Minutes had faded into hours; when Remus retracted his lips from yours, you knew it was due time for the fadeout. Like any forest fire, the heat between you two went from a mountain to a murmur eventually, always per your request. Not that Remus’ tongue sliding underneath yours on some kind of mission to outdo God wasn’t good enough, or you didn’t crave the suppleness of his palm in the innermost part of your thighs. It was quite the opposite, really. Your entire body undulated under his calculated touches so vigorously you swore you were built to be broken down by his fingertips. But when the question arose, the question of more and continuing and what was next, everything went still. You’d cover up your embarrassment with apologies, to which Remus would react by covering your blush with kisses. “I’ll wait for you,” he’d whisper, as if you weren’t surrounded by silence. But he always whispered in these instances, worried about breaking the delicate thing that is tenderness. He whispered as often as he promised, “I’ll always wait for you.” And he did. Wordlessly.
And thus the normal routine was ending, the crescendo long past, and he was placing a kiss to your forehead to say goodnight in a way only you understood. Usually your body had settled by now, the storm cleared. But as Remus pulled away a gloriously unusual demand parted from your lips.
“Stay.”
Remus’ hands had just started to slide from yours, his back turning in its typical reluctance to leave now, of all times. It was a picture you had grown to know so well, him departing in the most selfless way. But then you spoke. And, thus, the way he turned on his heel so fast he almost spiralled to the floor, the way his face was pale with shock but eyes wide with wonder, the way you could tell he was waging war with a shit-eating grin trying to form on his lips, all created a brand-new picture was a million times more precious. Your soul sang as your mouth smiled.
“Are you sure? Completely?” he asked with a head tilted downwards and a heart on his sleeve. Though you had never gone through with the act of sex, no amount of personal inexperience could blind you to how badly Remus wanted you to answer ‘yes.’
And you did. Because no amount of personal inexperience could blind you to how badly you wanted to continue to the what’s next. The fire that was usually burnt to ashes never ceased burning this time and you had to, needed to, know about all the other what else’s everyone has always talked about.
“Fuck,” Remus breathed. “Okay. Okay.” His eyes glossed over with traces of millions of thoughts, mumbling reassurances to himself before cutting the words off with your lips. All too soon, he retracted.
“You haven’t done this before,” he noted. Remus breathed deeply at this realization, ungracefully finding his way onto his knees so he was no longer pushing his crotch into yours, spreading your legs all the while. Once again, he was controlling himself. Resisting temptation. There was so much silence as he thought of what to do or say next, it begged of you to ask something to break it as quickly as possible. Or maybe, there was a desperate tug of your heart, wondering if the same statement Remus said about you could be applied to him.
The question came out on an impulse. “And you?”
Remus frowned, a line etching itself into his forehead messy with uneven strands of golden brown hair. “No. No, it’s not my first time.” He exhaled deeply after the admission, visibly afraid to be looking at you but still never ceasing to.
“Oh.”
You could feel your legs begin to close together slowly by the power of some subconscious force, your face falling on its side in order to not have to look directly at Remus under the same influence.n “Wait,” he pleaded, grabbing your kneecaps with one hand each. The feeling of his warm skin touching you, as opposed to the chilled midnight air, demanded your attention be regained. “You don’t have to do this. Please know that. And if you want to go have your first time with someone else who hasn’t had theirs, I understand completely. I just want to say that, no matter how many times I’ve had sex, even if it were a million times,”–you cocked your eyebrow at him– “It’s an exaggeration! But even if that was true, it wouldn’t matter. Because I love you. And, uh, this will, in a way, be my first time, too, since I wasn’t in love with who I lost my virginity to. Not even a little bit. So, lucky for you… ”
“Yeah, lucky for me,” you laughed. It seemed loud for the space, unceremonious and gawky. But experiences like this, you decided, were made up of separate moments with individual timelines, allowing for dynamic shifts like the difference between the growl of a lip amidst teeth and the kind of laughter that sinks into your bones warmly.
This mentality also allowed for the silence that followed, the type of quietness that was neither pleading or empty but simply existed. Your fingers continued their way through Remus’ hair, landing in finale intertwined the back of his neck. Finally, finally the moment presented itself, on silver platter and all, and you abandoned yourself to being carried away, feeding fuel to the fire by whispering kisses along Remus’ jawline. His entire body shook in response, neck craning back, back craning in, and something inside you kept saying more, more, more. So you pressed your palms underneath the layer of cotton covering his body to touch the layer of skin it was hiding, rediscovering the texture of his ribcage and spine with nothing concealing it, fingertips saying hello to his bruises with the tone of voice of an old friend. Remus breathed, paused, sucked in, hissed, moaned. Each genre of sound was your new favorite, and you prayed above all else the music would continue.
His shirt was the first to be forgotten, thrown into some misshapen lump in a corner of his barely moonlit bedroom. Maybe you’ve been here before, or some version of this location: Remus shirtless, skin authentically aglow in a starlight sort of manner, scars deeply etched but deeply insignificant when addressing the whole of his graceful limbs and long muscles. You traced shapes into his chest, watching it stutter in response, entranced.
“You’re stunning,” you whispered before allowing your lips the skin they ached to taste. He mumbled something opinionated that turned into something incoherent as you dragged your tongue down his stomach, trying to make him shiver and be convinced your virginity was a contradiction to your execution. You sneakily shifted between positions in order to gain the greatest access possible downwards, then further down, then so far a belt buckle ceased any immediate action. Fingers touched the cold metal ring, applying a question in the form of pressure. Remus’ hips bucked, giving an answer in the form of physicality. The “please,” that dragged out of his throat was, you assumed, supposed to come before the bodily agreement. But you understood the lack of hold-back, liked it, because it meant you were bothering, enticing, stimulating. This was the job and you had checked every box on the list that was presented to you thus far.
The unbuckling of his belt was the first artificial sound of the evening, followed by the definitive but soft scraping of his jeans and boxers against his skin while simultaneously being pushed down his legs. But the third sound–the gulping of your throat–was genuine in all forms of the word, not only as it was made by your body but because it was the first time you had seen all of Remus and it was your first time to do this with something like that and wow, wow, wow…
“You don’t have to,” Remus said besides himself with breaths so shallow, if they were water, the blue would barely touch your ankles. And that’s why you touched, anyways, explored, eventually learned in, sucked. Because he was all unbalanced and stuttery, always two words away from completing sentences, rushing through some reactions and prolonging others, saying “fuck” so many times you thought he had bought himself a nonrefundable ticket to Hell.
So when he asked you to stop, breathing as haphazardly as his caramel hair hung into his closed eyes, the contradiction between the demand and his presumed enjoyment forced you to ask, “was it not good?”
Automatically, Remus denied your doubt without a trace of his own shadowing over his facial features. If anything, a small smile edged its way onto Remus’ face as he confessed, “that was probably the best I’ve ever had. God, wanna make you feel the same.”
Remus began transitioning the tone of the conversation from sentences to moans as he left open-mouthed, obnoxiously short-lived kisses on the side of your lips that distracted you from the way he laid you down subtly. And, yes, Remus was Remus was Remus but knowing you were heading somewhere, knowing that his hands were under your shirt to take it off and in your pants to get even deeper, added a feverence to his approach that was intoxicatingly detectable. There was a strategy to every movement: the pacing of undressing, the dynamic contrast between a suck and a bite, the use of breathing so unevenly up against your begging mouth, but doing nothing to ease that craving. Remus was teasing you in the most Remus way possible: almost noticeably, almost as if it was a coincidence. But the sensations that vibrated from the marrow of your bones all the way to the tips of your hair, paired with Remus’ gentle yet seductive smirks, made you certain these actions were no accidents.
But there was absolutely no concern in your mind that Remus was getting away with the crime, because his body filled yours with something that felt like starlight, so forget righteousness if it prohibited you indulging in your newfound obsession of having his body on yours, atop yours, in yours. In yours?
“Shit,” you gasped, realizing where his tongue was, tugging at whatever was closest to you deep in the throes of pleasure. Never before had you felt this, and never again will you be able to kiss that tongue the same way knowing the full throttle of its capabilities. “Shit, Rem,” you panted. “Again. Please.”
He replied simply, somehow sounding as coiled up as you, all breathless and hazy. “Yeah. You taste good.” It was so automatic, so unadulterated in its candid delivery, not even your mouth could not express the hotness of the phrase. This lead to you arching your back up and craning your neck against a mattress in a way that seems premature, considering Remus’ tongue had yet to return, but was necessary to abide by the scorching sensation inside of your stomach that dissuade you from caring about logic. You let that sense guide you, sweep over you unconditionally, as Remus had the audacity to mouth at places without warning, making you blissfully powerless to his tongue and his strategies. A lick, a nip, a circle, a kiss, a prod, a blow. You never knew exactly how much your body was capable of feeling until Remus brought it upon you now, self-confident smirk and all, with a dangerously low chuckle while pulling away that made you absolutely disintegrate.
You could hear the heaviness of lust in his voice as he asked, “Fuck, can I finger you now? I’ll take it slow, of course. I’ll fuck you slow, too…”
“Remus,” you moaned, lifting your hips up in a way that seems far too desperate considering you should have already felt every possible sensation by now.
“Sorry, love,” he said. “I think I’m getting a bit ahead of myself but, shit, I’ve never… just…”
“I know.” In a moment overflowing with risk, you looked up at him, all raw lipped and glistening, locking your blurred eyes with his. They were thoroughly dialated, full of a hunger that stemmed from far below their lids, but still stumbled upon your body sweetly, coaxing instead of staring. Even if this was your first time, the way he looked at you was all the evidence you needed that all physical manifestation between you and Remus would be different than anything else with anyone else. Better than. You dipped your fingertips through his disheveled hair, brushing it off of his forehead. “Go ahead, I’m ready.”
Remus placed a delicate kiss on your stomach before he lowered down, sputtering out the typical guidance of “relax” and “keep breathing,” in such a short-breathed manner he could have been talking to himself. But when the first finger dipped inside, hitting places never before explored, suddenly the advice was for you, you and your shallow exhales and clenched knuckles. In flashes there was uncertainty, fear, discomfort, all distinctly demoted but easily forgotten as deep breaths turned into small moans and one finger turned into two turned into three. You were an earthquake held inside a body due to Remus’ touches and constant praises of, “You’re doing so good, baby,” and “Yeah, you’re taking it so well.” His words crawled up your skin, raising hairs and spreading shivers. It was all too much– Remus’ low growls, thick fingers, perfect aim, unyielding passion– yet your body coiled with an unquenchable thirst for more.
Your hand searched for his pumping wrist, fingers wrapping around the limb in a silent plead to stop. Remus obliged, looking up at you with a palpable concern that was immediately disintegrated once you said, “I’m ready, Remus.”
“Yeah?” he asked. His smile was a mix of firewhisky and safety, somewhere between two and but neither by itself.
You let your own smile take its shape across its face as you nodded. Remus lifted his face to yours and coaxed apart your lips so gently it felt like praying. With closed eyes you only felt his hands pressed against your hot cheeks, only heard his gravelly voice whisper how much he loved you against your mouth. Too soon he lifted his face away, lifted his whole body off of yours to readjust and it was happening, it was truly happening, right before your now wide-open eyes. They basked in Remus’ striated skin, his light layering of freckles, his veiny arms; he was beautiful in an overwhelmingly accidental way. But when Remus’ body edged closer and closer, further and further in, it was impossible to focus on anything other than the holiness that was being this close to him. Everything felt better than you had ever imagined and you swore Remus’ body, in that exact moment, created the concept of ecstacy.
Remus spent a while above you, his forearms and back receiving unevenly distributed scratches from your fingernails, before some unspoken thought or desire brought his torso against yours to allow mouths to press together once more. Your skeleton melted at the combination of tenderness and friction, the beautiful juxtaposition between heat and hearth, and you found yourself moaning Remus’ name down his own throat in attempt to counterbalance the intensity of his body being inside yours. And then, somehow, Remus’ tongue was on your neck, sliding up your jawline, his breath tickling your ear. “Shit, you feel so good,” he groaned into the shell of it. “I’m close.”
Your body shook, contorting, back arching at the confession. “M-me, too,” you replied, surprising yourself due to the fact you could form words.
It happened too soon, the zenith, submerging you under a translucent wave of bliss so thick you thought you were drowning but you didn’t care, you truly didn’t. It was too good. Remus’ back was full of your fingertips, digging in so deeply you were surprised you didn’t hit bone. Every part of your body was arching and clenching, except your mouth, which was frozen hung open in the aftermath of screaming Remus’ name.
And thus you began a chain reaction: once settled from your orgasm, Remus hit his, screaming “fuck” so loudly you suddenly became aware of what you were doing and where you were doing it. But that concern was easily distracted as Remus bit down on his unfairly thick lower lip, his eyes squeezed shut just as aggressively, his arms flexed in the act of pulling out. He was so accidentally gorgeous, even in the throes of it- especially in the throes of it.
The silence that followed was quickly disrupted by Remus’ body falling against the mattress, next to you but not quite separated from. He stroked your arm from the lopsided angle before repositioning to lay on his side and kiss your shoulder so softly you almost didn’t process the sensation.
“How are you feeling?” Remus asked, the absent minded stroking returning to your arm as an excuse for his fingers to find their way into yours.
“Tired,” you admitted. Remus snorted at the response. “And amazing.” You turned to face him, watching the hand that imitated the roll touch Remus’ chest. You observed the patch of skin over his heart through both eyes and fingers before looking up, noticing his eyes were cast on you. “Thank you,” you said.
Remus laughed, his entire body following the sound out of his throat. “Are you kidding me? Thank you. That was undeniably the best sexual experience of my life.”
A smirk formed across your raw lips. “So I was worth the wait?”
“Yeah,” he smiled, reclaiming the hand that was sprawling against his chest to kiss the top of it. “You’re worth everything.”