~This Is Music~
Curt Wild screams with a rough, throaty voice that speaks sordid promises of
cigarette smoke and leather and sweat and sex; in the flesh (and gods, what
flesh it is...) he is the personification of everything that pricks one's conscience.
Brian Slade is more effeminate, with razors for cheekbones and diamonds for
eyes and full, pouting lips which are enough to make Mae Murray turn in her
grave with emerald envy. He sings in tones that are sometimes sweet, sometimes
harsh... always as addictive and heady as his drugs.
But neither of them create sounds as beautiful as those that are spilled from
Remus Lupin's gasping, kiss-hungry lips when he makes love.
"This is music," thinks Sirius Black, as he puts his right knee on
the worn blue denim that is pooled around Remus's ankles, and takes his lover's
cock deep into his mouth again; a moan tears from Remus's throat, a combination
of Curt's scream and Brian's cry, twined with Moony's growl like the three strands
of his plaited hair.
Lord, the taste of him is enough to make Sirius's head spin.
He pulls away, and the frantic cadence of Remus's whimpers sends shivers through
his body. The breathy cries, rhythmic repetitions of, "Oh... oh... oh..."
and the reverence in Remus's voice when he hisses, "Sirius." The hands
on his head, fingers wrapped and tangled in the silky black strands of hair.
Chiaroscuro patterns of moonlight and shadow, the brown-on-brown grain of the
heavy oak door, the hard floor beneath him and the way his robe is creased under
his left knee... the way it's pressed between bone and stone will leave a long
red stripe on his pale skin, he knows, but he doesn't care.
"Gimme danger," Remus whispers with Curt, but he stops after just
two words. He can't continue. Sirius is no little stranger. Sirius is home.
Sirius is love and life and heaven, all wrapped up and hidden in one person.
Curt sings about shivering. Low, quiet, sexy... dear fucking god, what a bedroom
voice that man has, Sirius thinks. "Can you feel it," he's asking,
over and over. "Can you feel it?"
"Can you feel it?" Sirius whispers. The words are slurred. Don't speak
with your mouth full.
"I can feel it," Remus whispers, and he touches Sirius's face with
his fingertips, traces the five lines of the staff, leaves burning imprints
of the notes, and when his hand falls away it draws a swirling clef by Sirius's
jaw. "Sirius, please... I want to feel it."
The plea is thick with lust and Sirius is suddenly angry with himself... Remus
should never have to beg from him. And so he moves again, dragging his lips
up and down the hard, saliva-slick flesh, wringing every last cry from him,
every last drop of fluid.
"Oh, oh," Remus gasps again. His fingers tighten their grip. "I
love you, love you..."
And Sirius knows he wouldn't give a fuck if he never heard Curt Wild sing again.
~END~