! Remus!” they all shouted, questions swirling around him like a swarm. Your wording was a little unclear – are you actually in love with him or do you just admire him? When you say you’re in love with him, are the two of you dating? Does Sirius know you’re in love with him? What’s your next move?
He answered the last one. “We’re going to Worlds. And my love for Sirius is going to be the thing that fucking gets me there.” Without another word, Remus stepped off, despite the ongoing shouts for his attention, question after question. A glance around the rink to locate Sirius came up fruitless, but he found Pete, meeting his gaze from across the rink. With a smirk and short, forward jerk of his head, Pete nodded toward the locker room door. That direction was surprisingly empty, most of the audience members moving toward the front door in their hopes to catch Remus or Draco (still tucked away in his quiet corner with Harry) for an autograph or picture on their way out. And though he’d never had this many waiting specifically for him, all at once, he would make time for them just as he would any other fan. But not at that moment. Because that moment was reserved for finding and kissing Sirius Black.
The moment he opened the swinging door to the locker room, he found Sirius waiting for him, just as the fans were. A smile was just barely visible on his face, tucked into the corner of his mouth. It would’ve been more perceptible if it wasn’t overshadowed by the way Sirius’ pupils dilated the moment Remus entered the room, swallowing his whole expression under an overpowering and tameless ache.
“Moony,” he said with a resonant sigh, nearly a gasp, just the same way he’d said it in Remus’ bedroom. Remus gave himself only a moment to take in a breath, to raise his chin, to appreciate the tumultuous sweep of Sirius’ eyes over every observable surface of his body, covered in Sirius’ outfit, before stomping over in the skates that made him only a measure taller than Sirius. But it was enough.
When Remus stepped in close, Sirius pressed his back to the wall, and before Sirius even had time to angle his face upward, Remus slipped his fingers along Sirius’ jaw to lift his gaze. There was an immediate, unsettled breath that moved from Sirius’ lips as he blinked up at Remus, silver eyes hopeful.
Remus couldn’t help himself from saying the only thing on his mind. “God, you’re cute.”
The reaction in Sirius’ expression was worth the flawless landing of every quad lutz for the rest of his life. All at once, the dilation in his ravenous gaze pushed all the way to the rim of his silver iris until Remus was sure there was no colour left at all. “You remembered,” he said, his half-parted lips opened wide enough for Remus to taste the breath of astonishment that moved from Sirius’ mouth, and Remus found himself letting out a delicate laugh at the recognition of Penderyn whisky on Sirius’ tongue, a distinct fragrance of honey and oak and spice that was unique to Remus’ favourite Welsh spirit.
“It took me this long to realize it wasn’t a dream,” Remus admitted, leaning closer to appreciate the faint trace of cigarette smoke on Sirius’ lips, a rare vice he mistakenly admitted to succumbing to only before very important, very stressful skates, but the confession had been captured on camera, and Lucius Malfoy was seen berating him in the background of the very next shot. In that moment, Remus was sort of enamored with the realization that this silly little competition in Remus’ hometown was a skate that Sirius considered risky, a skate that made Sirius nervous, a skate where he worried over what he might lose, despite the fact that he’d told Remus, flat out, that Remus could never lose him. Now he knew why.
“It was still just a dream for me,” Sirius smiled, a touch of sadness in his voice. “All this time.”
“You should’ve told me,” Remus said, growling a bit in his emphasis, his gentle touch on Sirius’ face becoming more urgent, and by the twitch in Sirius’ brow, that enthusiasm didn’t go unnoticed.
“I really did want to be your coach,” he said, before correcting that statement. “Do, I still do want to be your coach. You are immensely talented, and now the rest of the world can see what I have been seeing in you for years.” Up to that point, Sirius’ hands had remained steadfast at his side, but when he spoke again, his fingers crept up Remus’ waist, along the edge of the feather applique that stretched down Remus’ hip. “That being said,” he continued, under a heavy swallow, his roving fingers ghosting over the sheer material that barely covered Remus’ skin, leaving a shudder in their wake. “I would also very much like to pick up where we left off in Minsk. I mean, of course, if that’s something you’d be –”
The residual feelings of inadequacy that had lived in Remus’ chest since before he could name it began stomping around loudly in Remus’ chest again, because how could he ever be good enough to have earned a place in the heart of Sirius Black? How could he even ask Sirius to stay on as his coach, much less anything else? And when those feelings grew so intense that Remus could barely even hear the rest of what Sirius was proposing to him, Remus silenced them by surging forward and kissing him.
There was nothing his daydreams could’ve done to prepare him for the feeling of Sirius Black’s lips against his own, for the muffled breath of surprise that moved through Sirius’ throat, for the frenzied way that Sirius kissed him back, like he’d been starved of him. His tongue was sweet with the taste of Welsh whisky, bitter with the vestiges of nicotine, resounding with the sound of Remus’ name upon it.
It was a culmination of every wish and every fantasy and that one night in a hotel room in Minsk that he could somehow forget, because how could he have ever forgotten this taste? How could he have ever forgotten the feeling of Sirius’ nimble fingers roving through his hair? How could he have forgotten the insistent way Sirius pulled him in close, chest to chest, his arms around Remus’ neck?
Just in case, he memorized the soft scratch of Sirius’ nails as they sent Remus’ feather barrette clattering to the floor of a hockey team locker room. He memorized the delicate but aching breaths that moved through Sirius’ nostrils as his tongue slipped between Remus’ teeth again. He memorized the plush of Sirius’ skin underneath his fingertips as his hands slipped underneath the hem of Sirius’ shirt.
Until all at once, Sirius pulled away. And those screaming inadequacies came roaring back so quickly that Remus felt as though he should be ashamed of something. The look on Sirius’ face said otherwise. The famine in his expression only compounded, the dilation of his pupils waxing and waning as he allowed his eyes to examine, with fastidious scrutiny, the whole of Remus’ frame in front of him.
For a moment, he looked as if he were arguing with himself about something, panting with the lack of oxygen of having only been able to exchange breath with Remus for the last ten minutes. Finally, with a shake of his head, he rushed back in, his kiss as voracious as ever, his fingers slipping around Remus’ neck to fidget with the zipper at the neck of the outfit that Remus had borrowed from him.
“Take this off,” he commanded, only letting his mouth stray from Remus’ for long enough to speak those words before slipping his tongue between Remus’ lips again, still tugging at that zipper.
“I could just change first, you know,” Remus laughed, but it was a wasted argument, because he couldn’t stop kissing Sirius if he tried. Despite himself, he still added, “I’m still in my skates, Sirius.”
“I don’t care,” Sirius growled as he helped Remus wriggle out of the top of his one-piece outfit, his lips moving to bare skin the second it was available to him. “I’ve been waiting for you for weeks.”
“Jesus, Sirius,” Remus answered in a trembling breath as Sirius’ kiss spread across his throat. “I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me. It should’ve been pretty clear how bad I have it for you.”
“Please, Moony,” Sirius said, in a breathy way that sounded so much like a beg that Remus found himself swallowing rather heavily in response. “Do you know how many hints I gave you that failed?”
That swallow caught in his throat, however, when Sirius didn’t stop his expedition of Remus’ skin, as he softly tugged on the top of Remus’ outfit until it was halfway down his chest. After a moment of dizzying clarity that Sirius Fucking Black was undressing him, Remus regained his bearings, only to keep arguing. “You say that as if I don’t, at this moment, have a poster of you hanging in my bedroom.”
“That poster is innocent,” Sirius huffed, his quarrelsome breath spreading out so rapidly over Remus’ naked skin that it left a slight shiver behind, and Sirius looked absolutely triumphant in having caused it. “Remus. I told you to literally picture me on my knees for you. Was that not obvious enough?”
There was a delicate blush in Remus’ cheeks, and it was only partly to blame on the fact that, yes, the erotic motivation tactics should’ve been obvious enough, if Remus wasn’t so insecure and pessimistic and totally in disbelief that Sirius Black could ever be attracted to him. The other more compelling cause of the blush in his cheeks was the fact that Sirius’ lips had migrated all the way down his waist now, and he was very nearly fulfilling that erotic motivation tactic by actually going to his knees in front of Remus.
At the muted sound of Sirius’ knees contacting the rubber mat of the locker room underneath them, Remus muttered, “Fuck,” as his hand went straight into his own unruly hair. The smirk on Sirius’ face was nothing short of devilish as he looked up, just the way Remus had imagined he would.
“Tell me, Remus,” he said, softly, carefully, sweetly, as he leaned forward and placed his lips to the overly sensitive skin just underneath Remus’ belly button, all without breaking eye contact. “Is this how you pictured it?” He let his hands drag down Remus’ thighs before circling back up to his hips.
“Yes. No. Sometimes,” he rambled, completely mindless at the reality of this situation.
“Do you want to know,” Sirius continued, stretching the loosened fabric with his fingers as his kiss moved to every new space made available, lower and lower and lower, “how I pictured it?”
“How … you pictured it?” Remus asked absently, solely focused on Sirius’ mouth at his hipbone.
“Do you really think I told you to imagine it without first imagining it for myself?” Sirius asked, smiling against Remus’ exposed skin, peppering affectionate kisses between each word. “Of course, I’d been imagining it since taking you to my hotel room in Minsk. Since the party. Maybe even before that.”
“Christ,” Remus whined, slipping his hand down from his hair and holding it tightly over his mouth, not sure how he could silently take any further escalation. Sirius’ brow rose at the sight of it.
“The way I picture it,” Sirius whispered as he reached the elastic of the fitted boxers that Remus wore underneath the outfit he’d borrowed from Sirius. As Sirius tugged it down slightly, Remus took in a sharp, unsettled breath, leaving Sirius to glance up with an amused but electrified expression. “Your hand is always in my hair.” He took Remus’ hand in his own and slowly guided Remus’ fingers down his jaw and into the wilds of his dark hair, coaxing Remus into forming a careful fist within it. “Just like this.”
With Remus’ hand still over his mouth, the desperate noise he uttered was stifled, but even if nobody else in the rink outside heard it, Sirius certainly still did. By the immediate but subdued way Sirius leaned in and pressed his lips to the blatant swelling between Remus’ legs, it was clear he wanted Remus to make that same noise again, and it was shamefully successful. The smirk on Sirius’ face was proof.
“Padfoot,” Remus called out mechanically, thoughtlessly, after which he was suddenly and violently grateful for his own hand over his mouth, because the whole rink would’ve heard him otherwise.
“Of course, sometimes,” Sirius said, heedless to the worry that anyone outside of the locker room would hear Remus’ pleasured moans. “Sometimes, I pictured it the other way around.” With one last glance of avarice, a last flick of his silver gaze upward at the awful ruin that had to be on Remus’ expression, Sirius moved the last remaining article out of his way. “You, on your knees. For me.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Remus groaned into his palm as Sirius took Remus into both his eager hands with a look that was somehow simultaneously one of fond appreciation and of gratuitous fanaticism.
“I could say the same thing,” Sirius said with a weighted exhale that left Remus reeling again with the realization that this was Sirius Black, kneeling before him, with Remus’ cock in his hands. “Moony.”
“Oh my God,” he said in a near howl, entirely out loud, with no suppression, his hand hovering in the empty air next to his face, forgetting about the fact that he had been trying to silence himself, forgetting that there might be reporters listening in on his moment of ecstasy with his coach.
However loud he thought he had been in that moment – when Sirius was holding him rigid in his hand, when Sirius was gazing at his naked form with adoration, when Sirius’ wrist had begun to shift just slightly – it was fully eclipsed by the moment Sirius parted his lips and slipped the head of Remus’ cock between them. While Remus was nowhere near being in his right mind, he was pretty sure he let out some debasing sound that sounded like the sharp punch of a shout and the desperate breath of a moan.
As Sirius pulled him in deeper and deeper, the tumultuous symphony that moved from Remus’ lungs faded out into a repetition of wordless moaning, abbreviated and half-spoken praises, and the song of Sirius’ name in between. At some point, in all his mindlessness, Remus’s fingers, still buried in Sirius’ hair, curled around the back of his neck and, in response, Sirius’ thumbs pressed into the dips at both of Remus’ hips. For all the noise Remus was making, Sirius kept humming his approval, his appreciation.
“Sirius,” Remus called out one last time as his hips started twitching, his thighs started quivering, his head raised to the ceiling. “Don’t stop, please, fuck.” His voice was reduced to a whisper, but Sirius heard his prayer, and answered with an increase in the pressure of his lips and the grip of his fingers as they moved around to the backs of Remus’ thighs, pulling him in as deeply as he could get him. In the next moment, Remus spilled out into Sirius’ mouth, glorifying and cursing his name in the same breath.
Exhausted from his skate and the additive fatigue of a long overdue orgasm, Remus fell forward into the same wall that he had pinned Sirius against while Sirius let himself close the distance between himself and the floor. As Sirius looked up at him, Remus was awestruck to watch Sirius lick his lips.
“When I have the energy to move,” Remus said with a tired laugh, finding it incredibly difficult to tuck himself back into his boxers, and not just because of his exhaustion. “I’m paying you back for this.”
“Funny that you say that,” Sirius said with a crooked grin and a heaving breath. “I didn’t forget the promise I made you, Moony.” Remus cocked a brow and Sirius just looked at him with the same lechery that had been on his face at the start of this. “You and I are going to celebrate in the bath.”
Remus grinned dreamily, brainless and spent. “I finally get to see that secret tattoo of yours,” he said with a sated sigh, just admiring the way Sirius was smiling up at him. “I’ve got a secret, too, you know.” When Sirius rose a single, dark brow, Remus added, “I can hold my breath for a really long time.”
It was hours later before Remus found himself alone in the open-air bath. After he’d shed his skates and changed into a t-shirt and his black joggers, he had no choice but to let Pete examine the state of him – the disheveled condition of his hair, the blistered red of his overzealous lips, the blossom of a love bite just underneath his jaw. And Pete did this with the exact level of awe and splendor that Remus had hoped for and expected, the same level of awe and splendor that Remus felt about the whole thing.
Of course, after Pete, there was Dorcas, who gave him absolute hell for not having told her about it in the first place (when the first place had only been a few moments prior). Then, on his way out of the rink, there were mobs of fans awaiting him and Draco and Sirius, and they all spent nearly an hour trying to accommodate every autograph and every photo and every video. By the end of it, Remus had lost Sirius entirely. He’d been so sure that Sirius was already headed to their meeting spot in the bath.
But when he got there, naught but a towel around his waist, he was surprised (and disappointed) to find it empty. Half an hour before, on his way through the front door, he’d been greeted by his parents and grandparents, who all congratulated him on the success of his new short program, and he barely made it through his thank you’s before his father was rushing him down the hall. ‘Sirius asked me to close the bath for the rest of the evening,’ Lyall had said with a knowing glimmer in his eye. ‘For a private soak.’ And he’d looked at Remus’ bedraggled hair and berry-bitten lips and bruise on his neck before adding, ‘I thought you two might want to get started on that right away.’ Remus was so grateful, he forgot to blush.
He'd undressed in a hurry, anxious to pick up where they left off at the rink, where they’d left off in Minsk, but his bath, so far, had been conspicuously silent. The uneasy inadequacy he usually felt when he thought about Sirius made a brief reappearance, but he barely noticed the familiar annoyance, barely paid it any attention at all. Sirius Black had been on his knees for him only a few hours before. If he wasn’t here, there was a reason. The feelings of weakness shifted to feelings of worry. But only for a second.
From where he was reclined with his back against the stones, he moved his hands to the edge of the bath on either side, his shoulders tensed to push himself upward, out of the warmth and comfort of the water, intending to go figure out where Sirius had disappeared to when the man himself entered. For a moment, Remus just allowed himself to look at him with devotion, to cherish the surreal moment of seeing Sirius Black, wearing nothing but a flimsy bath towel and a fiendish smirk as he walked over.
“I thought you might’ve changed your mind,” Remus said in the softest voice he could find.
Sirius narrowed his gaze, just slightly. “I would’ve been here sooner, but I got bombarded with alerts on my mobile.” As he neared, Remus shifted slightly on the stony bench within the water that separated the two depths of the bath. Instead of dropping his towel and getting in (and giving Remus the showing of that tattoo he’d been promising), Sirius stepped into the water and sat on the outer edge next to Remus’ arm. “Apparently, someone has caused quite the media commotion by telling the whole world that he’s in love with me.” Instantly, Remus let out a snort of laughter, reaching up his wet hand to cover his mouth to keep it in, but it was too late. “Which makes sense because that was the only sentence you said that didn’t have the word fuck in it, so it’s really the only one they could air without censoring.”
The laugh Remus was trying to keep in slipped out again. “I’m … no, I was going to apologize, but I’m really not sorry, honestly. Not even a little,” he hummed, turning in his place in the water so that he could look up at Sirius from between Sirius’ half-parted legs, his hands slowly winding up Sirius’ ankles.
“You should be a little sorry,” Sirius said with that brow that rose when he got stimulated. “I spent half an hour on the phone with my little brother, listening to him say ‘I told you so’ in ten different ways.”
“Regulus,” Remus said, pleased with the surprise on Sirius’ face that Remus remembered the name of his younger brother. “That was how I knew Minsk wasn’t a dream. James showed me the video.”
At first, Sirius laughed, wild and raucous. “Now you know why everyone thinks James and I are dating,” he said, eyeing Remus’ fingers, where they were slowly sliding up his calves. “Reg and I look a great deal alike, especially to camera lenses. They ran a story that I cut my hair once because someone snapped a photo of Regulus instead of me, and I got hate mail for a week.” He laughed again, but it grew a little less careless and a little more breathless, the further Remus’ hands moved up his bare legs. “When Reg found out I was coming to Wales for you, he said I shouldn’t coach someone I was attracted to.”
“Is that so?” Remus asked, but it was hardly a question. Still high from the success of his skate and the elation of having Sirius Black give him a blowjob in the locker room of his home ice, Remus was drunk with confidence. Without thought, he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Sirius’ naked skin, right above his knee, just inside his thigh. The sound Sirius made left Remus’ ego swelling to burst.
“Especially when that someone is clearly my fan,” Sirius said, a short breath of a laugh moving through his nostrils. It evolved into something more destitute when Remus’ fingers circled around to cup the backs of Sirius’ knees. “He said you’d fall in love with me, and it would ruin my coaching credibility.”
“I wonder if I should be offended,” Remus said with a playful wrinkle of his nose and a wink, his hands moving up the underside of Sirius’ thighs. He was spellbound by the pink it left in Sirius’ cheeks.
“Of course, when he called, I had to tell him that I’d just sucked you off in the locker room of the rink, so I think he understands that these feelings are quite mutual.” The breath that left Remus’ lips fell straight between Sirius’ thighs, and by the smug grin Sirius flashed in his direction, it seemed that had been his intention. “Plus, he and James have had to listen to me pine over you since Minsk, so they’re probably relieved. I think Reg is just annoyed he had to find out from the media that we’re dating,” Sirius said with another laugh, but this one died in his throat as Remus’ fingers reached the split edge of the towel that was only barely keeping him decent. At that wording, Remus’ gaze instantly shot up.
“Technically,” Remus said under his breath as his fingers moved up Sirius’ naked hips. “I didn’t tell the media that we’re dating.” He paused, in word and movement, glancing up sincerely. “Are we dating?”
The smile on Sirius’ face answered for him. “I’d love it if we were.”
“Oh,” Remus said plainly, blinking rapidly, caught off guard. “That was simpler than I thought.”
“The complicated part comes when everyone else finds out,” Sirius said, leaning down to stare right into Remus’ face. “Which they already have, thank you so much.” Remus replied by stealing a kiss.
“What I said was …” He kissed Sirius again, forgetting what his point had been. “‘Of course I’m in love with Sirius, who isn’t?’. The commotion is due to speculation. Are we in love, or aren’t we?”
For a moment, Sirius was silent, mouth hanging ajar, until Remus put his tongue into it. After several long seconds, he pulled out of the kiss only to say, “I can’t tell if that was brilliant or insane.”
“Well, they’re also talking about my skating, aren’t they?” Remus asked, holding Sirius by the hips so he could pull him closer to the water’s edge, so he could nestle a little further between Sirius’ legs. The blissful surprise on Sirius’ face reminded Remus that he was not usually this bold with his touches, not usually this forward with his affection, but Sirius was the one who helped him shed his lifelong veneer of hesitation, and Remus was ready to shower him with the benefits that came with this new confidence.
“Yes,” Sirius answered in a much breathier tone than his previous replies.
“Then let them speculate all they want,” Remus said with insistence, letting his kiss spread down Sirius’ throat, down his chest, down his abdomen, as Remus slipped deeper into the water. “As long as I can stay right here, proving to you just how in love with you I have always been.” As Remus’ fingers splayed open the towel around Sirius’ hips, and Sirius Black was laid bare to him for the first time, Remus let out a warm, heavy, trembling breath just above Sirius’ newly naked and aching skin. “Jesus Christ.”
“Moony,” Sirius called out, letting his head fall back as his fingers moved into Remus’ hair. His breathing quickened as Remus took him into his hand, still wet with enriched bath water. “Fuck.”
“Oh, you don’t say that word enough for me,” Remus groaned profoundly, pushing Sirius’ legs further open so that he could fully settle his shoulders between them, so that his lips could place a reverent kiss to the plush, sensitive head of Sirius’ cock. With the encouragement of a tightened fist in his hair and a breathy call of his favourite nickname, Remus sank Sirius into his throat with a delighted hum.
“Fuck,” Sirius repeated, louder and more desperate, and Remus was sure he did it just for the flagrant way Remus responded to it – with increased pressure and a quickened pace and a moan in his throat where Sirius was still buried to the hilt. But if Remus was doing anything right at all, it was only because he was so fucking ruined by the fact that Sirius Fucking Black was in his bath in his house in his hometown with his cock between Remus’ teeth. He’d gone mindless with it, recklessly devouring Sirius like he would never get another chance, like he would wake from this wet dream like he had all the ones before it, all the while absolutely recognizing that as soon as this fleeting reverie was over, he fully intended to take Sirius upstairs and fuck him against his own poster on Remus’ bedroom door.
It went more quickly than Remus was ready for. Soon, the utmost swell of Sirius was against his tongue, the quiver of Sirius’ thighs underneath Remus’ hands intensified to a trembling peak, the uneven rise and fall of Sirius’ chest expanded acutely as he panted and moaned and cursed with Remus’ favourite word. It all happened so quickly, so successively, that Remus barely had the sense to relish in it before Sirius spilled out into his throat with a last cry of Remus’ name. Remus found himself savoring the taste.
In his expenditure, Sirius leaned back onto his hands, his head thrown backward, allowing Remus a full, long look of appreciation at the sight before him. He started at the top, the way Sirius’ head was tossed behind him with his long hair cascading over his back, the cutting edge of his prominent Adam’s apple, the sentimental notch in his once-broken collarbone. Remus’ gaze naturally followed the long lines of Sirius’ sculpted waist to the deep indentations at his hips until his eyes fell on abrupt black ink.
It was a pawprint. Right where Sirius said it would be, tattooed on the skin where his hip met his thigh, just to the right of where Sirius lay open and exposed for Remus. Without a thought in his mind and the sharp taste of Sirius still on his tongue, Remus leaned in and placed an enamored kiss to that tattoo.
“Padfoot,” he said in an idolizing whisper, murmuring against Sirius’ naked hip. A shiver erupted underneath Remus’ lips, spreading through Sirius’ pale skin like a strong breeze through a field of aster.
To warm him, Remus slipped into the deeper water of the center of the bath and coaxed Sirius to come in and join him, which didn’t take much coaxing at all. With his arms around Sirius’ waist, Remus buried his lips into the nape of Sirius’ neck, ghosting sweet kisses along the jagged edge of his collarbone, fulfilling another in a long list of fantasies that he now had all the time in the world to complete.
“I suppose this means that I am now uncontestably yours, milyy,” Sirius whispered with a satisfied and euphoric sigh as he slipped his arms around Remus’ neck, as he reminded Remus of their arrangement – the reward of seeing that tattoo once Remus won the honour of having Sirius coach him.
Remus couldn’t contain his grin. “And I’ll make sure the whole world knows it.” With a matched smirk and an insatiable depth in his gaze, Sirius pulled Remus to his mouth, dragging him under the water.