DOGGED MINISTRATION
By Your Cruise Director

The Doxy infestation isn't so bad -- could probably be managed by one wizard, easily by two -- and Remus has been thinking that things are going well when Sirius suddenly lets out a cry of dismay, pacing to the far side of the room and back like a caged dog. "I hate this," he mutters. "I hate this!"

"Then go make us some tea," says Remus reasonably, thinking at first that Sirius means he hates having cloth tied over his nose and mouth to protect him from the noxious black liquid they have been spraying at the curtains, or perhaps the small bottle of antidote (probably made by Snape) waiting in case a Doxy's sharp, poisonous teeth should sink into one of their exposed hands. Remus, too, dislikes the whirring sound of the creatures' wings and their ugly furry bodies, but Remus is so happy to be working side by side with Sirius that it had not occurred to him that Sirius might not feel the same way.

Tearing the cloth from his face, Sirius tosses it to the floor and collapses into a chair. His face shines with sweat and bands of pink where the material has chafed his skin, yet he is pale and his hands ball into fists when he wraps them around his too-thin ribs. If Sirius could shrink into himself, Remus thinks, turn himself into some tiny creature -- a mouse or an insect -- he might very well do so, crawling away into invisibility.

"I hate this room," Sirius begins. "I hate this house. I hate this life!"

Remus had hoped that they were finished with such conversations when Sirius offered number twelve, Grimmauld Place to the Order of the Phoenix. Elated as he had been when Sirius had appeared at his back door the previous spring, Sirius had felt trapped in Remus' home -- unable to go to Harry and unable to vanish into the woods in case Dumbledore made an all-too-rare request for Sirius to do something. The thought of using the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black as a headquarters to fight hateful Purebloods had given Sirius a bitter satisfaction, yet it could not assuage his frustration.

Now it is as if Sirius has traded the prison of Remus' home for this one, though of course Remus has done his best to distract Sirius. Alone in the evenings, they listen to music and play Gobstones or chess and occasionally indulge in reliving old times, their memories eased by whisky. But there has never been a moment when Remus could have imagined saying, didn't you know I wanted you for all those years or I dreamed about your body even when I thought you were a murderer or even let's, just for fun, just for distraction, just because having you this close is making me gnash my teeth like a mad dog. Please.

"You're going to be much happier in this house when we've finished cleaning it," he tells Sirius now. "You're no longer stuck hiding behind my curtains."

"Now I'm stuck hiding behind my curtains...my mother's curtains," Sirius snaps. "I have no control over anything!"

And something in the words snaps something in Remus. Tugging the fabric from around his face, he puts down his bottle of Doxycide and crosses the room, offering the cloth to Sirius, who unwraps his arms to take it as he squints up in confusion.

"You do," Remus tells Sirius. "You can control me."

A familiar gleam flickers in Sirius' eyes, a look Remus has not seen in a very long time -- the twinkle Sirius used to get when he and James were about to do something against the rules. Then wariness returns. "What are you talking about, Moony?"

Remus gets to his knees, putting his hands on Sirius' thighs. They tremble under his fingers before Sirius pulls them together, his face just as tense and uncertain as before. This is a conversation anticipated and postponed for years, and Remus can see clearly now in the guarded expression that of course Sirius suspected -- he hadn't been subtle -- but Sirius had been even more afraid. He is still holding up the cloth that had covered Remus' face, and Remus inclines his head toward it, then indicates his own wrists.

"I'll do anything you tell me, Sirius," he clarifies. "Tie me up, if you want. Give me an order. Anything."

Sirius doesn't move. For a moment he looks too frightened to do so, staring at Remus as if waiting for him to disappear...a pleasant fantasy snatched away. The hand holding the cloth comes down to cover one of Remus' hands, and Sirius' eyes narrow at the feel of solid flesh.

"If I say suck me," he begins hoarsely, like it's a dare.

Remus doesn't hesitate, doesn't pause, doesn't look into Sirius' eyes as he starts unfastening Sirius' trousers. The cock beneath his hands is half-hard before he has the top button open, and by the time he's pulling Sirius' underwear down it's sticking straight out so that he must work the waistband around it.

When Sirius puts his hand on the back of Remus' neck, his fingers are shaking. "Suck it, then," he orders, yanking Remus forward like he's still afraid this is about to turn into a joke. His other hand reaches between them to tug back the foreskin and he pushes Remus' head down as he prods up against his lips. Remus is shaking too, opening his mouth and taking it (Sirius' cock oh God) against his tongue, putting his hand over Sirius' on the base of the shaft to hold it steady.

Remus tastes skin and sweat and sweet-salty drops of take it and yes Moony and fuck. Beneath his fingers Sirius is stroking himself as if this isn't real, as if Sirius expects it all to end in an instant, and then it does: there's a low cry above, the vise tightens on the back of Remus' neck, his mouth fills with hot liquid that he has no choice but to swallow because the hand will not let him up. He gulps, trying to breathe through his nose, the aftertaste so bitter his eyes water, and still Sirius will not release him, as if his body doesn't realize that it's over.

Retrieving his hand, Remus puts it on Sirius' trembling thigh and squeezes. The fingers gripping his neck unclench slowly, catching in his hair as they slide away. Moony, Sirius' thick voice groans, but when Remus raises his head to look at him, his eyes are shut and his face is turned to the side, cheeks flushed brightly and lips so dry they're cracking. Sirius closes his mouth to swallow and licks the lips, the beginnings of shame on his features.

Remus releases Sirius' thigh and opens his own trousers. Everything has happened so fast, his knees haven't even begun to get sore. Sirius flutters his eyes open and watches, still flushed and breathing open-mouthed, as Remus maneuvers his hard cock free and begins to stroke it, arching his hips toward Sirius, keeping the softening organ he just sucked directly before his eyes.

Above it he can see Sirius' chin lower as he stares, letting out another soft groan. "Moony," then, don't stop keep going you wanted this all along didn't you go ahead make yourself come and oh, what that does to Remus, Sirius telling no ordering him to come. It's the best sex he's ever had, even though Sirius isn't even touching him, and he cries out as he spatters the floor and the chair -- Remus who never shouts -- he curses and Sirius echoes oh fuck, still watching.

That's how it starts.

~*~

At first the orders are very simple. Make me come.. "How" doesn't matter as much as "now." Sirius always finishes quickly -- something he can't help even when he doesn't demand to be serviced according to some specific set of instructions. Years of furtively pleasuring himself with Dementors lurking nearby have made Sirius incapable of postponing his climax. He has to let it overwhelm him as fast as he can; if he stops to pay attention to what he's doing, the delight drains out of him and he shuts down.

Afterward, if Remus has not come just from feeling Sirius writhing and shaking, Sirius sometimes tells Remus to do it himself while he watches. Secretly, Remus enjoys this as much as when Sirius gives him a rushed, rough orgasm with his hand or mouth, for Remus will take his time, stroking and squeezing in the unhurried way he likes to be touched, and Sirius will watch hungrily, often giving him orders -- play with your nipples, suck your fingers, take my shirt and wank into it. It makes Remus feel exposed, sometimes embarrassed, and having Sirius wink and grin at his shame compounds his arousal.

It's when he makes Remus talk about how it feels that Sirius possesses him, though. "Tell me what this makes you think about," he will demand, watching Remus wank while moving a single lubricated finger in and out of Remus' arse, stopping to sniff it before putting it back in, taking an occasional lick over Remus' fingers and cock like Padfoot would. It's so dirty, everything with Sirius is so dirty and Remus can't say no to any of it.

"Tell me the filthiest fantasy you've ever had," says Sirius. And, oh, fuck, he can't tell Sirius the one about Snape, trapping him in his office at Hogwarts when Snape brought the Wolfsbane and keeping him there until the moon rose, smelling his terror as Moony licked him to full arousal and mounted him and fucked him. Making Snape admit he gets off on the idea of being taken by a werewolf -- that's what Snape can't forgive...

Instead Remus tells Sirius about that afternoon when Tonks had been flirting, doing impersonations of Order members and Death Eaters, and when she had become Lucius Malfoy he had been shockingly aroused, not in a pleasant way, wanting to perform every nasty act he knew on that body, sullying those unblemished hands and that Pureblood arse. Sirius' eyes get darker and darker as Remus describes it all, and when he gets to wanking onto Lucius' face, marking his immaculate hair, Sirius grabs Remus' hair and orders, "Suck me," shoving Remus' head down.

His release is hard and hot and fast, but afterward Sirius looks at him oddly. "You're not as nice as you once were, Moony." And Remus blushes painfully, not because he cares that Sirius is suggesting that he is not nice now, but because he was never nice -- and if anyone should know that, it's Sirius.

"I told you," Remus murmurs, "You can make me do anything."

After that it gets a little kinkier. One day Sirius ties up his cock and balls and makes him put his clothes back on, sitting with him in the library while others come and go, forcing him to read an illustrated ancient book on Indian sex magic until Remus pleads with him to untie him and let him come, in the kitchen, in a closet, anywhere. Sirius obliges him right there, muffling Remus' cries against his shoulder.

Another day Sirius puts a plug inside him and demands that he wear it all through an Order meeting. When the plug suddenly vibrates inside Remus, nearly making him fly out of his chair, he catches a glimpse of Sirius' barely-checked smile and understands that he is to be tormented with pleasure in full view of the others. Tonks watches quizzically as Remus stutters and drops his quill -- that's something she would do -- and he gives her a strained smile, vowing revenge, though when the meeting ends and he finds himself flat on his back on Sirius' bed, begging for release, he feels only bliss when Sirius gives it to him.

Yet Sirius will not fuck him. For awhile Remus assumes this is a matter of stamina, fear of losing his erection or coming prematurely, though they have both discovered that Sirius can last quite a long time if distracted. It's tricky, for Sirius associates orgasms with pain as much as pleasure. Since the Dementors could not take pain from him, he learned to use it to mask gratification, so while a little discomfort can hold him on edge, any unexpected twinge will push him right over it.

Sirius has scars in intimate places. Remus saw them at first by accident, a bathroom door opened at the wrong moment, a shame-inducing vision of the half-starved body. Though it was foolish, Remus had hoped that the injuries were sustained while Sirius was Padfoot -- a thoughtless animal pain, not tied to the comprehension that comes with human suffering. Now Remus knows better; he does not need a Healer to explain that these are not years-old injuries, but recent.

When Remus has been submitting to Sirius' demands for several weeks and Sirius knows that his restrictions will be obeyed, he lets Remus explore a bit, testing with fingers and tongue to see which spots are sensitive to touch and which simply feel unbearable. But Sirius tries to stop it just when Remus thinks he is responding fully at last.

Remus shakes his head, "I'm not asking for anything, just let me do this," and then when his mouth moves, it's there and it's oh fuck and Sirius grips one of Remus' hands too tightly, painfully squeezing his fingers while Remus' mouth works in different rhythms, hard, slow, teasing, fast, and humming in his throat like he enjoys it which of course he does. Ohhgod oh fucking god, Sirius is saying, but then Sirius shoves his head away and leaps to his feet, a panicked animal, as if he expects a Dementor to appear right there in his bedroom. He screams loudly enough to wake the vile portrait on the wall downstairs, and jerks back when Remus touches him, so that Remus feels his face heat with shame even as he shivers at the high-pitched sound.

Of course Sirius could have stopped it any time -- they both agreed on a word for that, and that it was necessary to have one. But Remus has never had to say it and he suspects Sirius can't make himself choke it out even when he needs to. By the time Sirius has escaped from the jailers who live in his head, he is muttering, "I have to get out of here, Moony, I can't stay here, I have to."

Pulling him close, Remus strokes his hair until there is fur under his hands, the steady breathing and easy affection of the big black dog. Sirius is much calmer as Padfoot, thumping his tail steadily, licking Remus' face. But when Sirius is himself again, he looks hunched and frail, and he says in a harsh, unfamiliar voice, "We keep doing it my way or I can't do it at all."

~*~

For awhile Remus convinces himself that it is foolish to be disappointed. Sirius touches him in a way Remus never expected, in a way he had scarcely dared to dream, and Sirius is calmer, less apt to fly into a temper at being trapped inside the house at Grimmauld Place. Whenever Remus has been away, he returns to upstairs, now and Sirius will tie him to the bed and tell him he's not leaving again without permission, Sirius will write protection runes in disappearing ink on his skin, Sirius will sleep beside him and wake him up with demands that never fail to make Remus happy no matter how exhausted he thinks he is.

"I can't. I'm too tired," he protests the day after the full moon, only to crack his eyes open and find Sirius grinning at him, repaired teeth gleaming in the dim room. His body aches all over and his head feels like it's filled with cotton, but Sirius' fingers against his thighs know how to communicate directly with his cock, and that has never listened to Remus' own orders. It leaps to attention when Sirius' tongue slides along the crease where his leg folds against his groin and when the hot mouth engulfs it, Remus doesn't remember that his ribs ache, Remus doesn't even remember that he has ribs. A finger intrudes between his buttocks, teasing the hole that twitches and purses and opens slowly, letting Sirius in, as much of himself as Sirius will give.

Sirius keeps him on the edge for an endless stretch of time while his other hand roams over Remus' body, touching all the places sore from his transformation, until all the pain is gone and there is nothing but need in its place. He is beyond begging, beyond words; Sirius owns him like this. If only it could have been like this before, if only he could have trusted Sirius this much, they both would have been spared those twelve years and more: the price Sirius is still paying for Remus' mistake. But Remus can't think about that until afterward, after Sirius smiles and lets Remus so far into his throat that Remus thinks he will surely choke, though in this, Sirius' control is absolute. Fingers moving deep inside, he draws out Remus' pleasure and when it comes he takes it in, shuddering with him.

"Go to sleep," Sirius orders afterward, shoving him flat when Remus tries to reach for him. "Stop arguing. Shut your eyes and relax." His arms come around Remus, turning him, knees bending up until they are wrapped together and it's warm and Sirius' breath is so steady he might be Padfoot, asleep himself, except that his hand is moving on Remus' back, rubbing all the places he knows from years before, when Remus couldn't even let himself enjoy it because he knew how he really wanted Sirius to touch him and he didn't think Sirius would ever want the same thing.

He shudders with remembering, all that forbidden longing and later everything he wasn't allowed to feel when Sirius was in Azkaban, things he didn't even dare imagine because Lily and James oh god. Now he knows that he never really believed it -- it's why he couldn't allow himself to think about it, because then he would have known he never believed it -- they would have said he was mad, they would have locked him up too. So he said nothing and left Sirius there, just left him. If Sirius hadn't seen that photo of Wormtail and escaped on his own, they wouldn't be here now, they wouldn't ever have had this. Remus supposes that he must forever be grateful to Wormtail, even though he hates Wormtail as he has never hated another, Wormtail who stole James and Lily but is the reason Sirius came back...

"Shh, Moony," whispers Sirius, stroking his hair, the back of his neck, and Remus could let him believe it's just the aftereffects of the moon making him shake, because really there's no way to explain all of this. But he turns and puts his head under Sirius' chin and whispers I love you against his throat.

His senses are filled with Sirius, with the sound of his breathing and his heartbeat, the way his hair smells and his sweat, the saltiness of his skin, the smooth and hairy and scarred patches. There is nowhere else he wants to be, and when he must be apart from Sirius he will conjure it like picking a scab, remembering Sirius' orders, "Come back safely." All the years drifting from place to place and job to job, this has been all he ever wanted. He thinks that if Sirius ordered him never to leave number twelve, Grimmauld Place, it would be the easiest directive he has ever had to obey. How much better to obey Sirius than the demands of his own body; even the wolf would submit to the dog, locked away in the cellar or anywhere else they might go.

It would be wonderful, except sometimes Remus finds Sirius hiding upstairs with Buckbeak, crushing the lace edging of the curtain between his fingers, looking like he's thinking of flying the hippogriff out the window and far away.

~*~

"Tell me how often you thought about this when we were younger," Sirius demands when he has Remus in the big chair by the window with the drapery ties wrapped around his wrists, where he has been promising to let him come in just a few more minutes, when Sirius is done rubbing all over him, licking his face and chest Padfoot-like and whimpering into his chest and armpits. Sometimes Remus thinks it's easier for Sirius to show unabashed affection as a dog.

Even though it's foolish, because Sirius surely knows the answer by now, he blushes as he says, "I thought about it all the time, you daft..." and then he pauses. "Did you? I didn't think you..." but it's not really I didn't think you liked boys, nor even I didn't think you liked me exactly, it's more like I thought you only had eyes for James Potter. But there are no safe words for that, even now.

"I wanted..." Sirius interrupts his thoughts, ducking his chin so Remus can't see his face. "I thought it might be a bad idea." Which was fair enough, since Remus had never worked up the courage to tell Sirius any of it, even when he should have, when they started hiding their lives from each other and not trusting each other until finally they each became capable of believing that the other might be a spy. Now Sirius shakes his head, muttering, "You shouldn't let me keep pushing, Moony. We both know I go too far. I always did."

"Murtlap," says Remus contemptuously. It takes a moment before Sirius' eyes widen with recognition and the cords fall away from Remus' wrists. "You see? You don't go too far."

Sirius waves a hand dismissively. "That's just now." Even though they're both breathing hard, both close and anything could happen, really. Remus has long understood that that violence in Sirius could turn outward. He accepts that just as he accepts the scars he has marked into his own skin during his transformations, biting and scratching himself only because there was no one else he could do it to.

Watching his lover pace once more like a trapped animal, his erection deflating, Remus knows that they will have to start again from the beginning. With a soft sigh he rises and walks to the bed, sitting to one side, knowing better than to pat the mattress or do anything that might be construed as a command. Sirius will come over when he is ready.

"There must be something I can do for you," Remus offers.

"There's not. There's not." Sirius runs shaky fingers through his disheveled hair, glancing in the direction of the shuttered and curtained window. "There are some things you can't fix, Moony. You know that."

"Maybe not, but you're not letting me try. You're holding back. What are you protecting?"

"I'm protecting you!"

"I'm not afraid of you. You must be able to see that by now. What do you think you're protecting me from?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ten steps to one side, spin, ten steps to the other; Sirius is fighting something down, a memory, a desire, Remus can't tell. "I can't control myself! How can you let me control you?"

"Would you look at me!" The demand gets through to Sirius, at least; he stops pacing, glances over. "Look at this. And this." They're only the most obvious, garish scars. "I did this to myself, remember? If anyone...I don't know how many times I can say this. There is nothing you can make me do that I don't want."

The leap, the blur don't startle Remus. What surprises him is that it's the dog who pounces on top of him, growling, not precisely menacing but a low warning like the momentary hint of teeth against Remus' jaw, then his collarbone. Oh. Padfoot doesn't weigh as much as Sirius but his body is more compact, skinny muscular limbs pressing Remus' shoulders down, shoving him flat. The snout presses beneath Remus' chin, pushing his head up, as the hind legs clamp around his hips and...fuck, that's his cock, that hot shaft poking out of the furry bulge against Remus' belly...

Remus shudders, trying to hold still, unsure whether his urge to struggle arises from fear or arousal. Stop, it's wrong -- it should be wrong -- the familiarity of the scent, warm breath on his face, softness draped over his chest -- his hand freezes in midair, halfway to petting a sleek shoulder, a gesture so comfortable that it begins without conscious thought. Padfoot has raised his head, stares down at him from that awkward angle, still growling, and his haunches move with intent, driving the thick rod against Remus' belly, nudging further back the pelt that covers it.

You said 'anything', he reminds himself, wishing for it to stop, not because it is terrible but because it is not terrible, because he wants to continue, for himself -- not only to keep his promise to Sirius. And what does that make him, if he wants this? An animal.

This is what has always been dangerous between them; not sex, this. He, Remus Lupin, is not supposed to want to be this. His parents raised him among humans, taught him to control the beast; his entire education has been about being a man, not a werewolf. It's why he couldn't tell Sirius that fantasy about Snape -- not even because it was Snape, because it was Moony. Yet Sirius has called him Moony ever since he guessed that Remus had a monster inside him. Sirius never feared the wolf -- never hated it like Remus does.

His hips are moving, responding to the relentless pressure from above, and when the black head lowers and a rough tongue licks his nipple, he cries out and arches helplessly. Padfoot likes this reaction, or else he can't stop licking once he's started any more than an ungroomed mutt cleaning himself could stop. The tongue returns again and again as Remus' fingers sink into the overgrown fur on Padfoot's sides. The dog would not understand Remus' shame. Tell me how often you thought about this when we were younger, he would say if he could speak.

There's a strange shimmering feeling all over his body as Padfoot dissolves into Sirius, who stares down at him defiantly until he realizes that there's no need; Remus is still clutching at him, nodding wordlessly, wrapping his legs around the longer body. Then Sirius spits into his hand and reaches down; it's all the lube they're going to get, but Remus doesn't care, even after so long without. The first push inside hurts just as much as he expects and his fingernails dig into Sirius' shoulder until Sirius lets out a growling noise, but it's not an angry growl, it's hungry. When Remus looks down, there are red streaks in Sirius's skin like scars.

"Moony," gasps Sirius, wrapping his hand around Remus' cock and tugging mercilessly, so that even though Remus doesn't mean to -- not so quickly, not when Padfoot is the name spilling from his lips -- he comes before Sirius, crying out with the ache and the release. He can feel Sirius struggle not to surrender, then stop struggling. The dry pained stretch in Remus' arse pulls even wider before warm wetness eases him, making everything all right, making them fit together the way they always should have, if they had dared.

"Moony," Sirius whispers again, pulling out and collapsing on top of him, holding him so tightly around the waist that it's hard to breathe. Remus wraps his arms around the shoulders, still narrow and bent from twelve years in Azkaban, sinking his fingers into long hair that's coarser than the fur they petted not long before. They are both slick with sweat, hearts pounding, and Remus is shaking slightly, but stroking Sirius' hair calms him, and with a soft sigh the warm body atop him shifts until a human tongue is licking the moisture from his face.

~*~

Woof.

Sirius' lips move soundlessly, but Remus feels his face flood with heat anyway. He stares with determination at a portrait of some Black ancestor while Albus Dumbledore, who had been speaking, furrows a brow. "Are you quite all right?"

"Oh, I just get angry, hearing about Dolores Umbridge..." Beyond Dumbledore's range of vision, Sirius pantomimes panting and inclines his head suggestively in the direction of the staircase. "I don't suppose that there's anything I can do to help, Headmaster, but I'm very sorry to hear that things at Hogwarts are so, ah..."

"Beastly," supplies Sirius, his face abruptly somber and unhappy as Dumbledore turns in his direction. The glare Remus shoots at Sirius does not affect the latter's dour expression. "As I've told you, Professor, I am very willing to take the risk, to disguise myself as Padfoot in order to..."

"And as I have told you, Sirius, it is much too dangerous. We need you here. Harry needs to know that you are safe. I understand how frustrating it must be for you to have so little control over your circumstances..."

The smirk disappears almost as soon as it twitches the corner of Sirius' mouth, but not so quickly that Remus does not see it. His groin throbs; he can feel the silken cords Sirius wrapped around him earlier digging into his skin. Again Dumbledore's brows twitch, yet thankfully he shakes his head and makes his farewells. Remus keeps his attention fully on the headmaster; if he looks at Sirius, he knows, he will find another lewd expression or perhaps an angelic puppy's stare.

"You're a bad dog," he says sternly when they are finally, blissfully alone, but Sirius only barks a laugh, ordering Remus on all fours on the mattress, lunging over him and growling in his ear.

"Tell me again," he orders, and Remus smiles.

"I'll do anything you want."

"Would you let me keep you on a leash?"

"Don't you do that anyway?"

Sirius grins back at him, something Remus cannot see but can feel in the pressure of the mouth on the back of his neck. "Would you wear a collar?"

"Wouldn't that suit you better, Padfoot?"

A playful slap lands on Remus' bottom. "I think it would suit you just fine. A very thin one, so that you could wear it under your clothes. With tags."

There is nothing Remus wouldn't do for that smile, absolutely nothing, the unselfconscious happiness of a man he'd thought he'd lost. He nods even as he speaks a token remonstration: "Afraid I'm going to forget I'm yours?"

A soft shiver of breath warms Remus' throat, a nose buries in his hair. "No, Moony," sighs Sirius happily, aiming his wand at the curtains to snap them shut over the tiny band of light creeping in from outside. "I know you're mine."