It’s a pity Mother never much liked wearing skirts—oh, the outer robe, certainly, and gowns for Yule and Ministry soirees, but never for her days in society and her nights at home. Pity, that; you can’t help thinking of Remus in a witch’s dress-robes, corset squeezing his waist in to add to the illusion of hips, lips reddened and gait slow in high heels. But that is a kink for another time, already Remus’ eyes, hard behind the reading glasses Mother used mostly for affecting sobriety, are flicking up to look at your reddening face, and traversing down to rest critically on your crotch.
“Really, Sirius.” The accent’s just a little off—too much of Remus’ own West Country creeping in—but the disdain stops you at ten paces, makes you grow helplessly more aroused. “I can’t think why you presumed such behaviour would be tolerated.”
“Mother.” The brows tilt up inquisitively, and you realise how good it is that Mother favoured wizard’s garb, stealing Father’s suits and transfiguring them to fit. Much better to have Remus untrammelled by unfamiliar clothing, much better to see these tantalising glimpses of your boy peeping through the stern maternal facade.
“Have you forgotten how to speak, as well as to tell the time?” Behind his head, the hand with your name on it swings around to ‘Too Late’, and Remus quirks a smile the very nature of which he has changed—Polyjuice would have been a closer match, of course, but Polyjuice would have been too close.
“I’m sorry.”
“Is that how you talk to your Mother?” He smiles again—a familiar smile, though rarely aimed at you. You move as though released from a Body Bind, crossing the room to kneel at her feet. At his feet, his feet, you know it is Remus who looks down through lowered lashes at you. “Well, my pup?”
“No,” you say, and shudder as Remus swings one long leg down from the desk and rests it in your lap, pressing the tip of her shoe gently against your erection.
“No, what?”
“No, Mother.”
“Well? Why are you late?” Remus still has one hand on the arm of his chair, the other has crept down to tangle in your curls, pull your head back to stare at him.
“I apologise, Mother. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not sure I trust you.” For a moment the smile is all Remus, and in the next the hand slipping down your neck to pull at your collar entirely your Mother. “You’ve been a bad boy, my pup.”
“I’ll be good.” It’s worth your while, being good for Remus, after all. Look how wonderfully he rewards you.
“Perhaps you will. But I think that’s very unlikely, don’t you, darling?” The kiss he drops in your hair is nonchalant, almost absent-minded. “I think... oh, yes, that should do very nicely.”
“Yes, Mother?” You’re not the only one getting off on this—the front of Remus’ trousers has been quite reliably giving his gender away for a while, now. You nuzzle closer, propping your head on his knee and glancing coyly up. “What d’you want to do with me, Mother?”
“Why, you impudent, little...” and now it’s Remus entirely, for all the crisply tailored shirt and the immaculate line of the trousers, Remus dragging you up to straddle him on the chair and kiss him between buts of laughter.
He always, always breaks scene before he kisses you. You’re fairly sure you prefer it this way.
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Oedipus
Date: 2011-01-15 09:27 pm (UTC)“Really, Sirius.” The accent’s just a little off—too much of Remus’ own West Country creeping in—but the disdain stops you at ten paces, makes you grow helplessly more aroused. “I can’t think why you presumed such behaviour would be tolerated.”
“Mother.” The brows tilt up inquisitively, and you realise how good it is that Mother favoured wizard’s garb, stealing Father’s suits and transfiguring them to fit. Much better to have Remus untrammelled by unfamiliar clothing, much better to see these tantalising glimpses of your boy peeping through the stern maternal facade.
“Have you forgotten how to speak, as well as to tell the time?” Behind his head, the hand with your name on it swings around to ‘Too Late’, and Remus quirks a smile the very nature of which he has changed—Polyjuice would have been a closer match, of course, but Polyjuice would have been too close.
“I’m sorry.”
“Is that how you talk to your Mother?” He smiles again—a familiar smile, though rarely aimed at you. You move as though released from a Body Bind, crossing the room to kneel at her feet. At his feet, his feet, you know it is Remus who looks down through lowered lashes at you. “Well, my pup?”
“No,” you say, and shudder as Remus swings one long leg down from the desk and rests it in your lap, pressing the tip of her shoe gently against your erection.
“No, what?”
“No, Mother.”
“Well? Why are you late?” Remus still has one hand on the arm of his chair, the other has crept down to tangle in your curls, pull your head back to stare at him.
“I apologise, Mother. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not sure I trust you.” For a moment the smile is all Remus, and in the next the hand slipping down your neck to pull at your collar entirely your Mother. “You’ve been a bad boy, my pup.”
“I’ll be good.” It’s worth your while, being good for Remus, after all. Look how wonderfully he rewards you.
“Perhaps you will. But I think that’s very unlikely, don’t you, darling?” The kiss he drops in your hair is nonchalant, almost absent-minded. “I think... oh, yes, that should do very nicely.”
“Yes, Mother?” You’re not the only one getting off on this—the front of Remus’ trousers has been quite reliably giving his gender away for a while, now. You nuzzle closer, propping your head on his knee and glancing coyly up. “What d’you want to do with me, Mother?”
“Why, you impudent, little...” and now it’s Remus entirely, for all the crisply tailored shirt and the immaculate line of the trousers, Remus dragging you up to straddle him on the chair and kiss him between buts of laughter.
He always, always breaks scene before he kisses you. You’re fairly sure you prefer it this way.