The room is dark in the corners; dark everywhere in Sirius’ periphery. He can only concentrate on the pattern of scratches on the top of the desk, the trickle of light falling across his fingers. The wood grain is rough and harsh against his skin.

It’s always like this – dense, and thick, with Remus folded over him, pressing into him with long heady thrusts. Sees his hands, clutching the desk, his elbows digging into the wood. Bends further over, spreads open, is covered a fog of heat – is covered by Remus.

Remus moves into him like liquid, flowing, pulling Sirius under. He can’t breathe. Fingers dart across his skin, never stopping, never landing, quick presses into flesh that leave Sirius burning for more.

There’s air moving around him, slow like honey, and Remus pants across his neck, hot and muggy; whispers in his ear and Sirius shudders. Remus’ eyelashes brush against his cheek, his tongue tracking across Sirius’ jaw in slow motion. Sirius turns his head, meets Remus’ lips and kisses him, sweet and languorous, and Remus tastes like cedar.

Their bodies set a rhythm, follow learned nuances, angles, grunts. They patch themselves together with words, touches – kisses that are sometimes awkward, sometimes amazing.

Remus is breathing harder, and he strokes Sirius’ cock with every push, every pull back out. Pressure that builds and binds them until Remus stiffens, one last stroke in, one last stroke of Sirius’ cock, and they both come, no words spoken, both of them struggling for breath.

They slump to the floor, curling around each other, and Sirius nudges one leg between Remus’, wraps an arm around Remus’ waist. Muffles kisses into his neck, and they both slide into sleep.