For Victoria P. (musesfool), based on her icons.
"You're beautiful," Sirius insisted, kissing his way down Remus' neck.
Remus shook his head, laughing softly. "Daft Padfoot. I'm covered in scars and going soft in my old age. You're the beautiful one."
Sirius grinned, pushing himself up to loom over Moony. "Damn right I'm handsome—but so are you. Sex object for every discerning person in the country."
"Rubbish," Remus scoffed, but Sirius kissed him before he could protest any further.
Sirius getting undressed was an unbelievably erotic sight. Remus could barely believe he was seeing it again—fingers working quick and fast, stumbling here and there… picking impatiently at the untidy knots on Sirius' worn boots, yanking his socks off with flicks of the wrist, flipping the shirt-buttons methodically…
Trying to ignore the fact that Sirius was staring at him (that he was naked, under a blanket only, that it was eleven o'clock at night, that this was Grimmald Place), Remus stared back, drinking in every detail like pleasantly scalding tea. The shirt came off, sliding over shoulders that were thinner than before; then, bare-chested, Sirius stood there.
He was still wearing the collar Moony had given him, all those years before.
His hands went to remove it, but Remus moaned with near-pain, then cleared his throat as Sirius' hands stilled.
"Actually, Sirius," he said, "you can leave the collar on."