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sirius

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The beach was still something of a novelty. He had, from time to time, been posted near to the sea but he'd never really had time to linger on the shore. Most recently, all they'd been trying to do was escape the sand, but now he had time to sit and to take it in. Today, he was sat in the sand with a sketchbook, drawing Iskierka from memory. Between his arm and the fairness of his skin, he hasn't dared to strip off his shirt, but it's light and it's loose and it'll do.

Now if only he could do something about the bridge of his nose.

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Flat on his back and knees in the air, Sirius stares a long moment, the pulse seeming to have grown louder in his ears. That affectionate little brush of lips to the inside of his knee, Granby's done it like it's nothing at all, when it's so much larger than that, so fundamentally foreign to the way Sirius expects this to happen.

So he stares, and then starts, belatedly grabbing for the packet cradled upon his thin chest to rip the foil open with his teeth. Tongue darting out across his bottom lip, he reaches between his thighs so that he can roll latex down Granby's flushed erection with practised fingers.

The friction, the graze of Sirius' fingers as he roles it down, it's enough to make his hips jerk, his breath coming in a harsh gasp. His eyes dart downwards, taking in the way that Sirius is spread and waiting. He swallows hard, squeezing his thigh again.

"You're going to have to get yourself ready too."

Edgy as he is, Sirius wants to insist the other man just fuck him, but it's been years since he last did this and he doubts Granby would oblige the request regardless.

Hips rocking up once preemptively, Sirius reaches for once of the packets of lube and tears it open, his eyes settling on Granby as he reaches slick fingers between his thighs. His breath catches, lips parting with the hitch of his chest, but his gaze doesn't stray, gray eyes fixed on blue.

Watching, eyes fixed on Sirius's face, though they do dart down to the movement of his hand too, Granby curls his own fingers around his cock, not stroking, not yet, but squeezing, focusing as he swallows.

"That's perfect," he says, and his eyes don't leave Sirius' face.

When Sirius finally does draw his gaze away, it's coupled with the sleek arch of his spine and upward tip of his chin, eyes slipping closed as lips part, silent and blissful, and his hips bear down upon his fingers. He hisses a low expletive and takes hold of his cock with his free hand, fingers still sticky-slick from the condom.

He could invite Granby, now—Wants to, actually, but waits instead, hopeful the other man's propriety will be strained enough to dislodge itself without Sirius asking.

There's a limit to how long Granby can watch something like that - the arch of Sirius' body, the press of his fingers. The rush of his breath makes Granby feel dizzy.

"Stop," he says, something rough in his voice. He reaches, his fingers curling around Sirius' wrists. "That's enough of that."

Sirius gives himself another smooth stroke, the movement abbreviated by the press of Granby's hand, and then draws both hands away to lay back against the mattress panting and thighs spread.

"In your own time," he says, thin chest lifting with eager breaths, hips writhing.

It's all the invitation that he needs. Half on his knees, weight caught on his bent arm, he leans down, catching Sirius mouth with his. He smears lube with fingers and palm, rubs the head of his cock against Sirius for a second before he's pushing into him, harder than he means to, lost in the moment.

"Jesus." It comes hot and harsh against Sirius' mouth.

The pain is sharp but feels liberating, and mingles so thoroughly with pleasure that for the first tense moments Sirius can't tell one from the other. It's been so long that he'd forgotten what it felt like, the ecstasy of the violation, the weight of someone else inside him. Caught on that first wave, his shoulders arch back, press hard into the mattress as his spine bows up, meeting Granby's body as he hovers above.

"Fuck me," he replies against the other man's lips, one hand already caught behind a knee, angling his hips. "Fuck me as hard as you can."

He really does not need to be told that twice - he rocks his hips, pulling almost all of the way out of Sirius' body before he slams back in. He shifts position, up on his knee with his hand on the headboard to give him leverage to set a hard, deep rhythm.

"Like that?" he asks, breathless.

"Oh fuck," Sirius says, and it's almost a whimper, his head falling back as Granby rocks into him. He hopes it's answer enough, as his ability to form coherent sentences seems suddenly to be failing him.

Letting go of his knee, he reaches his hand up to brace against the headboard and push back into each thrust. The fingers of his free hand he wraps against his cock, moaning low in the back of his throat as he begins stroking in time with Granby's rhythm.

Instinct more or less takes over and, right then, there isn't a clear thought in his head. Everything's visceral - there's the slide of his cock and friction and heat, the graze of Sirius; knuckles against his belly.

It's so, so easy to get lost in it.

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