Archive of Our Own

Remus is trapped.

He’s trapped in his own little two bedroomed flat and granted, it isn't much – it's hard to get work when you're a registered werewolf – but it’s his, it’s his space... or at least it used to be. Now it's feeling less like his sanctuary and more like a place he needs to escape from because everywhere he turns, all around him is Sirius, invading his senses and getting under his skin ‘til he can't focus on anything else. Actually, he’d quite like to curse Dumbledore into the middle of next week because this, Sirius and him, here, together? It’s the worse idea Remus has ever heard.

The problem, mainly, is Sirius. The problem has always been, will always be, Sirius. The problem is the fact that despite everything, Remus is drawn to him inexplicably and he can't get involved again, he can't if for no other reason than technically Remus isn’t available but God, it's so hard. Sirius is a part of him, really.

Remus doesn't know how to not love Sirius Black, has loved him ever since he discovered what love was – and sometimes in these close quarters Remus catches Sirius looking his way and all of a sudden they're 16 again: casting silencing charms and shedding their clothes, joining in a tangle of limbs behind the heavy curtains of the Hogwarts beds, exchanging breathy kisses and roaming hands. Orgasms so intense Remus had wondered how he came out the other side. He remembers fearing for Sirius’ life every time he went out on that stupid enchanted bike, wishing his friends weren’t so utterly reckless. Summers when James and Sirius would disappear for hours (and Remus would only half notice with his face buried in a book), or when Remus couldn't get away and they'd come to him, James pushing his glasses up his nose and grinning and Sirius tugging Remus forward by the hips into a bone-crushing hug: “I told you I’d come, Moony. I said it, didn’t I?” Remembers skinny dipping and stolen beer and laughing ‘til he couldn't breathe, James and Sirius functioning like two halves of a whole. Even then Sirius was the only thing in Remus's world that fully made sense; he remembers when all his days were, were kisses and whispers and callused hands in his as dry lips pressed to his every new scar in worship. Remembers trusting wholly in this glorious man.

And then there was nothing, until now.

Now, Sirius is here and Remus doesn't want him here but doesn't want him anywhere else either. When he’d gotten the owl from Dumbledore to say Sirius was on his way Remus had instantly lost his nerve, had begun to drink firewhiskey straight from the bottle in gasping draughts. What the hell other option was there, really? He hadn’t seen Sirius, not properly, since the fall-out from that night in the Shack. He was scared. Not of Sirius so much – he’s never been scared of Sirius – but of them. Scared that things wouldn’t be the same and scared that they would.

Until he heard Sirius open the latch of the front door. The man had barely made it three steps past the entryway before Remus had rutted against him like some horny teenager. Which had categorically not been the plan; it had been the opposite of the plan, actually.

So he hadn’t planned to jump Sirius’ bones almost as soon as he walked through the door, had actually planned to fix him a square meal and then set about avoiding him for a few days – or forever – but he’d been marinating in whiskey for over an hour and Sirius had fucking smiled at him as he pushed the door closed behind him and that smile, it’s always been Remus’s undoing. He didn't even know what was happening, really, except suddenly there they were and Remus was coming in his pants like he was half his age.

He’s regretted that move every moment since – which means, if you do the maths, that Remus has been regretting kissing Sirius Black for approximately 13 days, 11 hours and 21 minutes. Sirius has quite probably been tortured but at the very least utterly starved of human contact. And Remus ostensibly has Angus, and doesn't that make him the worst kind of person? Because he's an adult and he is in some semblance of a relationship – with a guy he hasn't seen or heard from in weeks, but still – and there he was, committing adultery and taking advantage of a guy who’s suffered fuck knows what and then some. Remus surely feels too old to wank himself stupid like a fifteen-year-old but there he is tossing off to sleep every night, whispering Sirius’s name into a closed fist and then pretending in daylight like this damaged broken man isn't the love of his fucking life.

Wasn’t.

Wasn’t the love of his life.

Sirius can't be that to Remus now, not after everything, not when Sirius acts like he doesn't give a damn, like he was over it all so long ago. Remus can't let Sirius break his heart again and so here they are and it's a sham but it is what it is and they just have to get on with it. They have no choice but to get on with it, however impossible it seems on days when Sirius's clothes hang from his frame that little bit more and his eyes seem greyer and more haunted, when he curls in on himself without even realising – Remus just wants to love the pain away.

It is what it is.

And what it is, mainly, is lonely. It seems odd that he should be lonelier now with Sirius here than he ever was without him. Sometimes when Sirius was in Azkaban Remus missed him right down to his very core and he hated himself for it, some days Lupin was angrier with himself for doing the missing than he was with Sirius for anything he'd done (after all, he had never felt a full-bodied assurance about the whole thing because it was Sirius, Remus's Sirius, ). At least before, Remus could choose anger over loneliness: he couldn't argue with the sickeningly plentiful evidence, and it was no small feat moving past the fact three of his best friends were dead.

So he could be angry at Sirius, because what choice did he have, really: the people that had mattered more to Remus than almost anybody were dead, and Remus couldn’t get that face, Sirius’s face, wild eyed and manic, that cold horrible laugh out of his mind for years and he was so mad, so fucking angry because God, he had trusted him, he had loved him, dammit, and for what? To be betrayed. To be abandoned. To wind up alone. Remus was angry and it was easier somehow let that overpower the pain of missing him.

When Black returned Remus only had a mind for worry, because it all fell into place so easily, like a jigsaw piece in need of only a slight nudge in the right direction and there it was: puzzle complete and Peter disguised as a Weasley rat – it was like it had been there all along, staring Remus right in the face. Sirius was innocent, of course he was, and it was the only thing that made sense. He spent nearly a year knowing Sirius was free but not by Remus’s side – and he was there alone, always hunted – so Remus had enough reason to focus on the worry. Now though, now all there is is SiriusSiriusSirius close enough to touch and yet still so far away.

: :

When you’re a prisoner of Azkaban, your only hope of survival is to not feel. To flick a switch that you don’t know you have until all that remains is a shell of the person you used to be; a body without a soul. To do anything else – to weep, to hate, to mourn, to try and draw on your happiest memories in order to get through the days (that could be nights for all you know) – is to leave yourself wide open for the Dementors. It’s the reason most people don’t get out. Sirius supposes he is lucky, to a certain degree, that he is an Animagi; that nobody knew. He could become Padfoot, become immune, curl up in a ball and rest his chin on his paws and feel if not less, then at least differently. He could survive. And then after the escape, which he doesn’t think of, can’t think of, it was kind of like rebirth.

That moment in the Shack, the way they’d slipped almost instantaneously into their old banter, the way Remus’s arms had fastened around Sirius, pulling him close like a forgotten instinct. The way somehow Remus still smelt like cinnamon and it had made Sirius’s breath catch; it had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything and yet here Remus was, breaking through all his defences in a split second. Sirius had gone over and over and over that moment in the months afterwards, travelling, trying to stay out of sight and in touch with Harry. He’d gone over those few minutes in the Shack more times than he’d replayed the real memories, the before memories; the tone in Remus’s voice that night, the look in his eyes... ’Together?’ ‘I think so.’

Sirius probably should have protested when Dumbledore had instructed he lie low at Lupin’s – but he’d been starved for so long, every atom aching for that proximity and Sirius, he’s only human.

'Are you sure?' Sirius hadn’t said yes right away – it was a lot to take in and there'd been a twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye as he nodded his head. Bastard. It’s never simple with Dumbledore; there’s always more to his decisions than you can see on the surface.

Sirius had pressed on, 'Lupin?'

'Remus has been expecting you.'

And Remus had been expecting him indeed: crowding Sirius up against a wall before he'd even had chance to take in his surroundings. The man had been drinking and when he kissed Sirius he tasted of firewhiskey. Sirius had kissed him back harder, because what better way to get drunk than that? It was a more adult taste of mainly whiskey and cigarettes, not particularly like the Remus he remembered, except it still kind of was; he still tasted like home, just maybe warmer. (Sirius remembers that when they first kissed Remus had tasted of oranges and smelled of cinnamon. Sirius had thought it was like kissing Christmas – he’d never wanted to stop. He’d finally found reason to be enthusiastic about a holiday he’d never had much cause to celebrate before. It seemed to make sense immediately: suddenly Christmas was Moony.)

They'd gotten off right there in Lupin’s hallway without even taking off their clothes, hurried and desperate and fierce like it can only be after a decade – more, really – of heartbreak. Afterwards Remus had sworn softly under his breath, 'Fuck,' and staggered in the direction of his bedroom without looking back, leaving Sirius slumped against the wall, softening cock still free from his threadbare trousers. Sirius had wanted to follow him, to curl himself around his former (current?) lover and let muscle memory from 12 years ago lull him to sleep in Remus's arms... but he couldn't, didn't even know if he should. So Sirius had made his way to the tiny spare room instead, the springs of the mattress on the narrow single bed digging into his ribs and Remus just a thin wall away. He slept better that first night than he had in years.

And now? Now they're in this weird stalemate. Sharing a space (but neither of them willingly) and that is so familiar and yet this is still so strange and unknown: they’re dancing around each other exchanging pleasantries about the weather and discussing the movements of the Order, discussing Harry and everything else under the sun. Never ever even hinting at what they were to each other, then or now, what they'd shared, how they'd once upon a time been so close that Sirius had struggled to determine where he ended and Remus began.

And worse still?

Remus has someone. Someone that should be Sirius and isn't Sirius, and it’s eating him from the inside out: the jealousy so much worse than anything Azkaban had to offer. He hates that he can still read Remus so well, because he's obviously trying to hide it, but Sirius knows and he wants to kill them. The significant other. Remus. Peter fucking Pettigrew.

He keeps trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter; it’s not his business, not anymore. He's glad Remus has moved on – all he ever wanted was for the other to be happy and as long as he is then Sirius doesn't need the details.

Except he really fucking needs the details.

: :

'So?'

'So?' Remus glances at Sirius, who is leaning against his doorframe in an attempt so desperate to be nonchalant it actually falls on the extreme side of jumpy and unnerved. Lupin smiles to himself; Sirius has always been a terrible actor and clearly stage school was not on the Azkaban curriculum. God, he feels guilty as soon as he thinks it. Sirius was in Azkaban for over a decade and Remus is here joking about it – granted, only to himself but still, that doesn’t make it any less in bad taste. Gallows humour, that’s what they call it. Sirius would have made the joke himself once upon a time. Remus wonders whether he still would now. Probably; he was always better at stomaching these things than Remus was.

In the twelve years that had passed since that night Remus has barely allowed himself to dream that this day would ever come; that one day Sirius would be home, with him, where he belongs. He’d tried to force himself not to want it, because what kind of person did that make him, to still ache for Sirius, even after everything? Except there’s always been parts of Remus that he had no control over, parts that missed Sirius every day in new and different ways, parts of him that had to believe that Sirius belonged with him no matter the severity of his crimes.

The problem is that now that Sirius is home it seems like neither of them are actually sure he does belong there.

There’s an awkwardness that had never existed before, a nervousness that prickles like a heat rash, and the many things unsaid between them hang heavy in the air, making it hard to breathe. Sometimes Remus can’t help wondering whether things would be better for the both of them if Sirius was somewhere else. He’s glad that his old companion is free – and so very relieved to know he’s innocent – but it’s been so long and he's had to work so hard just to make it through the days; he’s not entirely sure how to go back or even if he wants to.

It isn’t that he doesn’t love Sirius anymore; in fact, the ferocity of emotion he'd felt for him in the days following the showdown with Peter had almost threatened to engulf him, and he’d had no idea where or how to channel it. Losing Sirius had hurt so much before and the pain had caused him to put up walls, walls that he had constructed so carefully that now he doesn’t know how to take them down.

Sirius presses on, 'So, who is he?'

Remus looks away, down at his shoes, surprised by the question and mentally walking through his house room by room; he had been sure there was nothing there to give him away, but then how does Sirius know?

Not that he has anything to hide: Sirius had been gone a long time and what was Remus supposed to do? It had taken him a long time to even consider being with anybody else; for a long time he had been caught between the weight of missing Sirius – so heavy he could barely lift his head from the pillow some days – and feeling so utterly betrayed he couldn't see for the anger. He lived in a world of red and it made his eyes sore.

He hadn't wanted anybody else because nobody else was Sirius. In tired hands he’d held the shards of their relationship like an heirloom that once broken is impossible to replace.

He hadn't wanted anybody else because he had put that part of himself in a double locked box; his fidelity lay in a prison cell marked 'XY390' and he couldn't bring himself to risk being broken once more. The only person Remus could trust with his heart was himself but it had been a lonely existence. Eventually it had become too much, so he had taken the bull by the horns and found himself a man as un-Sirius-like as possible; for a while, he had been if not quite happy then less miserable. And now? The fact that Sirius is here now is nothing short of a miracle, a miracle Remus had never envisioned and hadn't even been sure he wanted, yet somehow he feels inexplicably guilty for having ‘moved on.’

'Nobody,' he pauses, 'well no, not nobody. Obviously he's somebody but not that kind of somebody, in the sense that he's more nobody than somebody...' He’s fumbling and he stops.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. 'Is it serious?'

'No.' He wonders if he had been too quick to answer. 'I mean it could have been, maybe. But it's not, I don't think.'

'How long?'

'A while.' He picks at a fingernail. 'A couple of years, I suppose, although it kind of fizzled out a little after I started at the school.'

He throws a quick glance at Sirius, who has given up all attempts at nonchalance and is instead covering his mouth with his hand, squeezing his cheekbones between thumb and fingers, a gesture so familiar to Remus that it makes him want to just hit the rewind button, start this conversation again. Start everything again, because this whole situation is too strange, too much. He wishes fervently that Dumbledore was the type of person you could say no to, or that Remus was the sort of person who could say no, full stop. He'd accepted that it was over with Sirius, that he would never see him again. He hadn't even wanted to see him again, or so he’d told himself anyway, and now here he is. Any part of Remus that had, even for a split second, wondered whether they could just pick up where they'd left off is now forced to reckon with the facts: Sirius's innocence doesn't change the fact they have been apart for 12 years and that things have changed.

Sirius has changed.

He, Remus, has changed.

'I think I forced it.' He admits wryly, wondering why he feels the need to explain himself. 'To fizzle out, I mean. I had to get away, when I heard about you, that you were...'

'On the run.'

'It was a rough time. That’s why I was so eager to take the job at Hogwarts. I thought it would give me some perspective. I thought I'd be able to clear my head, figure things out. I thought I could maybe lose myself in the work.' A laugh. 'I thought I could escape but clearly that's your forte, not mine.'

Remus can’t hide the bitterness and yet has no idea what he’s had to be bitter about. Sirius has escaped: he is free and he is innocent. This is good, isn't it? The problem is that Remus really isn’t sure; it’s as though the second he had begun to move forwards everything had come undone. He looks over and Sirius looks back, his dark eyes grabbing Remus by the scruff of the neck and refusing to let go.

'Do you love him?'

'What is wrong with you, Sirius? What's with this interrogation?'

'Do you love him?'

Remus passes hand over his face wearily. This is not a conversation he wants to be having with anybody, least of all Sirius Black. He hasn't even had it with himself.

'Remus. Do you love him?'

'Why are you always so desperate to put labels on everything?'

'Why do you never answer my questions?'

Because you made me question everything, he thinks, swallowing the words before they have a chance to take shape. Sirius stares at him, waiting. Remus shrugs.

'I've barely seen him in a year. I haven't heard from him in weeks. Weeks,' he says the word a second time, sadly, 'I suppose, oh, I don't know... I think maybe I could have learnt to.'

Sirius gives him a sad smile.

'Loving someone isn't something you learn, Remus, it's something you do.'

: :

Perhaps, Sirius muses, laid on his single bed with hands folded behind his head and legs crossed at the ankle, the lesson he should take away from all of this is to never ask questions you might not like the answers to. Ignorance, as it were, is bliss. He’s not sure what he expected. Except that he is; what he had expected, what he had wanted was for Remus to tell him it was nothing: a meaningless fling, a warm body on a cold night (even many cold nights). He had absolutely not expected – and even less wanted to hear – that it was an actual bona fide relationship, that it had been going on for two whole years, that Remus could imagine himself in love with the guy. Remus is supposed to love Sirius. But Sirius wasn’t there. And now Remus is learning to love someone else. And it fucking hurts.

Remus at least has the decency to knock before he pushes the door open. Sirius closes his eyes quickly, doesn’t care that Remus probably saw him do it and therefore knows he’s awake: he’s not trying to pretend to be asleep, he’s trying to silently tell Remus to fuck off.

‘Sirius?’

Sirius doesn’t answer, only presses his lips close together to echo his eyes’ message. He can imagine Remus rolling his eyes, wondering how Sirius can still be so utterly childish over a decade later. Once upon a time he’d have come and lain next to him, ribbed him a little for sulking and then burrowed his foot between Sirius’s ankles, laced their fingers together and waited. He had so much more patience than Sirius back then and he was always so warm and smelt so good; Sirius had always caved, rolling on top of him and pressing his hips down, locking their mouths together until he’d forgotten why he was angry in the first place.

Sirius has had a lot of practice at being patient since then though, can wait it out in silence with the best of them. Besides, Remus doesn’t seem to want to handle him in the same way now, not with that intimate fortitude. The floorboard creaks as he takes a step into the room and stops. Sirius wants to crack an eyelid and see the expression on his face. He doesn’t.

‘I’m sorry,’ Remus says and then Sirius sits up.

‘Yeah well, you should be.’ Not so good at waiting it out in silence after all, then. Not when it comes to this.

Remus looks shocked, his mouth dropping open, before his own gaze darkens. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘What happened to I love you, what happened to I’ll never leave, what happened to forever. None of that means you’ll jump into bed with the first guy that crosses your path,’ Sirius spits his words across the short distance between them, watches angrily as Remus recoils.

‘I wasn’t the one that left,’ he fires back and Sirius snorts.

‘I didn’t have much choice, if you remember. And I never left you in here.’ He taps a finger off his temple, pats his sunken chest. Remus shakes his head, expression a mixture of baffled and extremely pissed off. It makes Sirius feel good in an extremely fucked up sort of a way just to get a reaction.

‘What did you want from me, Sirius?’

‘I wanted you to keep your promises!’ He stands up, takes a step across the room ‘til the space between them is small enough that Remus is close enough to touch.

‘Like you kept yours? You had killed our friends.’

‘I didn’t kill anybody!’ Sirius growls, the tendons in his neck taut and his breath coming fast and heavy. Remus curls his hands into tight fists by his side, tries to keep calm, fails; screams back.

‘I know that now. I didn’t know anything for sure then!’

‘You should have known. I would have known, if it had been the other way around, I would have known and I never would have given up. I would have waited for you 'til the day I died.’

‘Fuck you.’ Remus is roaring and Sirius has never seen him like this before – it feels like a full moon and he can’t help but glance quickly out of the window at the sky. Remus looks wild and animalistic and Sirius wonders whether he should be scared. He isn’t. He’s too hurt and too angry to be anything else.

‘Fuck you, Sirius Black. Don’t you dare tell me what you would have done in my shoes. You have no idea. You think you had it hard in there? Well, it wasn’t easy out here either, because I did love you and I did want to believe in you but all of my friends were dead; Lily, Peter, James, and you’d been caught, laughing like a lunatic as they carried you away. You’d barely fucking spoken to me for weeks beforehand so what was I supposed to think? And I did wait, I waited ten fucking years before I could move on, ten years. I love you, I’ll never leave you, forever – it all means fuck-all when all you are is alone with your own thoughts and all you can think of is how the only thing you ever wanted is the only thing you can’t have. You can’t trust anyone because you’ve been betrayed so badly you don’t even trust yourself half the time. Don’t you dare come in here and tell me what you would have done if you were me.’

Sirius feels like he’s been sucker-punched. Remus is shouting but his voice keeps breaking and his eyes are agonised; he’s shaking and he looks shattered, like Sirius just broke him in half. It’s just typical, he thinks, typical fucking Sirius Black that he never considered what it really must have been like all this time for Remus, that he kidded himself he wanted Remus to be alright when in actuality what he wanted was for Remus to be as miserable as he was. Sirius swallows hard. Remus is breathing heavily, chest heaving, and Sirius wants, he really really wants to close the small space between them and just hold him, hold him and love him and be sorry, so so sorry, except, Sirius knows better than most that you don’t always get what you want, that sometimes it’s wrong to try.

‘I should never have come here,’ he snaps instead, using his anger as a shield and wrapping it close, because it’s easier than acknowledging what Remus has said. ‘This was a mistake. I should leave.’

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Remus retorts.

‘I’m a free man. I didn’t escape Azkaban just to be kept prisoner somewhere else, where the guards are wolves instead of dementors. Fuck, I don’t know which is worse.’

Where the guards are wolves instead of dementors...

Sirius always did know how to wound with his words and he regrets these as soon as he’s said them. Remus used to shrug them off and count to ten; Remus knew that once Sirius had calmed down he’d break his own heart with remorse, but times have changed. Remus tenses, straightens up and takes a deep breath.

His voice is eerily calm when he replies. ‘What about Harry, huh? You’re prepared to put him at risk because we can’t stand the sight of one another? What am I saying? Of course you are, once a Black always a Black. This thing is bigger than both of us, Sirius, so you’re not going anywhere even if I have to put a curse on you to keep you here.’

Once a Black always a Black.

‘Fuck off back to your own room,’ Sirius barks, defeated, can’t go anywhere but can’t bear to stay.

‘They’re all my fucking rooms, Sirius,’ Remus screams and then he’s gone, the door rattling on its hinges behind him and Sirius drops to his knees heavily. What a fucking mess.

: :

Sirius is laid on the sofa (his arms folded behind his head, ankles crossed, eyes closed) when Remus gets back from his meeting with Snape. Pushing the door open and taking a couple of steps into the room, hand still gripping the door handle to push it closed behind him, Remus stops to look at him; even sleeping or dozing he never seems to be relaxed and Remus finds himself wishing – not for the first time in the past month – that there was something he could do. The way Sirius twitches in his sleep, the way he jumps at the slightest noise, the way sometimes Remus catches him just staring into space, his eyes glazed over and empty; it’s so hard to watch.

Sirius has nightmares as well.

Nightmares that make him scream so loud that Remus wakens in his room down the hall in a panic; they‘re the screams of a tortured man and they make every hair on Remus's body stand on end. A couple of times he's gotten up, pulled on some jogging bottoms and all but fallen into the spare room, heart pounding madly. He’d taken Sirius up in his arms and just held him until the terrors went away, waiting until his breathing was steady before making his way back to his own bed. Remus hasn’t done that for a while though, not since the last time after that fight, when Sirius had woken up and pulled away as though it was Remus himself causing the pain. The anger and the recriminations had blazed in his eyes, hot enough to make Remus wince. He's tried to talk about it but Sirius has made it clear that he doesn’t want to talk. Remus hasn’t pushed it. Selfishly he knows he'd rather not know what’s going on in the other man’s head; whether it’s him or whether it’s Azkaban causing the nightmares, Remus knows hearing about it will only cause more pain.

'Remus?'

The sound of Sirius's voice startles him and he jumps.

'Sorry, I was miles away.'

'I could see.' Sirius pushes himself into a sitting position. 'I assume he still hasn't been in touch?'

'What? Oh, no. No, still nothing.'

Even as Sirius tries to be sympathetic Remus can almost taste his bitterness. He wonders whether he should tell Sirius that it’s not Angus invading his thoughts, it’s him; or more accurately, that whilst it does smart a little to have been cast aside with no explanation, it doesn’t bother him half as much as Sirius’s unexpected reappearance in his life does. With every day Sirius passes there either brooding and refusing to talk, or laughing and chatting and giving him that half smile, Remus is finding it harder than ever before to focus on how he feels about anybody else.

'I'm sorry, Remus, I really am.' Sirius throws Remus a sympathetic smile and stands up. It’s the most they’ve said to one another in days and Remus can’t help wondering where it’s coming from. ‘If it makes you feel any better, it's his loss. You're quite a catch – I should know.'

Their eyes meet for a long second and Remus feels his pulse speed up; he swallows, wanting to say something but not knowing what and then Sirius claps his hands together, scaring the moment away before it has chance to find its feet.

'Worry not, old friend, because I am here to cheer you up.' He pauses. 'Unless it's burnt because I took a nap.'

'I don't need– Unless what's burnt?'

'Dinner.' Sirius flashes him the shadow of a smile as he headed for the kitchen. 'I've cooked.'

'Define cooked.' Remus smiles back, can’t not somehow because Merlin, they might not be on comfortable speaking terms, they might be living in some kind of purgatory but this is Sirius and Remus can’t help but smile back. If he’s going to try and build a bridge, Remus isn’t going to look that gift horse in the mouth... 'You don't cook.'

The kitchen is like a bomb site and Sirius is stood in the middle of it all looking like the cat that’s got the cream. Seeing him for the first time looking less than tortured makes everything seem a little brighter.

'Wow. You've been...busy.' Remus scans the room in bewilderment. 'Where did you get the food? The recipe book? Actually, you know what–' He shakes his head. 'Don't answer that. Considering you're not supposed to leave the house, I really don't think I want to know. I'll lay the table, shall I?'

Whatever’s going on, wherever this has come from, if Sirius found a way to try and move past twelve years of hell then so can he. Remus opens a drawer, grabbing candles and shoving the papers on the dining table to one side.

'We don't really need the candles, do we?' Sirius says, withdrawing his head from the oven and wrinkling his nose in distaste. 'It's dinner so we don't starve, not dinner as a date. I have zero interest in being anybody's bit on the side, not even yours.'

'It isn't like that.' Remus’s stomach drops.

'Relax Remus, it's fine. I'm kidding. I went to prison for a crime I didn't commit and you met some stud and got laid and thought about learning to fall in love. These things happen. Let's eat.'

The sarcasm cuts like a knife, raw. Even after more than a decade apart Remus knows Sirius well enough to know that whatever Sirius is feeling, it isn't 'fine.’

If he’s honest Remus supposes he has to admit he’s not fine either. He could sit here and he could pretend that he is. He But the truth of it is that it’s all just that, make believe, and it’s draining him.

'That was delicious.' Remus pushes back his chair and stands up, piling the plates and draining the last of his drink. 'Why did I never know you could cook without the aid of a wand?'

Sirius’s laugh comes out as a bark. 'There's probably a lot you don't know about me.'

Remus knows it’s probably true and he hates it. It was never supposed to end up like this, him in a falling-apart relationship with a man that isn't Sirius, Sirius a victim of a senseless war, the two of them pushed miles apart yet still close enough to touch. It‘s all wrong.

'Maybe I could learn?' he says, hesitantly. He hadn't meant to say the words, didn't even known he was thinking them ‘til they’re suspended between them, a pale shade of awkward that clashes with his decor.

'Don't, Moony.' Sirius moves the plates to the sink, reaching as he passes to squeeze Remus gently on the shoulder. 'Let's not make this harder than it already is.'

Maybe it’s the use of the long-since off-limits nickname, maybe it‘s the fact that he hasn't been that near to Sirius – nightmares aside – since the day in the Shack. Maybe it’s the fact that for the first time Sirius has acknowledged that maybe he still feels something too, instead of picking a fight or trying to be the sympathetic, passive ear. Maybe it‘s the reminiscing over dinner or maybe it’s just that he’s lonely; maybe it’s that this fleeting contact feels soul-awakening compared to the most intimate touches he can remember sharing with his current flame. Remus isn’t sure exactly why he turns around; why he looks unblinkingly into Sirius's eyes; why he leans forward and kisses him. All he knows is that Sirius kisses him back.

: :

‘We should, let’s, bedroom.’ Sirius’s mouth is dry and he can barely remember how to talk, suddenly has no idea how it feels to do so when all his senses are overtaken by Remus: Moony’s hands on his hips, thumbs digging into the hollows of his hipbones, his face just millimeters away from Sirius’s own, breath ghosting warm across and into Sirius’s mouth. Sirius’s chest feels tight like he might cry as Remus leans in and seals that minute gap; the touch of his lips is feather-light yet scorching.

‘Bedroom,’ he manages again and even as he speaks he wonders if he’s making a huge mistake, whether all he’s doing is giving Remus the opportunity to come to his senses, to remember that they’re not speaking, not really, and that Remus has someone else now he should be doing this with, but he cannot care. Doesn’t care in the slightest. He just wants so badly, wants for this to not be some desperate fumble on the cold tiled floor of the kitchen, wants to pretend for as long as Remus will let him that they don’t have to pretend at all.

Remus just smiles, nods, and makes a small bow from the waist, waving his hand before him, small smile flickering on the corners of his kiss-heavy mouth and Sirius just barely grins because it’s just so them, just so reminiscent of how things used to be, that it makes his heart leap.

It’s the first time he’s been in Remus’s bedroom and even as he’s toeing off his worn brown shoes and crawling up the bed to rest against the headboard, he’s taking it all in. The wallpaper that’s coming off the walls in the corner, and the photograph on the wall that looks a lot like the view from that cottage in Wales James’s dad had rented the summer of their sixth year. There are books on the nightstand next to a glass of water, books against the wall and in piles, some volumes covered by well worn jumpers and tweed jackets. Sirius wonders if there is a boggart in the old wardrobe that leans against the wall; Harry told him about that class and Sirius had loved it. Good old Moony; he’ll have been an amazing teacher. Sirius wonders too whether the old chest beneath the window, his school chest, still holds the memories of years past. It feels a little like a secondhand bookshop, this room, and a lot like Remus: worn but familiar.

‘You’re wearing considerably too many clothes,’ Remus is saying from the foot of the bed and Sirius’s breath catches when he turns to look at him. Remus has rid himself of his jumper and his shirt; he’s wearing just his trousers, hanging low on his hips, and Sirius has to swallow hard. Remus has pale skin, never lets it see the light, a dusting of hair covering his chest and leading the way down down down past the waistband of his jeans – it looks as soft as it ever did, a gentle brown in colour, and Sirius aches to touch. The scars are new (some of them at least), some pale and almost faded, would be unnoticeable if every mark on Remus’s body wasn’t burned in Sirius’s memory. Some newer ones are harsh and a little angry. Sirius wants to trace them all with his fingers, with his tongue, commit every new mark to memory, learn them like a map that will always guide him home. He hurts for all the full moons he’s missed, all the nights Remus has had to suffer because Sirius wasn’t there. He holds out a hand and Remus smiles a little, allows himself to be tugged forward ‘til he drops to his knees on the mattress with an ‘oomph’ and shuffles up the bed so he can swing a leg over Sirius’s waist and straddle him. Remus looks down and smiles a little more, leaning in to steal a kiss. He is radiant.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Sirius breathes, fingers tracing a long scar that starts at his collarbone and curves down to an inch above his navel, ‘Moony.’

Remus shivers a little but he doesn’t pull away; Sirius tries not to think about that other man who’s seen Remus like this, seen all of him in a way nobody had before Sirius, and focuses instead on the weight of the man above him, the way he lets Sirius look and touch as though no time at all has passed, the way he makes light work of the buttons on Sirius’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and leaning down to press a dry mouthed kiss to his sternum.

I’m not the man you remember.

He’s embarrassed a little bit, laid out like this as Remus kicks off his trousers and starts in on the buckle of his jeans. He looks emaciated almost: his stomach almost concave, the definition to his chest that Remus had always loved so much all but gone. Now Sirius knows he’s all skin stretched too tight over bone, with ribs there for the counting. He closes his eyes, is scared of what he might see reflected in Remus’s.

Maybe I could learn?

But then Remus is kissing him, stretching out and pressing his hips down so that Sirius can feel how hard he is against his hip. Remus is fusing their mouths together, kissing and kissing and kissing and then moaning brokenly into his mouth, ‘Padfoot, Padfoot,’ and all Sirius can do is hold on, say, ‘I know, I know’ and try not to cry.

Remus’s teeth scrape down his neck, suck on his collarbone, flick over his nipple and make him arch his back. A low moan stutters from Sirius’s lips; it’s been so long, he thought he’d never be touched like this again (much less by Moony, Merlin’s balls) and Remus knows, Remus still knows, exactly how to make him fall apart, adjusting the angle until their erections meet, hot hard skin against hot hard skin, and groaning against Sirius’s sweat-slicked skin as Sirius pushes Remus’s underwear down past his hips, hands finally coming into contact with his ass, thumb resting against the cleft – teasing, wanting, hoping. Sirius wriggles out of his own boxers, pushes them away and hooks his foot around Remus’s calf, pressing them back together again, hot sweaty skin against hot sweaty skin, cock sweet but rough against cock. Sirius’s two hands press possessive finger marks into Remus’s ass and Remus has one hand in Sirius’s hair while the other fists the pillowcase as they kiss. Sirius’s tongue licks into Remus’s mouth with an aching, curling hunger and Remus sucks his own marks onto Sirius’s neck – Sirius can’t resist throwing his head back and he just groans.

Sirius flips them and Remus huffs out a laugh; he’s obviously surprised at Sirius’s strength and, emboldened, Sirius winks. ‘Looks can be deceiving, Moony.’ Then he does what he’s wanted to do for so long and lets himself go: scrapes his teeth against Remus’s nipples, traces every scar on his torso with the very tip of his tongue, presses a line of kisses from hipbone to hipbone. Sirius holds himself off Remus’s body just slightly and Remus’s hands tangle in his hair as his hips lift off the bed, cock desperately seeking attention. Sirius is so desperately hard, he can already feel the beginnings of a tightening in his balls, could come just from this: just from his mouth on Remus’s skin and the knowledge that Remus still wants him.

‘Remus.’ It’s a choked out sound as he drops his face, buries it in in the soft skin of Remus’s stomach and feels his cock twitch; he wants to come, he needs to come, but he can’t. Not if this one time is all he’s ever going to be allowed.

‘Sirius,’ Remus sounds wild, ‘fuck, I need you to touch me.’ His hips are still jerking upwards, his fingers still wrangling Sirius’s hair, and Sirius is so close he can hardly breathe. ‘Sirius, Padfoot, please, please...’

He’s begging and Sirius can’t not – he moves a little, flicks out his tongue to gather the drop of precome at the tip and smiles at Remus’s whimper before licking the head of his cock into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks and rolling his tongue. Sirius has always always excelled at everything he does and giving head is no exception. He teases his tongue against Remus’s slit and runs it down the shaft, dallying just enough to force Remus’s lips apart slowly in a building complaint. Sirius flattens his tongue and takes as much of Remus into his mouth as he can, sucking and tasting and humming around the heavy velvety weight of Remus’s cock, hands firmly holding Moony’s hips in place as he rolls his own hips down against the mattress, desperate for some friction. Remus tastes amazing, feels amazing, is making the most amazing noises. Sirius is so close again and whether it’s been over a decade since he last got laid or not, he is still Sirius Black and this is not going to be over yet. He pulls off with a satisfyingly filthy pop and shuffles back up the bed as Remus’s hands flit around his shoulders and grasp for purchase. Sirius sucks on his bottom lip, drawing a desperate moan from Remus’s lips. He bites down a little before murmuring, ‘Moony. I want you to fuck me.’

Remus groans, his gaze flitting to Sirius’s face then resting upon the bedside table.

‘I want it like this.’ Sirius shifts his body so he’s straddling Remus, so that when he moves, Remus’s cock teases just right against his ass and they both moan. ‘Want you balls deep inside me, want to ride you so fucking hard you forget about any man that isn’t me.’

The noise Remus makes is practically a sob. ‘You, Sirius, always you.’ Then he’s muttering a lubrication spell and there’s a finger, and then two, three... and Sirius can’t breathe, it’s so much but not quite enough. It stings a little and Sirius is falling falling falling, gasping, and Remus has to guide him gently, one hand gripping him by the hip, ‘S’okay, Pad, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you,’ and Sirius’s cock is so hard it feels like it might explode.

‘Just, stop being so fucking gentle, Moony, and get the fuck in me.’

So he does. Angling his cock against Sirius’s wet stretched hole and reaching to tangle their fingers together as Sirius lowers himself down, so so slowly, hissing with the stretch and the burn; it’s been a long long time. He stops for a second, gets his breath and squeezes Remus’s hand so tight the knuckles will surely bruise, before lowering himself a little further, a little further and that’s it – Remus is inside him and he’s so fucking big, bigger than Sirius remembered and he’s pulsing and it burns but it feels so good.

Sirius’s thighs are trembling and Remus is trembling too; a light sheen of sweat covers his forehead and his hand grasps Sirius’s so tightly. Remus murmurs Sirius’s name reverently and makes a noise that goes straight to Sirius’s cock as he lifts himself back up deftly and lowers back down and– God, it feels so good. He lets go of Remus’s hand, brings it up instead to grip the man’s shoulder as he leans forward and pulls off ‘til only the head of Remus’s cock is still inside, and then slams back down. He thinks Remus roars but he doesn’t quite hear over his own cries. They settle into a rhythm, Remus’s hips thrusting up to meet Sirius’s every animal grind down, wet flesh slick against wet flesh.

Their heavy laboured breathing is the only sound in the room and Remus’s thrusts are becoming more and more erratic, his breaths becoming guttural moans. One of his hands moves from where he’s been gripping Sirius’s thighs hard enough to bruise; it fastens around Sirius’s cock and Remus is too far gone, too close to the edge to get much rhythm going. Sirius doesn’t seem to care: the touch is enough to force a strangled cry out of him. Remus’s other hand falls from its place on his thigh, fisting desperately in the sheets as he throws his head backwards, from side to side, begging, groaning, and it’s Sirius’s name over and over.

Sirius doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, can only scream out Lupin’s name in return as he fucks down hard onto Remus’s cock and up into his fist. Remus’s hand stills and trembles, grip too loose but he can’t do much more; his entire body is spasming hard, over and over. Sirius comes, like that, over Remus’s hand and stomach and chest with what is almost a sob.

: :

'Hi.'

Sirius is staring out of the window and he jumps at the sound, as though Remus has woken him from a trance. Sirius offers him the shadow of a smile, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and rolling forwards onto the balls of his feet and back again.

'Hey.'

Remus takes a step, perches on the arm of the sofa, running his hands through his hair and wishing he could just cross the room and take Sirius in his arms. Feet slide out of shoes and noticing a hole in his sock, Remus wriggles his toe.

He feels unsure and it’s making him uneasy. It’s never been like this before, with Sirius. Even in the beginning when they were still at Hogwarts and they'd fallen asleep in each other’s arms – night after night Sirius had snuck across the dormitory and back behind the curtains of his own bed before the others woke up – even back then before they were secure in their sexuality and were still trying to keep things quiet, they had never had a ‘morning after.' Whatever else had been going on, the one thing they had always been sure of was each other and this, this awkwardness, this where-do-we-stand, this what-happens-next feels alien and wrong. It makes him want to vomit. He wriggles his toe again and makes a mental note to buy new socks.

'You've been out.'

He wonders whether the accusation he hears in Sirius's voice is just his own paranoia and he nods his head firmly, deciding to just take the bull by the horns.

'Listen, Sirius, I wanted to–'

Sirius waves his hand lightly, shakes his head.

'I’d rather we don’t.'

'I just wanted to...'

'Honestly, Remus, can we please not? Let's just forget it. It never happened.'

'But that's the point: it did happen, and we should discuss things.'

'Why? Why should we? Because you need to, yeah? Because last night's frantic sex session has been going ‘round and ‘round in your head all day and talking about it will make you feel better, ease your conscience a little bit?’ Sirius’s upper lip curled with distaste and he was nearly snarling, ‘I'm not your fucking counsellor, I’m not fucking interested. If you want to talk, then find someone who gets paid to listen.'

Sirius sighs and drops heavily onto the windowsill, his head in his hands.

'I'm sorry,' he says eventually, 'It's just, you always do that. You have this need to talk about things, to look at every event from every angle and to analyse things to within an inch of their lives. Sometimes it just makes things so much worse.'

'I don't want to make myself feel better, Sirius, I want to talk for you.'

'But I neither want to nor need to, don't you get it? I'm fine, I'm a big boy and I can look after myself. I know precisely what happened last night – I was very much a part of it – and as great as it was, I know too much to make the mistake of romanticising it. I get it, yeah? You were lonely and you were missing your boyfriend, who quite frankly sounds like an idiot of the highest order... Regardless, we had too much to drink and all things considered, it was a prime recipe for mistake sex. I get it and I'm fine with it and I really would rather just pretend it never happened.'

'Sirius.'

'No, Remus. Thanks for your concern, or whatever it was, but no.'

Sirius pushes himself to stand, brushing past Remus as he heads for the door and failing to conceal his flinch at the contact. Remus can feel his chest tighten. He's gone over this conversation time and time again and not once did it pan out like this. He’s totally and completely out of his depth and he wonders whether Sirius was right; maybe he is just trying to make himself feel better. Except he doesn’t think that’s true, at least not entirely.

'Sirius.' He grabs his arm just before Sirius is out of reach. 'What if it...'

‘Fuck’s sake, Re.' Sirius shakes himself free and turns back to face him; there’s no trace of anger, he just looks totally and utterly defeated. Like he's done ten rounds in a ring with Voldemort, which Remus supposes he has, in a roundabout way.

But that’s not what’s done Black in today. 'What do I have to do to get you to just leave me alone?'

'Why don't you ask me where I went today,' Remus prompts.

Sirius growls. 'Because, Remus, I don't want to know. When it comes to forms of torture I don't know which is worse: the Dementor’s Kiss or watching the man I loved my entire life go after someone else like it’s business as usual. Funnily enough, I have absolutely no desire to make the fact that I am stuck here worse by imagining what you do with your freedom.'

'I went to his house.’

‘Fuck you, Remus, sincerely.’

‘We ended it.'

He looks at Sirius searchingly. Sirius stares back, shakes his head in incredulity.

'You told him?'

'I had to.'

'Of course you did. That's you all over.’ Sirius runs a hand through his hair, pressing the tips of his fingers into his scalp and taking a deep breath. ‘Look, I'm sorry, I really really am, but I am really not in the right frame of mind to talk about this with you now. Honestly, don’t know that I ever will be. I'm sorry that I ended up in prison and ruined your life and I'm sorry I came back and ruined your relationship. I'm a mess and you know it, you could have told Dumbledore to send me somewhere else. But I can't do this Remus, not with you, not right now. Go to sleep, talk to him again tomorrow. I'm sure he'll forgive you; look at you, how can he not.'

'Are you really that stupid? I can't believe you're that dense, Black.'

Remus steps forward, latching onto Sirius by the shoulders and kissing him hard on the lips, just one urgent dry-mouthed kiss, his mouth on Sirius’s for the briefest of moments.

'I don't want to go back tomorrow and I don’t need him to forgive me. I didn't tell him because I felt guilty and I haven't been moping around because of him, I've been moping around because of you.'

'Me?'

'Yes, you stupid dog. Yes, I was a little drunk and certainly a little lonely but last night was not a mistake; it was the only thing I've done that felt right in 12 whole years. You are the only thing about me that makes any sense, Sirius, you always have been. Oh, don't look at me like that.'

Remus runs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath – this is not him sticking to the script. The script might as well be written in ancient runes for all the attention he’s paying to it.

But then, Remus has never been one for big emotional speeches; the first time he'd told Sirius he loved him he'd waited until he was sure he was asleep and had been mortified when it turned out he wasn't – less mortified though when Sirius had crowed in delight (smug bastard) and then given him the mother of all blowjobs. That’d kind of made it all worth it. When they had decided to come clean to James and Peter, Sirius had made this huge presentation that was almost worthy of Shakespeare. When James had turned to Remus for confirmation whilst Peter still looked baffled, Remus had only shrugged his shoulders and smiled a little, said, 'Yeah, what he said but with a bit less of the amateur dramatics,' and wondered whether he could surreptitiously cast a spell to make him look less like a tomato. Now here he is with a sinking feeling that he has just one chance at this and he feels like he’s floundering. If somebody was to show him a boggart at this moment he knows exactly what it would look like: not the Sirius of over a decade ago but this enigma in front of him, gaunt and wronged and too much quieter, really. Remus half wonders whether he could cast a 'Riddikulus' spell in Sirius's direction and make this easier.

'Last night was incredible, Sirius... but we were always quite good at that. I want more, though, than just that. I have no idea what your mindset is right now or what you want. The last thing I want to do is to rush you. I just want you to know that what I want is you and that no matter what happens I'll be here because I don't know how to be anywhere else. I never had to learn to fall in love with you, Sirius. I just did it.'

'Moony?'

Remus’s breath stutters and he swallows hard because fuck, what if he’s totally misjudged things? Just because it’s what Remus wants doesn’t mean it’s what Sirius wants too and what if he doesn’t? What is Remus supposed to do then?

'What is it?'

'Stop being such a fucking wordy wolf. Will you put that muzzle to good use and kiss me already?'

Remus exhales on a laugh, a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, and self-consciously tugs the hair at the scruff of his neck. He feels more nervous, suddenly, not less, even as Sirius is reaching out, long fingers curling 'round his wrist, tugging him gently closer – and it seems silly because he’s just laid himself bare in front of this man, declared his love and expressed his want, yet it’s being in Sirius’s arms, with Sirius’s hand on the back of his neck holding him in place, that has his heart in his mouth and his stomach in a loop. It doesn’t happen to Remus like this, hasn’t for a long time, where he gets what he wants unequivocally; he’s half waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sirius is still holding him by the wrist as well as by the neck. He rolls his eyes good naturedly.

‘Fuck's sake, Moony. You want a job done right, need to do it your Goddamn self.’

And then he kisses him.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Remus murmurs when they finally pull apart, both a little flushed, a little desperate. Remus has his hands curled in the fabric of Sirius’s shirt, can’t quite bring himself to let go. Somewhere along the way Sirius’s hands had moved to Remus’s hips and he squeezes lightly, a small smile curving his kiss-red lips.

‘Can’t exactly go anywhere else, can I?’

‘No. I don’t mean here. I mean here. Like this.’ Remus leans in, resting their foreheads together. ‘I tried to tell myself all day that I would be alright if you turned me down, but I was lying to myself. I just worry you're doing this for my sake.’

Sirius closes his eyes, lashes fluttering gently against his skin. Remus always thought he had the most beautiful eyelashes. Criminal, really. His smile when he opens them is soft: half-amused, half adoring, all Padfoot. Sirius moves his head just a little, just enough to ghost another kiss against Remus’s lips.

‘Oh, Remus. My sake, your sake, our sake. Haven’t you worked it out yet? They’ve always been one and the same.’