rockstar!sirius black x reader
summary: sirius longing for his lover in the arms of the only other person who understands.
warnings: smut so 18+ / mentions of voyeurism / brief mention of childhood abuse / because it’s sirius / closeted wolfstar / implied poly!wolfstar x reader i swear i will actually write it eventually
He is not supposed to be here.
He’s got a show tomorrow in Denver, but instead he's spent all morning in your living room feeding six-inch singles into your record player and reviewing them like he's a music journalist and not part of one of the most successful rock bands of the decade. You're laid out on the floor, the ceiling fan doing little to quell the baking California sun that’s made you strip down to your underwear.
A burning cold hits your stomach and you scream. Sirius laughs, a freezing bottle of Pepsi Cola pressed into your sweat damp skin.
“Asshole.” you say, taking the bottle anyway. You fumble around for a bottle opener, but he takes the bottle away from you and pries the lid off with his teeth. He sits down across from you, head against your moth-eaten sofa and legs spread wide.
“You’ll break a tooth doing that.”
He grins. “Wouldn’t be the first.”
He pulls the left side of his cheek back to reveal a missing molar at the back of his mouth.
Sirius shakes his head. “My mother.”
He hums, his eyes burning into the side of your head as you take a sip of your drink, some of it spilling down your chin and chest. When you see his hand brush over his crotch in your peripheral you roll your eyes.
“You’re gonna tell me about your mom hitting you and then get yourself off?”
“Just enjoying the view.”
“Why are you here, Sirius?”
He sighs dramatically, pouting as he leans his head against your moth-eaten sofa. “I wanted someone to look after me.”
“Your boyfriend not doing a good enough job?”
He laughs, a little sadly, nudging you in the hip with his toe. “He's fine. We’re just...”
On tour. Might lose everything if anyone sees me sneaking into his hotel room.
“Well,” you say, rolling over onto your front and starting to crawl in his direction. “Good job I like looking after you so much.”
The game is always fun. Give and take. Be mine. You both know he belongs to another. And you could never belong to anybody.
“Mm,” he hums. “I know you do.”
The carpet is rough on your forearms, sticky skin on nylon fibre, as you make a show of laying your head on his jean-clad thigh. The corners of your lips quirk up when you realise he’s obviously not wearing any underwear - his fly is undone, bulge straining obviously against the ridiculously tight denim. It looks delectable.
He hisses when you take him out of his trousers, hand coming to the back of your neck.
“Your hands are cold.” you grumble.
“They won’t be in a—oh fuck.”
You take him into your mouth slowly, only tongue swirling lower and lower until you can feel the tip of him at the back of your throat.
You don’t have to look up to know what he looks like. Head to the ceiling, sweat trickling down the pale skin on his neck like morning dew on a snowdrop.
“You're so good,” he groans, as you work your head up and down, moaning around his cock when his hand fists in your hair.
He yanks your head back after about a minute, rushing you up into his lap and pulling your underwear to the side. It’s quick, sweaty, wet - the way he dips his fingers into you, until you're sighing and soft to the touch. He pulls his hand away, adjusting himself in line with your entrance and groaning at the sight of himself against you. His voice is dazed when he speaks, inching you down onto his cock:
“I could watch him fuck you."
You grin. “Maybe I’d watch him fuck you.”
Sirius growls, hands squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise and starting to thrust up into you like he’s trying to prove something. You can’t say that, though, because he’s hitting a spot inside you that makes it hard to see, let alone speak. You can feel him everywhere, the two of you entangled in sweat and humidity and the taste of Pepsi when he finally pulls you down for a searing kiss.
You try and mumble against his sticky lips, ‘I—“
He knows - he always knows - moving the hand on your left hip forwards to pinch your clit until you scream into his mouth. He laughs when your teeth clash, your lips apparently incapable of doing what you want them because you're just about to fall over the edge.
“That’s it, baby,” he says, hands - warm now - cupping your cheek. He laughs when you open your frenzied eyes to meet his. “That’s it—”
His laugh turns into a hiss, losing his breath when his own release arrives and he comes, the spurts between you making you both even stickier than you already are.
"You ruined my carpet.” you say between breaths so heavy you can barely hear the ceiling fan anymore.
He follows your gaze to the spilt bottle of Pepsi beside his hand.
Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay for another one. Or Moony can fix it, he’s very handy, actually—”
He lights up when he starts talking about Remus. It has always been like this, ever since the first time you fucked him backstage in California, and you asked him why he stared at his rhythm guitarist like he was the only person the world.
"You gunna bring Moony next time you rock up on my doorstep at 5AM without any warning?"
"Maybe," he winks. "He prefers 7UP, to Pepsi, though."
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