Speaking In Tongues
by Victoria P.

Fingers entwined, Remus stretches Sirius's arms above his head, seeking the heat of his mouth. He melts against him, wants to disappear into their kisses, still so new and unexpected.

Sirius arches into him, glorious skin like silk over firm muscle slides against Remus's body. He trembles as fresh pleasure edged with desire knifes though him, awed by the power Sirius has over him, by the power he has over Sirius. He dips his head to sip again from Sirius's mouth, kisses like the finest wine and a thousand times more intoxicating.

He gasps against the stubbled skin of Sirius's cheek, breathing him in as Sirius begins thrusting against him, cock hard and slick. Remus wants to savor every moment, worship at the altar spread beneath him, and be worshiped in return.

He buries his face in Sirius's hair, damp with sweat and smelling of sandalwood; Remus imagines he catches a hint of cool night air clinging to it, dark as midnight and shining in the wash of silver the waning moon casts upon the room.

Remus frees Sirius's hands in order to touch him, begins to kiss his way down, lips following fingers hungrily, each lick and touch a promise of more to come. No words need be spoken, all the vows other, less certain lovers make unnecessary between them. When Sirius slides his fingers through Remus's hair, Remus knows Sirius wants him. When Sirius thrusts into Remus's mouth, Remus knows Sirius trusts him. And when Sirius comes, crying out his name, Remus knows Sirius loves him. Sirius wraps his hand around Remus's cock, stroking hard, a look of fierce concentration on his face, and Remus knows he wants forever.

The bitter taste of semen, the salt tang of sweat, the curious sweetness that is Sirius himself, better than the best chocolate Honeydukes has to offer, lingers on Remus's tongue. He can no longer separate his own scent from Sirius's, and that sends a deeper, more secret thrill through him, the pleasure frizzling and popping along his nerves like live wires dipped in water.

Directed by artful touches, Sirius turns over and offers himself. Remus takes him, hard, and they move together in a rhythm so recently discovered; yet Remus believes they've known it all their lives. His chest against Sirius's back, his hands on Sirius's hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, his teeth nipping at the nape of Sirius's neck -- he knows Sirius understands what he is saying without having spoken a word. He lets his body speak his love, his subtle, agile tongue against the sensitive flesh beneath Sirius's ear, saying, yes and mine and yours and always.

Remus comes, his sense of self blurred by this joining; he is in Sirius and he is surrounded by Sirius and this utter surrender speaks of more than lust or sex or promises made in the dark and forgotten.

They need no candlelit dinners, no grandiose poems to share their feelings. They need no blatant displays in public to show the world. Every touch, every silence, every smile, every word does it for them.

This is love.

This is forever.

Bring us no candle-light at dark
Because the moon-face of our love is full.
We worship wine and pour our vows, and it is
Against my law to be without your face...
...In our assembly bring no rose perfumes,
We breathe the fragrance of your long hair.
Do not praise to me the taste of sugar,
For my desire is satisfied on your sweet lip.
-- Hafiz, Iranian lyric poet, translated by R. M. Rehdar


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