#dymm?

Remus stood up, getting used to the feeling of walking with the toy still inside of him for a moment before walking to the bathroom to clean up. He dressed in soft joggers and one of Padfoot’s worn t-shirts.

The long walk out of the bedroom and down the hallway gave Remus time to get used to the feeling of the plug moving inside of him. Hopefully his walk wouldn’t be noticeably different by the time he got to the kitchen so that he could surprise Padfoot later.

A moment before he entered the kitchen, he heard low voices and froze outside of the door. One of them was definitely Padfoot, and Remus thought the other one might be Prongs. Which would be fine—he could just kick Prongs out and tell them that he was desperate to be fucked. With the plug rubbing against his prostate, he soon would be absolutely desperate.

Remus peeked in the room before walking in, seeing the two of them sitting at the table he found Padfoot at earlier. Prongs was facing him and glanced around Padfoot when Remus walked in the room.

“Hey, hope you don’t mind that I came over.” The smile on Prongs’ face immediately stopped the I do mind, could you leave? from escaping Remus’s mouth

Instead, he offered a small smile. “No, it’s fine.” Remus walked up to Padfoot, kissing him briefly. He didn’t try to sit down, knowing that sitting would press the plug further against his prostate and that he would have a hard time hiding that from James.

“Hi, love. Good shower?” Remus nodded. “Jambi and I were going to go to the gym real quick. Why don’t you come with us?” Remus felt himself pale, which triggered a small smile from Padfoot. “I know you don’t like the gym, but it’ll make you feel better. Endorphins and all that.”

It was rare that they had nights like this, choosing to speak over the phone just because.  Because they were separately alone and they had the time.  Because they missed each other’s voices.  Because they wanted to be talking all the time and why not do it over the phone instead of over text when they had the chance.  It was so often that it was about sex, and that was amazing, mind blowing even, but nights like this were perfect too.  

Moony had had a long day and he was tired.  Shockingly, too tired to be in the mood for their usual activities, or maybe it was more than just being tired, but Sirius wouldn’t force him to talk about it, beyond the tired but don’t want to go to sleep just yet explanation Moony offered up.  Sirius was just pleased to have found a way to support him, the way Moony supported Sirius by drawing pictures of Padfoot.  Sirius could support Moony through a hard time by just being there for him, talking late into the night if that’s what Moony needed.

"Will you dream of me, Moony?"  Sirius asked in a half whisper, noticing Moony was starting to pause longer between his words and was definitely tired enough to sleep soon.

"Hmm I don't know,” Moony hummed back in his sleepy voice.  “Should these be good dreams?"

"Yes, of course, the sweetest of sweet dreams," Sirius assured him, happy Moony seemed willing to play along.  He worried about Moony getting enough sleep.  He would be relieved when Moony fell asleep, even if it meant they had to stop talking for the night.

"Tell me what to dream about so I can fall asleep thinking about it," Moony asked in a hushed voice, almost hesitant to ask for what he wanted.  Sirius was all too willing to provide.

"Dream of me sharing your bed.” Sirius took a deep breath and continued, speaking from the heart rather than with logic for a change.  “Not for the first time, think of it when we've gotten used to sharing a bed. When we've slept next to each other a hundred times and some nights you're tired of me taking up your space."

Moony interrupted, "I could never be tired of that Padfoot. I'll squeeze myself small to make room for you every night."

"No, Moony, I want you to have all the space. Take up your big boy bed with your long legs and I have to just fit around you every night." Sirius found himself falling into the daydream- turned- dream, sprawling out on his bed and making demonstrative gestures as he spoke, as if he was really lying next to Moony, all his dreams come true, getting ready to sleep next to each other.

"The big boy bed is sounding better and better." Moony got the words out through a yawn.

"Yeah, you need a bed big enough for us both. I'm a bit of an octopus you know."  Sirius smirked to himself.  He’d like nothing more than to be fighting Moony for blankets right now.

"Mmm. My Octotrash. It'll be a no clothes allowed zone, I want all of you touching me."  Moony spoke slowly at first, then the words coming all together in a rush, the want clear in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah that sounds perfect.” Sirius matched and soothed Moony’s sudden energy.  Not wanting to wake him up with this talk, he thought his next words through carefully, “Dream about me with my legs all tangled with yours and neither of us are wearing any clothes so we don't get too hot sharing our body heat like that."

The smile was clear in Moony’s voice, something Sirius was realizing he didn’t get to hear often enough. "We would learn to adjust to each other. One of us rolls over in their sleep and the other moves with them and we don't even have to wake up to do it."

"No, we're too busy having sweet dreams laying next to each other to wake up, of course," Sirius teased, a smile seeming to grow endlessly on his face.

"Ugh, ha, cheese toastie."  Moony laughed lightly before his voice returned to its slow, sleepy cadence. 

"Oh my god yes, the biggest cheese toastie."

"Will you talk me to sleep, Padfoot?"  He was more confident this time, asking for what he wanted.  More sure that Sirius would give it to him after their conversation.

"Yeah, Moony,” Sirius thought he would give Moony the whole world right about now.  “Close your eyes. You're still wanting the sweet dreams then?"

"Yes, tell me about the dreams I'm gonna have."

"Dream about the weight of my legs on top of yours. They're kinda heavy, especially when I'm asleep, think you can handle it?"

"Mm yeah." Moony agreed, sounding a bit wistful.

"Yeah, you can. My legs are pressing yours into the bed so tight you can't move around very much and we get all tangled around each other when you try. We're sharing a pillow like the cheese toasties that we are, even though there's plenty of pillows on your big boy bed, I just can't bear to have my head that far from yours all night long. So my hair might get a little in your face and yours is practically in my mouth but I love it. I'm pressed so tight to you I can feel you breathing, your chest going up and down is carrying my arm with it. And that just lulls me back to sleep if I start to wake up. How's that sound Moony?"

"Mm good dream." The words were heavily slurred, more like Moony was talking in his sleep now than anything.

"You almost asleep?" Sirius lowered his voice all the way to a soft whisper.

"Mmmhmm." How could so much love and comfort be conveyed in a murmur?  

"Goodnight Moony. Sweet dreams." Moony's snuffles fell deep and even. 

Sirius wasn’t much of a painter—if he’s an artist at all his medium was words and music, not acrylics, watercolors, and oils—but he could picture Moony, somehow, his perfect hair, eyes, hands…the pretty parts of him that Sirius was already intimately familiar with, uncovered in the no-clothes-allowed zone of their bed…Moony laid out on his bed, all long limbs and soft features, the definition of beauty in his sleep. Even through the phone, he could feel Moony’s exhaustion and his love, and so he continued in a low, slow, soothing whisper.

“And in the morning — I’ll wake up, it’s just me, just us. Just me, waking up to you. No alarms, no one’s screaming, no one’s shouting orders, just me… and the birds outside our window…”

Sirius could hear a rumbling through the phone. It was probably the passing of a train, wherever his Moony was. Someone, somewhere, lots of someones, free to come and go, were headed in the direction of his Moony; how he wished he were one of them. 

“You’re still sleeping, you’re talking in your sleep a little, so I take my time to count your curls, trace the stubble on your jaw, the breath fluttering your lips. We’ll see who won the blanket war last night. If it’s me, I’ll run my hands all over your body — starting from your collarbones, pressing my hands flat against the planes of your chest. I’ll make a pit stop at your heart, I'll count every rib — no, actually, I don’t want to. I’ll go straight for your pelvis, circle around to your thighs…” he fell silent, imagining the stroking, rubbing, pressing. His own need ached, but sating it all by himself didn’t seem right with Moony so close but so far, nearly-almost-but-not-quite silent, not providing any of his usual encouragement. The moment hung too fragile and gentle for the movement it would require.

“If it’s you—” Sirius found he had to suck in a deep breath before continuing, making a deliberate effort to pull oxygen into his suddenly empty lungs—“if it’s you, consider yourself safe for a little longer. I'll take my time unwrapping my gift. I’ll kiss your forehead, kiss your eyelids, kiss the words out of your mouth before they can form. I’ll run my thumbs across the soft edges of your ears—don’t speak, don’t look now, just listen—” 

Moony made a little sleep-grunt, and the smooth flow of words rapidly spilling out of Sirius’ mouth caught a little as his breath hitched in his throat. Suddenly he was unsure of what he’d been about to say. What he wanted to say—what he could say. His lips closed and parted, mutely. Wanting to say too much, able to say nothing at all. 

The thrumming of his heart in his chest had taken a different beat. The red fog of arousal replaced by something more—clear, somehow. Both calmer and far more desperate. 

He tried to fight the urge—it was a childish habit that had long been disciplined out of him, first kindly but firmly, and then less kindly but no less firmly, and even Regulus would never do something like that anymore—but it was no good. Putting his knuckles in his mouth and biting down hard doesn’t stop the thought from forming, and worse still, forcing its way up his throat and out of his mouth. It burns the whole way—

“Moony, you— you'll open your eyes and you’ll see me. Your eyes will widen in surprise, just a fraction, you'll hold your breath just for a moment, and you’ll reach out a hand to cup my face. You’ll ask me something like — are you real? Is this really you, with me, here? Is this us?

“And I'll — I'll nod. I’ll look into your eyes — brown, hazel, green, god I’m not even sure what color they are, but I know they’re beautiful — I'll know you’re looking into mine. I’ll say, yes, yes, I’ll make myself say it because I want to hear it too, I know, I can hardly believe it myself either.  Even after a hundred times, it’ll still feel like it's just a sweet dream, but it’s not; it’ll be real.”

It's all Sirius can do to locate with shaking fingers the red “end call” button before tears overcame him, poured hot and shameful down his cheeks. Moony, his Moony, his peacefully sleeping Moony on the other end of the line. Right beside him, not a million miles away. Not his Moony. He knew, he knows, but maybe tonight—quietly, selfishly—he could dream.

--------------------------------

A hundred nights later…

“Pads,” a whisper tickles the curve of Sirius’ ear, so close he shivers as he starts to wake.

“Mmmghhffgh.” Sirius moans, too asleep still to be remotely coherent.

“Psst. Pads,” the voice comes more insistent now, not much of a whisper anymore, but still gentle. “Oi.”

It takes Sirius’ brain a minute to pull itself from deep sleep, he has to blink a couple times. Pads… Moony? He's in bed. Moony’s beside him. Which means… Moony’s in bed with him.  Sirius’ brain—all of him, really—startles awake faster once he realizes exactly where he is. He feels his blood rush with all the hum, all the excitement of an oncoming train, far in the distance but closing in fast…

He knows the delight must show clearly on his face, because Moony—despite his half-shuttered eyes, pretending he’s still asleep, as if he hadn’t just spoken—lets out a quiet snort. Moony barely moves his mouth, and there’s just the slightest twitch to his right eyebrow as he murmurs, ever so softly —