Nocturnal Emissions - 1. In the Heat of the Night

Nights are filled with visions of Remus Lupin—his image occupies every last available inch of Sirius Black's inner eye. All he has to do is shut his eyes and Remus is there, in all his lycanthropic glory, in all his incredible beauty. He is the lodestone to which Sirius' soul is magnetized, his voice the siren call which Sirius can do no less than obey, for he lost his heart to the other boy a long time ago, and there is nothing he can do—nothing he wishes to do—about it.

Nights are filled with the sound of Remus Lupin—for Sirius spends each and every day drinking in the dulcet tones of his beloved werewolf's voice. Every moment that Sirius can garner is spent in Remus' company, speaking to him of everything and of nothing. The subject does not matter—whether it's classes, homework, family, friends, making plans for the hols or remembrances of occasions past—every word that proceeds from Remus' mouth is golden. And not a move does Sirius make in his life that he does not tell Remus about it—either beforehand or afterward. He seeks Remus at every turn, and he feels quite lost without him.

Nights are filled with the scent of Remus Lupin—for although Sirius does not possess the extraordinary sensitivity of the lycanthrope, his animagus ability has heightened his own natural senses, including the olfactory, and he smells him, is all too aware of the scent he exudes. Chocolate and spice and everything nice, that is what Remus Lupin is made of. And love—he smells of love. At least, to Sirius, he does. For Sirius is deeply in love with him, although he would die rather than admit it to him, for fear of losing him as a friend. And that would be too high a price to pay, even for the relief of confession.

And at the end of every evening, after a full day of basking in the presence of Remus Lupin as much as humanly possible, Sirius retires to his solitary bed—so achingly close to, and yet at the same time so far away from, that of his idol—and begins another long night. He can hear the even breathing of his friend, wrapped in the throes of innocent slumber, unaware that just a scant few feet from him, he is the object of torrid night fancies, as Sirius brings out the memories of that day which he has stored away for these private moments. Hoarding them as a squirrel hoards his cache of nuts, to be used when the original is unavailable for "consumption".

Unbeknownst to Remus, when the two boys chance to share a shower—and Sirius makes sure that that is more often than not—he is the object of close scrutiny by the horny animagus, who discovered early on the beauties of Remus' body, including but not limited to the size of his appendage. Try though he might to hide the self-inflicted scars of his curse, Sirius sees past those to the creamy white skin, the pale pink rosebuds that are his nipples, the golden mass of soft curls upon his head, and the topaz eyes which are the most beautiful and expressive eyes in the world.

These are the type of thoughts which fill Sirius' libido, as he slips out of his pajama bottoms, curls his slender fingers about his own lust-hardened cock, and begins to stroke himself, imagining that it is Remus that is touching him, Remus who is gazing at him with feral abandon, as he whispers, "My Siri... all mine...." Sirius' hand glides up and down the shaft, lubricated by the pre-cum which seeps from its tip, but it is Remus' ghostly hand that pleases him so, Remus' lips which press a gentle kiss upon the head before taking it into his mouth.

Sirius moans aloud—luckily he has had the forethought to set a silencing charm about his bed—urging his phantom lover to take more of him in, which he does. "Oh Remy," he breathes in heated gasps, as he fists himself in the urgency of his desire for Remus Lupin. "I love you, Siri, cum for me," the soft voice entices him, and he spills his love—and his seed—over his hand/into the mouth of the dream Remus, moaning his lover's name into the void. And the scent of his sex can be sensed by the occupant of the next bed, as Remus Lupin's topaz eyes snap open, his mouth forming a small o of amazement, as he drinks in the scent of Sirius' release—and wonders who or what is the object of his desire.

Christmas hols are a glorious time of year—a time to leave the cares and woes and the daily grind of studies behind and simply immerse oneself in the pleasures of youth. It is a tradition with the four Marauders, begun during their first year at the school, that they make the rounds of one another's homes at this time—except for Sirius' that is, for each year he asserts that it’s not a good time for that, his parents are going to be away, etcetera, and his friends pretend to accept this, but they realize there’s more to the story than what Sirius is telling them. Yet they don’t press for details and they take his words at face value, greatly to his relief. It doesn't take an analytical genius to realize that things are not right in the Black household, especially when they see the tense confrontations that occur between Sirius and his younger brother Regulus who, as every other Black save for Sirius, has been sorted into Slytherin house, and whatever affection might have existed between the two has long since disappeared, at least on the surface of things.

Each year the Potters, Pettigrews, and Lupins smilingly coordinate their holiday activities to allow their sons to visit back and forth among them, taking turns to share Christmas Day equally from year to year. And they are all especially attentive to the normally outgoing young man who hides the pain of not being wanted by his own family—especially the Potters, who have adopted him as a second son—and they make sure that he’s as well received and loved as their own children.

This year is no exception, and all are in high spirits as they celebrate their fifth year of friendship together. First they stay with James' family in their very comfortable home in Kent, for the Potters are certainly well off in the same way that the Blacks are, but unlike the Black family home at Grimmauld Place, the Potter home is cheery and bright and there is plenty of room for the four young men, who talk together into the wee hours of the night, planning mischief for each and every day. Next comes the Pettigrews' domicile, where they will wake up on Christmas morn this year. The Pettigrews are not as well off as either the Potters or the Lupins, but their home is warm and well cared for. But it is also small, so the boys are forced to double up in their sleeping arrangements. Which has never been a problem before, but somehow this year, it feels that way to Sirius, especially as he’s given a bed to share with none other than... Remus.

It has been a most glorious Christmas Eve day, spent in the company of Peter's parents. His dad is a surprisingly good cook, and the house is filled with the scents of the various dishes he’s made this day, and with which the boys' stomachs are filled to overflowing. The Pettigrews have a modest, but prettily decorated Christmas tree in their living room, and that’s where all assemble to sing carols and drink hot cocoa as Mrs. Pettigrew lights the decorative Yule candles upon the tree. Then the boys are shooed off to bed with the admonition that Father Christmas won't come if they are awake, and although they are too old to believe in such things—at least that is what they tell themselves—they crowd into Peter's room and sort themselves out into the two available beds, talking until such time as Mrs. P laughingly passes by their door, knocking upon it and telling them to stop. Soon, the sound of James' and Peter's voices trail away into variegated tones of slumber, and Remus too is breathing evenly, which is a relief to Sirius, for he is all too aware of the other boy's presence on the other side of this too small bed.

He closes his eyes, seeking refuge in his dreams, which come quickly enough, as he gives in to them, losing himself in the haven that is Remus once more.

He and Remus are together and they are dancing, although just where they are doing this is unclear, but they are pressed together so tightly that not a sliver of light can pass between their conjoined bodies, beneath the glow of a Christmas disco ball which swirls above their heads in frantically changing shades of red and green. They are alone, swaying to the music which resounds about them, their lips meshed perfectly, hands glued upon one another's bums. Grinding together in the urgency of their need for one another.

"Touch me," Remus whispers heatedly, and Sirius threads his hand between them, pressing against his crotch, as with his other arm he pulls him closer into his embrace. Oh how good that feels as he eagerly rubs against Remus' very large, very hard cock. Remus takes his hand, guides it inside the elastic of his waistband, and suddenly Sirius encounters bare flesh, very warm, very turgid, and very desirous. He wraps his hand about that flesh and begins to stroke, tentatively at first but with growing confidence, as he hears the gratifying sounds of Remus' soft whimpers of pleasure, touching him as he himself would wish to be pleasured, as he has no real knowledge or experience in this realm other than what he has learned at his own hand. "Kiss me," he begs, and of course Sirius does, with a growing passion he was not aware that he possessed. This is the most realistic dream he has ever had and he doesn't wish for it to end as he continues to stroke the object of his desire, their lips fused in passion...

...but of course it does, with Remus' hot release, which falls stickily over Sirius' grasp, as his nostrils are filled with the scent of it. How realistic it smells, how very different than before...

Sirius' eyes pop open with a start. To his dismay, Remus is not asleep on the other side of the bed. Rather, they are face to face, eyes open—and Merlin, does Sirius really have his hand in Remus' pants? And is it really sticky with his cum? Sirius withdraws his hand suddenly, his mouth falling open and closed in the manner of a startled fish, feeling the rising heat in his cheeks. What has he done now, and how can he ever face his friend again, knowing what he has done to him? "R-r-remy..." he stutters, but before the other boy can get a word in edgewise, he makes a quick dive from the bed and out the bedroom door. He can't breathe, he can't think, his brain is simply signaling to him to go. Go now, get out of here before everyone discovers what you really are and asks you to leave them alone...

Sirius races blindly through the small house and out the front door—luckily he is so familiar with the home's interior that he doesn't trip on anything along the way in the frenzy of his exit—and he finds himself standing outside in the cold, shivering, in just his pair of pajama bottoms. He realizes he can't go back in there now, even just to get his clothes, ‘cause he can't face Remus with the knowledge of what he’s done. But he also knows he'll freeze to death if he doesn't do something, and in his distraught state he doesn't even remember that he doesn't have his wand with him. He doesn't dare go back to Hogwarts. Even if he could apparate there, there would be questions asked, questions he has no wish to answer. Reluctantly, he realizes that there is only one place where he can at least find some of his own clothes—#12 Grimmauld Place. Being Christmas Eve, his family is probably not even there, anyway, having probably taken Regulus somewhere warm for his hols. So that will leave just the house elves, with whom he’s always been on good terms. That won't be so bad, will it?

Concentrating on what he’s doing, rather than how he’s feeling, and making sure he’s where he can be unobserved, Sirius apparates away from the Pettigrew home, to his family's residence, completely unaware that he has indeed been observed by a distraught Remus Lupin, who stands in the doorway, calling out weakly, "Sirius..." But he is just a fraction of a second too late to be heard.