The Chronicles of Wolfstar

(In Order)

By Krethes
 The Chronicles of Wolfstar - In Order
Creator: Krethes
Series Begun: 2021-02-05
Series Updated: 2023-02-19
Description: This will be a growing series of my Wolfstar fics in
chronological order of their events. Since I don't write in a linear timeline, some
fics may be pushed up or down as necessary.
Notes:
Chapter 1 of "New Heights" falls before "Smoke Trails".
Chapter 2 of "New Heights" falls before "The Shirt".
Chapter 3 of "To Love a Girl" has some overlap with Chapters 5 & 6 of "New
Heights"
"Twenty-Two" is a bit of a James/Lily live AU, but I thought it pertinent
to keep it in.
If you'd like to ache, terribly, you may also read "A House is Not a
Home", but I have not included it here since it is definitely in the realm of
"Wolfstar Raises Harry" AU.
Stats
Words: 136,402
Works: 26
Complete: No
Bookmarks: 104
Nightmares and Shadows
Tight Spaces
The Valentine Moon
The Fight
Chapter 1: Snarl
Chapter 2: Sirius
Red-Hot Poker
Antlers
Gold
Beautifully Broken
Beauty is in the Breeding
Smoke Trails
Chapter 1: A Surprise
Chapter 2: The Moon
Chapter 3: Cigarettes
Chapter 4: Three-Legged Goose
Chapter 5: The Greenhouse
Chapter 6: Confessions
Frozen Morning in Waning Gibbous
The Scars
The Locker Room
The Shirt
Aureate
New Heights
Chapter 1: Hemlines
Chapter 2: Mistletoe
Chapter 3: Tiptoes
Chapter 4: Showerhead
Chapter 5: Cigarettes
Chapter 6: Towering
To Love a Girl
Chapter 1: Fish & Chips
Chapter 2: Cider and Burgers
Chapter 3: Wards & Paint Spells
Twenty-Two
The Violence
Moonfever
A yearning, profound (a love, unbound)
Dominus
Lines
Chapter 1: Far Too Old to Be Having Morning Sex
Chapter 2: Have I Mentioned that I Don't Want to Go?
Chapter 3: This, Mr. Lupin, is Payback
Chapter 4: We are In Public
Chapter 5: I'm in Charge
Heatwave
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Grow Old with Me
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Let Us Share What We See
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
 Nightmares and Shadows

Shadows followed him wherever he turned, long and jagged, haunting his days and
his dreams with tongues that lapped and jaws that nipped the frayed edges of his mind. During
the day, they nested below his eyes like house cats below golden pools and grew larger with
each passing night.

Hogwarts had been Remus’s home for nearly a fortnight and though his body had
been exhausted by his first away-from-home Transformation and his mind had been stretched
and tested to its very limits with his lessons, Remus had not slept a consecutive three hours
since August. Back then, he curled up in his twin bed at home with the hand-made quilt with
the gentle sounds of the waves singing him to sleep. He’d left the window open on his last
night to sear the smell of salt air and the beach into his memory but now, staring at the scarlet
bed hangings on his much larger bed, Remus couldn’t quite remember it.

He wished he could open a window here, but the Prefects hadn’t explicitly told him
he could and he didn’t want to get in trouble so soon. They might change their mind and send
him back home, after all. Besides, Remus shared the room with three other boys who, while
they’d been friendly enough to him over the past several days, might not appreciate the chill
of the Scottish autumn breeze whipping through their dormitory. Instead, he swished open
his bed curtains to let the air circulate, feeling overly warm as he often did. While he felt
terribly exposed under the waning crescent’s light, he was cooler for it.

His three dormmates were fast asleep; Peter snored nasally on the far side of the room
next to James, whose breathing was the deep, slow rhythm of proper slumber. Sirius was
closest to him, just the next bed over, he whose breath hitched every so often in a dreaming
pattern and who had nightmares, too, sometimes. Remus had plenty of time at night for
observations like these and only wished his brain could handle revision of his classes so that
he’d be doing something useful. He felt so far behind his peers, having had very little to do
with magic despite having a wizard for a dad. Nothing he went over this late at night ever
stuck through 'til morning, though.

The air current that now flowed freely over him, untethered, soothed him. Staring up
at the canopy above him, Remus counted to one hundred in French and back down in Latin;
by the time he reached twelve again, he was asleep.
 He was being chased through a thicket, rich with inch-long thorns and vines that tried
to rend his flesh and snare his legs. He wasn’t him, but the wolf, overly-long, clumsy limbs
and tiny body, tawny fur that stood on end as he fled. Something was on his trail—hot breath
and the smell of old, moldering blood—its footsteps heavy and graceless behind him. He
wanted to look back, see this predator, but instinct drove him further and further forward.
'Don’t look back,' the voice in his head warned, clear as a bell. 'Keep running.'

So he ran, his fear as pungent in the air as the beast on his heels. Snarls broke the
panting silence, loud, vicious, murderous in intent. He stumbled, tripped over his own too-
big paws, and tumbled ears-over-tail down a hill. His pursuer gave chase and when he lifted
his head, all he saw was a slavering, gray muzzle, huge, dripping yellowed fangs, and a
tongue as red as blood. It clamped down on his neck and shook, thrashing him around and it
hurt, it burned, it--

---
He sat up in a pool of sweat, drenched from head to toe. His breathing was ragged,
tearing its way out of his lungs in quick, frantic pants. Remus immediately wrapped his
fingers around his neck and sighed in relief when no blood came away, only clear, salty sweat.
He looked at the clock spelled on the wall and whimpered -- 5 am. He’d scraped a mere
ninety minutes together this time.

---
The next night saw Remus curled on his side, his amber eyes reflected in the mirrored
surface of the sleeping draught Madam Pomfrey had offered him after the Full Moon. He’d
only taken half of it then and slept fitfully as his body recovered. While the mediwitch had
been nice enough to him, Remus didn’t trust her off-hand. His healers at St. Mungo’s were
fond of the whole ‘knock the werewolf out and then poke it’ method, and though they had
never been unprofessional or untoward, Remus hated waking up days later with no
recollection of the transpired events.

Remus battled with himself: the potion offered no reprieve from the nightmares that
stalked him, it only served to relax his mind enough to actually slip under. But there was a
quiz in Potions tomorrow and Remus had already embarrassed himself with his ineptitude in
the first week. He needed to sleep, however he could. Setting his mouth in a determined
frown, Remus reached out, uncorked the flask, and tossed the liquid -- like cold honey and
barley sweets -- down his throat before he could change his mind.

The draught set into motion quickly and his last conscious thought was a prayer, a
small, timid one, to his mother’s God that he could sleep peacefully.

---
He was running again, this time as a boy, himself, and on sandy dunes. His bare feet
found no purchase on the slippery mounds and he kept falling. A beast still chased him -- he
recognized it tonight, matted gray fur and black eyes that seemed to see into his very core.
Remus slid to the bottom of a dune and lay crumpled in a heap, trembling with fear. He drew
his arms and legs around him protectively, but he felt the brute’s breath on him like a brand,
felt the saliva dripping from his maw. He braced himself for the pain, waited long, terrifying
seconds, minutes, hours?

A dog stood in front of him, shaggy and black, and barked at the monster. Its ears
were pricked forward and its tail stuck straight up, unwagging. It growled and snapped back
at the demon -- where had he seen it before? -- until it retreated, recalcitrant but deterred. The
dog looked at Remus, searching his face, and Remus was captivated by the moonsilver eyes
set in its noble face. After several seconds, the dog curled at Remus's feet but stayed alert,
always watching the horizon. It was heavy and warm against his legs, and Remus’s fear
melted to peace.

---
When Remus awoke, it was to sunlight streaming through his open curtains and the
soft grumbles of sleepy boys. He looked at the clock -- 7 am. He’d slept six hours. Remus
stretched languidly on his sheets as he considered the cause, but as he inhaled in his stretch,
a strange-but-not smell hit his nose.

He followed the smell as subtly as he could, sniffing his nightshirt, his duvet, and
finally the pillows. There. Like thistle and heather and warm dog. Puzzled, Remus inhaled
deeply but was aware of the others milling about in the room, so resolved to figure it out
later.

That night, there was no sleeping potion left to help him slip away, but his counting
trick worked again. The horrors came anew, all shrieking shouts and snarling wolves.
Something touched his arm -- not part of the dream -- and he startled awake in a terrified,
open-eyed jolt. The smell from that morning hit him like a truck as Remus stared at a pair of
wide silver-in-the-moonlight eyes.

Sirius shushed him and pulled the curtains closed before wriggling under Remus’s
blankets as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His hair spilled onto the pillow
like ink, jet-black and liquid-soft, and Remus looked at it only to shake off the familiar
intensity of Sirius’s eyes.

“What--” Remus hissed, stopped only by Sirius’s hand across his mouth.

“Shh! Muffliato,” Sirius spelled, and a muted sort of ‘pop’ settled around them. He
tucked his wand back under the pillow and lay back down to look at Remus, who was stunned
Sirius knew a spell he hadn’t even read about in his Charms textbook.

“...What are you doing, Black?” Remus asked again, his fingers gripping his
bedsheets.

“You have nightmares.”

“... Yeah, well, so do you,” Remus replied petulantly. If this was some sort of cruel
joke, he was in no mood.

“Not important. Did you sleep okay last night?”

Remus flushed, heat rising in his cheeks. “I… yes, eventually.”

Sirius smiled, his pearly-white teeth flashing in the dark. “Grand. Go to sleep,” he
commanded as if that explained everything. When Remus continued to balk at him, he rolled
his eyes and scowled. “My little brother has nightmares, too. He says this helps him. Don’t
make it weird, Lupin. Go to sleep.”
 Remus scoured his face for a sign of mocking, for any hint that this would turn out
poorly, but found none on the pale face inches from his own. He nodded mutely and curled
onto his left side. Sleeping next to someone was new, but soon Sirius’s breath deepened and
his heartbeat slowed to a pattern that resonated in Remus’s ears, drumming a rhythm that
soothed his anxious mind.

The nightmares did not return that night, and the night after, Remus slept as soundly
as he had at home. He and Sirius did not discuss their sleeping arrangement after that, and if
the other boys knew, they didn’t say anything. After a week’s full rest, Sirius stayed in his
bed and Remus learned to pick his heartbeat out of the three in the room and it became his
lullaby, serenading him to dreamland.

The nightmares did not come again.

 Tight Spaces

Remus Lupin did not like locked doors, could not tolerate the smell of vinegar, and
had a deep-seated fear of priests. But most of all, he hated small spaces.

At the age of 13, Remus had lived longer with his lycanthropy than he had without.
He had faint, soundless memories of what life was like before the attack, but they were
undersaturated and hard to hold onto in his brain, like grains of sand or like the slippery
pieces of seaweed that washed onto the shore near his family home.

His friends knew about him now, they being irritatingly clever boys who'd riddled it
out before their first year of Hogwarts was over. They'd been kind enough to wait to confront
him until September of their second year so that Remus could not agonize over the
implications of them knowing all summer, alone. They were third years now and most of the
awkwardness around His Furry Little Problem, as James was determined to refer to it, had
dissipated.

He still didn't feel like he deserved their acceptance, though. While werewolves hadn't
been covered in detail in their Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum yet, Remus had read
four times his body weight in books about himself, what he was. What a monster he was. The
damage he could do.

While his friends seemed to be able to look past the beast, Remus’s father hadn't
looked him in the eyes in years. His mother always looked sad and stressed when she thought
he wasn't looking, but at least she could pretend not to be terrified of him. He wished he could
bring her comfort, somehow. She didn't deserve a son who turned into a monster every month.

Lyall had tried everything under the sun to cure his son. Remus's first post-bite
memories were uncomfortable ones. His Transformations were not as traumatic as they were
becoming now, as human children shared an odd number of similarities with wolf cubs, but
almost every month for five years, Lyall had tried something new.
 It started tamely enough. A few thick ropes to bind his arms and legs to a metal chair
while Lyall recited complex anti-curse spells and. But even a pint-sized werewolf had sharp
needle teeth that could spread the disease, so he'd had to retreat behind his wards when Remus
started to Turn.

Then there was the time when Remus had to bathe in vinegar for a week solid leading
up to the full moon, and he'd never been happier to be homeschooled as he was then. Their
entire house reeked of the vile stuff even though his mother kept the windows open to try to
air it out. Predictably, Remus still Transformed.

Drinking the vinegar by the pint for a week hadn't worked either, and had made
Remus so ill he'd spent the next week shivering in bed with stomach pains. To this day, Remus
took his fish and chips dry, without malt vinegar, and felt like vomiting if he smelled the sour
liquid. An aversion to vinegar was easy enough to explain away, though. Not everyone liked
the taste and its smell was abrasive even to human noses.

But, as he stood there in a narrow passage that never seemed to end, Remus found
himself unable to move and unable to tell his friends why. It was one thing to tell them he'd
been homeschooled and kept away from other children and extended family for their safety,
but he worried what they would think of his father if they knew…

*~*~*

He was ten and Lyall was desperate. His study was filled to the brim with wizard and
Muggle literature from around the world in twenty different languages all with their own take
on lycanthropy and shapeshifting. His newest theory was that if the werewolf couldn't see
the moon, couldn't be bathed in its light or gamma radiation, then maybe it couldn't
Transform.

Remus balked when he saw the hole. It was fifteen feet deep and an hour's drive from
their home, since digging in their sandy terrain was not practical, even with magic. Lyall had
fabricated a story about a gas leak to remove all of the local residents within a three-mile
radius.
 He told Remus it would all be okay, it would have to work this time. His face was
wan, desperate, pre-maturely gray hair in stringy wisps around his narrow face.

Remus didn't want to go in the hole. You'd have to be insane to willingly agree to be
lowered into a 4'x4' concrete space and then covered back up with dirt. He protested and
pleaded and tried to reason with his dad that it wouldn't work and that he didn't want to be
buried alive.

But Lyall's guilt and frantic desire to cure his son was not abated by his theatrics. He
assured Remus it was completely safe and it would only be for the eleven or so hours the
moon was visible in the sky. He told him he'd be nearby and would not let him hurt anyone.

And so Remus went in the box.

He'd kept it together until he heard the sound of dirt hitting the roof. Every dull thud
made his panic rise like an overboiling pot of pasta, starchy bubbles frothing up his throat.
He broke out in a cold sweat and began to pace.

He was going to run out of air.

The roof was going to collapse in on him.

The wolf would try to climb out and suffocate on the dirt.

The wolf would get out and hurt someone.

Hurt his dad.

Kill his dad.

 Remus felt like he was going to have a heart attack. He heard the blood rushing in his
ears and couldn't catch his breath, which came out of his mouth in pathetic wheezes. He tried
slowing it, knowing logically that if he didn't want to suffocate he should try to control his
breathing, but the tightness in his chest was all-consuming.

He pounded on the walls until his skin broke.

He shouted for his dad until his voice was raw, but no one came.

He was alone.

He was trapped.

He Transformed.

When Lyall returned to the dig site at sunrise, he didn't find Remus in the box. In fact,
the box had been burst through by something approximately the size of a 10-year-old
werewolf, rubble and freshly-turned dirt mounded around a small hole in the ground. Frantic,
he looked for wolf tracks in the mud and they led him to a very naked, bloody, and broken
child curled sobbing up under a car a few hundred yards away.

*~*~*
Here, now, however many feet under the ground they were, Remus was reminded of
that night. The walls felt too narrow, the smell of wet earth was all around him. He couldn't
even smell his friends, just the dirt and his own blood.

He'd dug his fingernails into his palm so hard he'd cut himself, bright red blood
seeping out from the small crescents on his hands. It only added to his panic. He felt like
throwing up. Like screaming. Like running. He could run. He could leave. He would never
have to stop running if no one could catch him. Just run and run and run until the next full
moon and then do it all over again. Anything to get out of the box -- no, the tunnel, he
corrected himself.
 A warm pair of hands landed on his shoulders and he was assaulted by the smell of
something blessedly other than dirt. He flinched and blinked hard, trying to fight the darkness
at the edges of his vision that had narrowed his focus to the walls around him. He blinked a
few more times and inhaled sharply, eager to fill his nose with the smell.

Sirius.

The other boy looked down at him with concern on his fine-boned face, already
devoid of its baby fat. "Moony?" From his tone, it was clear this wasn't the first time he'd
tried saying his name, but relief smoothed his features when Remus nodded mutely in
acknowledgment.

"What's the matter, Moony?" Remus looked at Sirius and then to James and Peter
who stood a few feet away, obviously uncomfortable to be part of the conversation but still
concerned about their friend. Remus flushed and looked down at the ground. He couldn't tell
them.

"I... don't feel well. You go on without me. See… see what's up ahead." It sounded
lame even to him, but he wouldn't, couldn't blindly travel through a tunnel without knowing
what was on the other side.

Sirius drew his mouth in a firm, grim line before tightening his hold on Remus's
shoulders. Without looking at the other two boys, he said, "James, Pete, you go on ahead.
Map out this tunnel. I'm going to take Moons here to the Hospital Wing and get him sorted,
hey?" He tried to keep his tone light, but it was as frail as Remus's excuse.

James, dark face frowning, opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius suddenly looked
over his shoulder at him and whatever look was on his face made the normally bossy boy fall
silent. "Alright then. Feel better, Moony," James called and turned to leave.

"Yeah, Rem--Moony," Peter corrected. The nickname was still new. "If we find
something good we'll bring you back heaps!" he promised.
 When the boys left, Sirius looked at Remus again. "Let's go, mate."

"Not… Hospital Wing," Remus panted. He'd been falling back down into his frenzied
fear while they were talking. His vision was blurry again and he couldn't fathom explaining
everything to Madam Pomfrey -- Poppy, she'd said to call her. She already did so much for
him every month, he couldn't burden her on the off-phase.

"Okay then, sure. Common Room okay? Get a big fire going… warm you up," Sirius
suggested. At the mute nod he got in reply, he slung his arm around Remus's shoulder and
walked him the fifteen feet out of the tunnel. The warmth of his body seeped into Remus's
skin and helped thaw the ice in his legs. After checking no one was in the hall, the boys
emerged.

Remus felt instantly better. Not perfect, because his chest still ached and he couldn't
slow down his heart rate no matter how he tried, and he was still clammy, but better. The
fresh air was a balm to his over-stimulated senses and he could see the sky through a window.
Above ground. Better.

They walked in silence back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Sirius's arm still a
firm support around his narrow shoulders. At the late hour of 1 am, they were its only
occupants. Sirius stoked the fire and somehow procured two mugs of hot chocolate, complete
with marshmallows and a tin of plain digestives.

Remus let Sirius wrap him in a red tartan blanket and replace his shoes and sweaty
socks with soft, brown slippers. He accepted the cocoa and generous handful of digestives
with a murmured thanks, but only stared at the fire, not imbibing.

"Moony…?" Sirius's voice was strained and sad. Remus jerked his head up to look at
him. His face was strained and sad, also, the flickering firelight casting long shadows along
the elegant lines.

Hurriedly, as not to worry him further, Remus sipped on the cocoa. He dipped a
biscuit into it and ate it with surprising delicacy, which, he supposed, must've tipped Sirius
off.
 "You don't have to tell me everything, but… tell me something. What's wrong? What
happened?"

"I'm not feeling well, that's all. I--" He was going to use a moon excuse, but Sirius
had grown frustratingly fascinated with the phases of the moon and would know off the top
of his head that the next full moon wasn't for another 11 days. Too soon to be feeling puny.
"Might've had too much pudding at dinner." Lame.

Sirius sighed and took a deep drink from his mug. He crawled out of his armchair and
over to sit next to Remus. His smell was oddly comforting, his presence warm and stabilizing.
"You think I don't know a panic attack when I see one?" His voice sounded far away, distant
despite his physical proximity.

Before Remus could voice his confusion, Sirius pressed on. "Regulus has them a lot
at home. During the holidays… me, too, I guess. Lots of pressure on us. Different kinds,
different reasons. Feels like you're going to die."

Remus's heart gave a painful twist and a little coil of anger bubbled in his belly.
Someone had hurt his friend enough to cause him to feel the same way he did. He'd make
them-- what, pay? He couldn't even be angry at his own father, let alone whoever had harmed
Sirius.

He ate another biscuit, finding that the sugary combination was helping to bring his
strength back up. "I… don't like small spaces. Not even really the dark, but I've mostly gotten
over that."

He felt Sirius's body move next to him as he nodded in understanding. They were
both staring at the fire, but it didn't feel awkward. He felt comfortable, in their shared pain.
After several long minutes and a third biscuit, he told Sirius about the box.

"It was the first time that the wolf had actually hurt me. I'd normally come to the next
morning with scrapes and some cuts and feeling really awful, sure, but it wasn't anything like
that. Any pain had always been as a result of the actual Change, before." It felt like someone
else was telling all of this to Sirius and he was just watching from a distance, somehow, a
ghost.

"But that time… the wolf was angry. It had never been truly trapped before. I think I
spent most of the night slamming into the concrete until it broke enough to squeeze through,
and then there was the dirt to move through. All I remember is the loudest snarling, the taste
of dirt in my mouth, and the rage the wolf felt at being kept away like that. I was still little,
so I guess it took all night just to break ground. Dad had magicked the earth closed around
the box so it wasn't loose dirt, but hard-packed. I was so tired and so weak when the moon
set I just… dragged myself to the nearest shelter that wasn't underground.

I spent two weeks at St. Mungo's. Dad wanted to treat me at home but Mum was so
mad. I'd never seen her angry before but...in that moment, she was like any other mother, I
guess, when their child is hurt. She didn't let Dad visit. I thought she was going to leave him.
I'd broken most of my bones and got most of the scars I have now that night. The Healers
said I almost ran out of blood, or something…" He trailed off, remembering the mixed bag
of fear, pity, or hatred on the healers' faces as each shift changed for his care. No one liked
treating werewolf injuries. Any accidental blood or saliva contact on open skin could mean
lasting complications, or so the stigma was.

The rage that boiled off of Sirius was startling. It overwhelmed Remus's senses and
he instinctively wanted to tuck tail and hide, crawl to safety. Sirius trembled next to him,
every muscle tensed. Remus heard his teeth creak as he clenched his jaw tight. "Your… your
dad put you in a box fifteen feet underground because he thought that it might keep you from
turning." It wasn't so much a question as an incredulous recount.

"And… and you're not mad at him?" Sirius whipped his head to look at Remus
suddenly, and he found himself staring into wild gray eyes that had hardened into stone, anger
writ clearly on his face.

"I…" he sighed. "I was, I guess. I was mostly glad it was over and sad it didn't work.
Let down. Disappointed. It was the sixtieth thing he'd tried, Sirius."
 He heard him seethe the number and fully expected Sirius to start punching the wall
or, somehow, teleport to the Lupin residence in Kent and beat up his dad. If anyone could do
it, Apparate without a proper lesson, it would be Sirius. Remus would bet on it.

Instead, he was jostled in a bone-crushing hug, sloshing hot-but-not-scalding cocoa

on the blanket in the suddenness. Sirius buried his head into his shoulder and held him so
tightly Remus thought he might snap in half. "You did not deserve to be experimented on,
Moony. I won't let anyone do that to you ever again." His words felt like a promise.

Remus's cheeks were wet and, embarrassed, he realized he was crying. He hadn't
expected such a response from Sirius, who was usually joking or brooding, never something
so gentle, so sincere. They usually argued too much to really have conversations like this,
and he hadn't seen this side of him before. It was nice. He hugged him back much more gently
before he was released. Sirius's head found a home on his jutting shoulder and they returned
to fire-watching.

"Thanks, Sirius," Remus whispered after minutes of silence stretched between them.
He didn't think he needed protecting from his dad-- that had been his last attempt anyway,
which was good, because Remus had seen several texts that suggested silver creams and
shackles to keep the wolf at bay. Lyall either had the good sense to not risk his son's life
further or Hope scared it into him. Probably the latter.

He heard the deep breathing of a sleeping boy and noted Sirius had dozed off next to
him. Remus nicked his last remaining digestives and added them to his pile, suddenly
starving. He polished off his cocoa and biscuits in record time but didn't disturb Sirius, who
still had one arm around his back and seemed at peace where he was.

Remus drifted off a little and when he opened his eyes, it was to the gleeful hushed
giggles of two boys who had been very successful. The smell of chocolate bloomed in his
nose and he blinked owlishly at James and Peter who each sported two giant paper bags, fit
to burst.

He nudged Sirius awake and they sleepily climbed up to their dorm to examine the
contraband. With a flourish, Peter dumped an entire bag onto Remus's bed and out fell
chocolates and toffees of all flavors and imagination, neatly wrapped and emblazoned with
an "H".

Sirius's eyes were wide as saucers as he popped a chocolate frog into his mouth. He
and James exchanged twin mad looks before each devouring an excessively large
marshmallow puff that made fat puffy clouds float around their heads. Cheeks full to the
brim, they said in unison, "Honeydukes!" before promptly choking on the marshmallows.
They saved each other and fell into the raucous laughter of boys who'd done something very
naughty and had gotten away with it.

Remus was swept into their tidal wave of joy and allowed himself to laugh, too,
mouthing a sincere "thank you" to Peter for getting his favorite treats.

"You have to come with us next time, Moony," Peter urged once the laughter died
down. Remus felt Sirius look at him quickly but smiled.

"I think it would be worth the trip," Remus agreed. Fears were meant to be overcome,
and Honeydukes sounded like a hell of a reward.

Sirius smiled at him and Remus felt his chest flutter in a way it never had before.
'Must be all the chocolate .'
 The Valentine Moon

He's fourteen when he realizes.

He's always known, he supposes, in the back of his mind where he stores other
unpleasant thoughts (such as his fragile mortality, the ache in his bones, his mother's cough)
that he was a little different than the other boys. Lily's shy, questioning press of her lips to
his in the library in third year had unburied the Box. James's sloppy that-was-not-just-punch-
this-kid-is-bladdered kiss at last month’s Quidditch victory party had blown the dust off of
the sealed Box of Uncomfortable Thoughts, but Sirius has blown it wide open.

He’d come back from summer holidays a little taller—not as tall as Remus, who
worried he wouldn’t ever stop growing—but broader through the shoulders, stronger. He’d
evaded his mother’s multiple attempts at cutting his hair into something “respectable”, and
though his voice was changing, settling into a register that made parts of Remus take notice,
he was doing so gracefully. While Remus and Peter and James all had embarrassing turns of
squeaky falsetto, Sirius appeared to be the master of his own vocal chords.

Remus figures he out to have guessed it would be Sirius. Sirius or James, really, and
of the two…Sirius is honestly the better choice simply because he’s unobtainable. James is
too, in his own “Evans is looking fit this year, yeah?” way, but Remus could see…something
happening between them. Maybe. Once or twice. Sirius, though…he is the wind, whipping
through Remus’s life, kicking up leaves and swirling them around in pretty patterns only to
leave him breathless and shivering.

Sirius with his watchful eyes and his steadying hands. Sirius with his beautiful,
breath-taking face and sparkling laugh. It’s just a pash, Remus hopes knows, and it’ll pass in
time, but being in close proximity to someone so perfectly lovely is hard, especially this time
of year.

While Valentine’s Day previously went uncelebrated by most of the students of

Remus’s year, now that they were all fourteen-going-on-fifteen, there was a
certain expectation that hangs in the air. Girls gather in gaggles and giggle at him and his
friends when they pass. James and Sirius puff up their chests and walk taller, while Remus
and Peter exchange embarrassed grimaces. Notes are passed in class, and plans to go to
Hogsmeade together are being made.

Remus keeps clear of it. He’s not interested in girls—that previously referenced kiss
with Lily had all but solved that for him—but even if he was, he can’t. There’s a full moon,
because of course there fucking is, would he never catch a break? —and while his friends are
cozied up in front of the fire or drinking butterbeer and making eyes at each other, Remus
will be rending his flesh and turning into a monster.
 It’s not as dramatic as that, except it definitely is. He’s tired. It’s been ten years. Ten
fucking years of this with no relief. He just wants one month where he wasn’t anxiously
watching the night sky. One month of peace. Of normalcy.

“Morgana’s minge, Moony, what’s that quill done to you?” Sirius’s laughter
interrupts Remus’s melancholy, and Remus stares down at the quill, cracked and broken in
his hand. “S’it one of those Quick Quotes ones, because Gideon gave me one last week and
you should’ve seen the things it wrote about our Minnie when I was trying to dictate my
Transfiguration essay!” Sirius prattles on in his way, bounding across the dormitory to flop
across Remus’s bed. His weight crumples the Potions homework Remus has been fussing
over for the past two hours, but it was rubbish anyway.
“Uh, no, it’s…Potions,” Remus offers lamely, gesturing to the smeared essay. He taps
the quill with his wand, mutters the spell, and it’s restored, good as new.

Sirius peers at him through his fringe, humming thoughtfully. “Mmm, no, that’s not
your Potions face,” he decides, prying the quill from Remus’s hand and sweeping it and his
useless homework to the floor.
“Oi!” Remus shouts, thumping him on the shoulder.

Sirius grins and thumps him back, and then it’s on. The four of them wrestle often;
it’s a great way to let off steam and besides, the brief dust-ups can settle a score far faster
than talking about their problem. Though Remus lets James win most of the time and goes
easy on Peter, he can’t pull his punches (figuratively, because punching, pinching, and prick-
shots were banned after the Incident of 5 November 1972) with Sirius. Simply put, the wolf
doesn't want Sirius to win, though Remus hasn’t ever been able to figure out why. It has
nothing to do with how his heart flutters when he’s got Sirius’s attention, because it’s been
going on since day one, though it’s not helping him now.
They roll right off the narrow bed and onto the floor below, huffing laughs and
looking for weak points. Sirius grumbles about unfair advantage as he pushes on Remus’s
shoulders, trying to knock him down, but Remus holds steady, aided by the wolf’s strength
this close to the full moon. But then Sirius’s hair falls from its small bun, and god he smells
quite nice, doesn’t he, and that brief moment of pause is all Sirius needs to pin him to the
ground with a triumphant crow.
“Circe’s tits!” Sirius caws, clearly quite pleased with himself as he kneels astride
Remus in a way he really needs to not be doing right now if Remus wants to keep any shred
of his dignity intact. Remus shoves him off, but Sirius laughs as he rolls away, holding his
sides. They lay like that on the floor of the dorm, Potions homework well and truly ruined
now, giggling like loons. “So,” Sirius says, catching his breath. “I won. What’s bothering
you, Moonbeam?”
 Moonbeam. Sirius has started making up new nicknames for Remus’s nickname,
which is utterly ridiculous and frankly very annoying in how it makes his stomach flop over
and his heart leap uncomfortably into his throat. He doesn’t answer right away, and Sirius
kicks his ankle impatiently. Remus considers lying, but Sirius’s eyes, even more striking
against his flushed cheeks, pin him, too. “It’s stupid.”
“Okay, so it’s stupid. I’m stupid, and you talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

“You’re not stupid.”

“Don’t change the subject, Moony!” Sirius warns, kicking him again.
“I’m just…tired,” Remus sighs, throwing one arm over his eyes to avoid Sirius’s
piercing, calculating gaze.
He expects Sirius to make a joke, to tell him to take a nap or drink some tea, get some
fresh air to wake up, if that’s his issue, but nothing comes. Silence drapes between them,
unfamiliar, like in first year when Sirius would keep his nightmares at bay, curled up next to
Remus. There’s a tension there that sets Remus on edge, like something bad is about to
happen. But Sirius just squirms his way (somehow elegantly, the tosser) to Remus and rolls
to his side, propped up on his elbow to look down at Remus’s prone form.
“I know,” Sirius whispers, and there’s such a profound sadness in his voice that
Remus has to look at him. Every trace of mirth and youthful wickedness has fled Sirius’s
face, leaving him solemn and grave in a way Remus hasn’t seen since the first time Sirius
saw (some of) his scars. “I wish there was more I could do for you, Moony. It’s… it’s not
fair. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m still sorry,” Sirius offers gently, the severity of his expression
softening to something just as unfamiliar. “For right now, all I can do is just…be there when
you go and be there when you wake up.”
“Not this month, though,” Remus says before he can stop himself. His cheeks flood
with heat, embarrassment threatening to swallow him up.

“What? Why not? Are you going…home, or something?” Sirius asks, confusion plain
on his lovely face.
Remus peeks through his fingers at him and regrets it—he’s too much to behold. “It’s
the fourteenth, Sirius.”

“Uh- huh…and?” Sirius says, still not quite grasping the issue.
Remus groans and plucks up the remainder of his courage. “And it’s Valentine’s Day?
You’ll be off with Emmaline or Florence or Bertha, or-”
 “Whoa, not Bertha,” Sirius, the vain creature, interrupts, and smiles apologetically
when Remus huffs.

“Or Marlene,” Remus finishes lamely.

“Don’t take the piss, Moony,” Sirius scolds, flicking his chin. “As if I’d ever be seen
with McKinnon. Please.” Sirius and Marlene were far too similar to ever get along properly,
Remus knew, but she was very pretty. “Why do you think I’ll be off with one of them?”

Remus pulls his hands away from his face and stares flatly at Sirius. “Because
it’s Valentine’s Day? And you’re Sirius Black?”
Sirius shrugs with his non-weight-bearing shoulder. “I am Sirius Black, but it’s a full
moon. That takes precedence over something as stupid as Valentine’s Day.”
That fluttery feeling stirs up again in Remus’s belly, threatening to spill out in an
embarrassing confession that he’s not quite sure he’s ready to make, and he squashes his
emotions down tight. He’s skilled at this, at least, a practised hand at repressing and
smothering his stronger feelings to stay…safe, maybe, or at least in control. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Sirius asks. “Moony, you don’t honestly think that I’d abandon you
on a full moon because of some made-up holiday? Give me some credit!”
“I wouldn’t blame you, you know,” Remus murmurs, shame-faced. “It’s not like…
not like you can do anything once I’m, y’know…transformed. You should go on a date.”
Sirius groans and raps his knuckles across Remus’s skull sharply. “Oh, piss off,
Moony. I’m not going on a date with some bird and that’s final!” His pride is wounded,
Remus knows, and while that fluttery feeling is gone, it’s been replaced by the twist of guilt
for having caused the injury. When Remus remains silent, Sirius stands up with an annoyed
noise and storms out of the dorm, leaving Remus to wallow in his self-pity.

Remus tries to avoid Sirius in the days leading up to the full moon and, for the most
part, is successful. He busies himself with redoing his Potions homework with Lily’s help
and helping Peter with his Astrology essay. Sirius, by comparison, flits amongst the girls in
their year and above, flirting and joking and amassing quite the following, by the looks of
things. So, by the time the fourteenth comes around, Remus assumes Sirius has forgotten all
about his hasty promise.
“You sure you’re alright, Moony?” Peter, one foot out the door asks. He’s secured a
date with Bertha Jorkins and seems just as surprised as the rest of them that she said yes.
Remus has already forced James out and into the amused arms of a Fifth Year girl who finds
his twin dimples cute under the guise that James needs a proper first kiss instead of the dozens
he’d assaulted them all with at the infamous party.
 “If you don’t leave now, Bertha’s going to be furious,” Remus says. He’s not alright,
but he has to be. It’s not his friends’ fault—nor their responsibility—to see him off for the
night. Peter hesitates one final time, offers a weak smile, and ducks out the door.

Remus paces. He’s restless and scared, something he wishes would just stop. The fear
is a lot to juggle on top of the crackling energy that simmers in his core, the wolf preparing
for its night out. He’s hungry, but the shepherd’s pie at dinner, with its copious vegetables,
wasn’t appealing. Sirius had disappeared soon after that, Remus noticed—because
he always noticed Sirius—and he hasn’t seen him since.

Someone’s coming up the stairs, and Remus tenses, spring-loaded apprehension.

Sirius bursts through into the room in a bloom of what smells like meat and lobs a turkey leg
at Remus, who instinctively catches it. “We’ll make a Seeker out of you yet, Moony!” Sirius
chirps, loud and brash as always. He’s got his own smoked leg and takes a hearty bite. “Wot?”
he says around a dripping mouthful of turkey—long gone are the posh manners from First
Year. “Eat.” Sirius swallows, pounds his chest a bit as it gets stuck, and coughs. “Moony .”

Remus’s stomach grumbles and he gives in, tearing into the leg with a grateful moan
he can’t quite stifle. He glances at Sirius, whose face has gone a bit pink, but he thankfully
remains quiet while Remus eats.

“Figured you’d be hungry,” Sirius says when he’s done, and produces a couple of
greasy sausages from his robe pockets.
“I didn’t think you-”

“Shut it,” Sirius interrupts, shoving the sausages into Remus’s hands. His face is
properly crimson now, and he folds his arms across his chest defensively and glares at Remus
until he devours the sausages, too.
A glance at James’s modified tempus charm on the wall—something he’d brilliant
come up with that counts down the minutes til moonrise—resurfaces the dread Remus felt
earlier. He can’t do this. He doesn’t want to. It isn’t fair. He just…he just wants to curl up
and sleep through the night and not face the terror that awaits him. The turkey and sausages
threaten to come up, but Sirius places his cool hands on the back of Remus’s sweaty neck
and leaves them there, breaking him out of his spiral.
“You…don’t have to stay. Pomfrey’s going to meet me, and-”

“Hey,” Sirius says, giving him a little shake. The wolf doesn’t like that, but Remus
bites back the bubbling growl. “I made a promise, didn’t I? You will never have to do this
alone, Moony. I know… I know I can’t go with you, not y-” Sirius exhales sharply and
releases him. Remus’s skin tingles where his fingers gripped him, and he mourns their
absence. “Just…yeah. We should…you should probably go. I’ll see you in the morning,
Moony.”
 “Thanks, Sirius, you’re…the best, really,” Remus whispers, dons his cloak, and heads
down to the Shack.

Poppy—she’s insisted he call her that since they see each other so frequently—is
waiting for him, eyeing her watch, but smiles bracingly when she sees Remus. “Remus,” she
greets fondly, her words a warm hug. “I’ll have a big hot chocolate waiting for you in the
morning.” She’s stopped apologizing for his situation at Remus’s tear-streaked request in
second year, but he feels it in the way her hand rests gently on his shoulder.

The Transformation in the Shack is one of the worst of Remus’s life, and he wishes,
when he wakes to searing, terrible pain across his body, that, like the memories of what he
did as a wolf, the memory of the agony of Transforming would also vanish with the dawn.
The morning’s freeze does him a favor, as he drags himself to the bed, bleeding sluggishly
and praying to his mother’s God that Pomfrey comes for him soon.

There’s a swearing at the door, a startled gasp, the scolding of Poppy to someone
feigning recalitrance, and the squeal of the Shack door, admitting the nurse…and Sirius.
Remus whimpers and drags the thin sheet up over his body. Remus has been careful to hide
the full extent of his scarring from his friends, but he needn’t worry. Poppy throws up a
concealment charm that prickles his nose, and Sirius huffs in exasperation.

“Poppy, loo-”
“Madam Promfrey to you, Mr Black,” she says, peeling back the sheet from Remus’s
chest. “Oh, lad,” she whispers brokenly.

“I just-”
“Mr Black,” Poppy warns, already casting a spell that starts to close the ragged edges
of the wound. “I do not know why or how you are here, but if you do not cease your jabbering,
I will be telling Professor McGonagall about this.”

Sirius’s jaw shuts with an audible click, and Remus hears him take a seat in the
armchair. He’s so close, but from the way his eyes flick across where they stand, Poppy’s
charm is strong. “Just help him,” Sirius mutters.
Poppy sighs, but continues to work. “Poor lamb,” she says again, soft as a breath,
knowing Remus can hear her. “You’ve done quite the number on yourself, but we’ll get you
patched up, Remus. I am going to give you a potion for pain and then one that will make you
sleep so I can move you to the Hospital Wing. Is that alright?”
She asks him every month, without fail, something Remus found extremely odd. His
healers in the Creature Ward at St Mungo’s had never asked him for permission. They were
fans of the knock the werewolf out and poke it method that left Remus with massive gaps in
his memory. But he trusts Poppy more than he’d ever thought possible, and nods. “Yes,” he
rasps, and lets her tip two vials into his mouth.
 He wakes in the Hospital Wing, a warm, solid presence pressed against his arm.
Remus startles, making the wound on his—well, everywhere, it would seem, as he can feel a
solid line of agony from his sternum to his hip, bisecting him—start to bleed again. But it’s
just Sirius, asleep next to his bed with his head propped on his folded arms, on his mattress.
“Moony,” Sirius says groggily, blinking silver eyes owlishly to look at him. “Shh,
Pops doesn’t know I’m here.”

“I most certainly do, Mr Black,” Poppy corrects, bustling in to see to Remus’s

wounds. “I’ve tolerated your presence thus far because you’ve been unobtrusive, but do not
make me regret letting you stay.” She pins him with a hard look, and Sirius nods, cowed.
Sirius stands and steps back so Poppy can do what she can to heal Remus’s injury,
but they both know the only thing for it is time. It’s a wide gash, and his self-inflicted wounds
reject the normal stitching spells. He just has to wait it out. It’ll be gone in a few days,
replaced by shiny, pink skin that will silver with time.
“Can I see?” Sirius asks when Poppy leaves them again.

“I’d rather you not,” Remus mutters. He expects push-back, but Sirius just shrugs.
“Alright. Oh! Here!” Sirius pulls out a heart-shaped box of chocolates that’s beaten
up around the edges. “Bit bent, but s’alright, still good, right?”

“Why are you here, Sirius?” Remus protests. He looks dreadful. His hair is unwashed
and hangs in uncharacteristic limpness around his face, his robes are rumpled like he’s slept
in them—because he has —and there are great, big bags under his eyes.
“Because it’s the morning after the full moon?” Sirius says slowly, arching one brow
at him.

“But-”
“Sod off with your buts, arsehole,” Sirius huffs, and opens the box. “I told you I’d be
here when you woke up. Now! I took this from Honeydukes last night, but I reckon it’s
defective as there isn’t that little guide saying what’s what. That’s where you come in.” Sirius
leans in conspiratorially, and Remus can’t help but be caught up in his infectious positivity.
They spend the rest of the morning with Remus sniffing out the weird flavors of chocolates,
and James and Peter spill into the Hospital Wing after breakfast with more candy and stories
of their nights, and Remus reflects that he’s very lucky, indeed, to have such wonderful
friends.
 The Fight

Chapter 1: Snarl

Remus was at the end of his rope. Being a Prefect when your best mates were the
most brilliant pranksters in school involved a lot of mental gymnastics to excuse their
behavior.

They started their fifth year at Hogwarts off with a literal Bang. The Sorting
Ceremony had an unplanned-by-faculty-but-definitely-planned-by-Marauders fireworks
display that lasted for five minutes and five seconds, consisted of five different colors, and
played five different songs that had nothing to do with each other in a chaotic, discordant
combination. It had been quite the spectacle and they all, of course, received detention and
Remus’s Prefect status hung in peril.

Not that it mattered to his friends, he'd noticed. Peter and James were of the opinion
that they just couldn’t fully trust 'Perfect Prefect Prat Lupin' not to rat them out or try and
stop them. ‘Nothing personal, of course!’ they’d insisted adamantly. Remus fought them on
their judgment for a while, deeply wounded and upset by the implication that he would tell on
them, but he couldn’t change their minds.

And Sirius, well… Sirius was in a whole new mood of his own and had been since
the start of term. Apparently, his summer at 12 Grimmauld Place had been nothing short of
terrible.
At first, Remus felt sorry for him. His own summers dragged on forever but at
least his father was a nice enough fellow, not like Sirius’s parents. Lyall was still terrified of
his son: the werewolf and was still haunted by his guilt, but they could coexist in a semblance
of amicability. But after nearly six weeks of putting up with it, Remus decided Sirius’s
attitude was nothing short of ridiculous. He oscillated wildly from being a surly sulking
stormcloud to a frothing madman desperate to do anything and everything to further upset
his parents. As such, he was not inclined to help Remus convince their friends of his
trustworthiness and spent most of his free time doing whatever it was maniacs did, Remus
supposed.

One of those things, Remus noticed, was hanging around with Caradoc Dearborn,
whom everyone (correctly) assumed was a homosexual. Remus wasn't entirely sure why, but
the idea of Sirius palling around with the effervescent 7th year really bothered him. He missed
Sirius, and him choosing to spend his time doing Godric-knows-what with Copper-Curls-
from-the-Heavens Dearborn made his blood run hot even now (though it was the day of the
full moon and Remus was quick to blame the wolf for this sudden possessiveness).

So Remus was isolated, for all intents and purposes. James, Sirius, and Peter were all
perfectly decent to him during the rest of their interactions, but suddenly being cut out of the
jokes and the plotting made Remus feel like an unwanted fourth wheel on a vehicle that
ordinarily had four wheels.

To cope with the gnawing sense of loneliness, Remus threw himself into his Prefect
duties and his studies. Being a 5th year meant taking O.W.L.-level coursework and, while the
scholar in Remus was utterly delighted, the teenage boy who still wanted time to do teenage
boy stuff (whatever that even was, without his friends) lamented having yards and yards of
homework due each week. It was a good distraction, though, and kept him busy.

Now well into October, Remus hardly even had the energy to be angry with his friends
and their bullshit excuses for excluding him. He spent more time with his fellow Prefect Lily
Evans, to the boiling outrage of James, and found her presence calming, a cool balm in
comparison to the sandpaper feeling in his chest whenever he felt the silencing spell go up
around James’s bed.
This week was a Mad Sirius week, evidently. The obnoxiously handsome boy had
been sniping at everyone and everything around him without rhyme or reason. He'd lost 50
House Points for his repeated rudeness in class, and spent nearly every night in detention thus
far. Bickering between Remus and Sirius was commonplace and rampant, but Remus noticed
Sirius and James wrestling with less-than-friendly intentions more frequently, and even Peter
had raised his voice in defense against Sirius’s wanton cruelty.

Just that morning, Remus had even gotten into an actual shouting row with his so-
called friend, who had taken it upon himself to blare Thin Lizzy (his latest obsession because
it screamed “Muggle Sympathizer” to him, thus “Potential for Being Disowned”) at top
volume at five o'clock.
The noise seemed confined to their dormitory, which spared Sirius the wrath of
McGonagall and the other Prefects, but he'd robbed Remus of literally the only sleep he’d
been able to scrape together in the past four days. The week leading up to the full moon was
almost as bad as the thing itself. His skin felt too tight, his joints ached in preparation, and
he was restless, often pacing for hours before he would exhaust himself into a fitful doze, if
he was lucky.
Despite having also been woken up by the miserable noise, James and Peter only gave
minimal protests. James shrugged it off as needing to be up in a half-hour anyway for
Quidditch practice and if James wasn't bothered by something, Peter very well couldn't be,
now could he? Remus, on the other hand, sleep-deprived and on the cusp of Transformation,
was livid.
 He'd woken up with an actual growl, rage burning in his gut, to which Sirius had the
ill humor to laugh at. "Time of the month, is it, Moony?" he'd belted over the heavy metal
assaulting their ears. Remus barely heard him through the racket and the nausea building, the
sheer volume disorienting him. But he saw the smirk on Sirius’s face, which told him all he
needed to know.
"You're a fucking asshole," Remus seethed and threw his pillows and his stash of
library books at Sirius. The books missed.

Sirius either didn't take the hint or ignored it and somehow managed to turn his record
player up even louder. Remus felt his teeth rattling in his skull and wanted to lunge at him.
"Really?" he bellowed over the din, right as Sirius magicked it suddenly silent.
The look on Sirius’s face was maddening. Innocent confusion sprawled, turning his
pureblood features almost cherubic, and he raised his perfectly-shaped brows. "My, my,
Moony, there's no need to shout."
Thank Merlin for James, who quickly intervened and dragged a cackling Sirius out
of their dorm and into the Common Room. Remus wasn’t sure what transpired between them,
but he spent the rest of the pre-dawn with his hangings pulled shut, boiling in the enclosed
space but too angry to do anything else.

Breakfast was an uncomfortable affair, to say the least. Sirius had sauntered off to sit,
in Remus’s opinion, far-too-close-to-be-just-friends with Dearborn, and the remaining
Marauders were so knackered they couldn’t even pretend to make conversation between
themselves. Remus glowered at his toast as if it was responsible for his problems until
breakfast was over and now, sitting in History of Magic, his belly was painfully empty.

To add insult to injury, during one of the long lulls between Binns’s sentences, his
stomach rumbled audibly. Snickers scattered across the classroom and Remus wanted to hide
under his desk. The noise apparently drew the attention of one Sirius Orion Black, who
chucked a balled-up bit of parchment at Remus’s head from across the room (even Professor
Binns knew to separate the Marauders during his lectures).

Remus jerked his head up to glare at Sirius, incredulous. He unfurled the parchment
and read, in Sirius’s unmistakable fine script, ‘My dearest Mister Moony. Hope this finds
you well. You are a wanker. Yrs, S. Black.’
Incredulous, Remus shot Sirius a second ‘what the fuck?’ glare from over the heads
of their classmates. Sirius, who looked altogether too smug for having accomplished nothing
of significance, was already scrawling a second note. He pelted it at Remus’s head and had
apparently charmed it because when Remus dodged, it bounced off the chair behind him
and thwapped him in the back of his head anyway.
 A wave of sickening anger was starting to rise from the pit of his stomach. What was
Sirius’s problem? The full moon was tonight, he knew that, and he was being, well, cruel, for
lack of a better word. Sirius continued to look smug, and with pre-loaded annoyance, Remus
opened the second note. ‘Dearest Moonpie, you smell. Yrs, Always-Fresh Sirius.’
Remus shot him a look that could melt steel, whispered a barrier charm around
himself to prevent further interruptions, and focused his mounting angry energy on the
lecture. Goblin Wars. It was always goblin wars. His normally practical handwriting became
a scrawl that could rival James’s chicken scratch. He hoped he could unscramble his notes
later.

The lecture ended after what seemed like hours, Remus unable to fully block out
Sirius’s continued attempts at sending more notes his way. By the end of class, there were
some dozen crumpled up bits of parchment around his feet. Refusing to acknowledge Sirius,
because he was obviously doing this for attention, Remus charmed them all into the garbage
bin and stormed out of the room.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius smirking, wickedness in his eyes.
“Remus! Are you okay?” It was Lily, at his elbow, concern written across her lovely
face. She was nearly jogging to keep up with Remus’s long, purposeful stride and he slowed
with a pang of guilt.
“He’s got some nerve,” he grumbled, trying to keep his cool. This was stupid. They
were just notes. But a barrage of insults after that morning's chaos, after having not been
spoken to for weeks, after having been ditched for Caradoc-Grecian-God-Dearborn
was unacceptable. “He and James and Peter have been right dicks ever since I became a
Prefect,” he said hotly.
Lily’s mouth took on a familiar self-righteous scowl and she crossed her arms
defiantly over her chest. “Well, that’s not fair! You shouldn’t be punished for trying
to better yourself. Forget them, c’mon, we’ve got to get to Ancient Runes.”

“D’you mind waiting for me, Lily? I just need a second.” Remus stepped into the
boy’s bathroom just outside of the Ancient Runes classroom, feeling overly hot and wanting
desperately to cool off. After assuring it was empty (which wasn’t surprising because there
were literally six students taking the class at OWL level), Remus leaned over the sink and
splashed cold water on his face.

The notes were still getting to him, camped out in his brain like splinters under his
fingernails. It was just so pointless of a thing to waste his time doing. Remus couldn’t figure
out Sirius’s angle.
 Muttering obscenities to himself, he splashed more water on his face and ran wet
hands through his hair. He expected a gentle trickle of one or two drops down the back of his
neck from the action but was instead assaulted by an icy downpour that took his breath away.

Gasping at the shock of it all, he wheeled around, fully expecting to see Snape or
Mulciber or another Slytherin reveling in his misfortune. Instead, he saw one Sirius Black,
not laughing, but standing with his arms akimbo, that same stupid smirk look on his face.
Remus wanted to claw it off.

The growling in his head that was his constant companion grew louder and demanded
that he rip, tear, maul the flimsy human who dared to lay their hands on him. ‘It would be
easy,’ it purred, ‘he’s just a human. Do it. Attack him.’ His hands twitched, muscles tensed,
and he clenched his jaw so hard his molars creaked beneath the pressure.

‘No, calm down,’ he told himself firmly, fighting valiantly for control.
Sirius seemed unphased by all of the huffing and puffing and began to twirl his wand
between his fingers and over his knuckles in a show of nonchalant sleight-of-hand.

Remus stalked towards him, punctuating each step with the growled words, “What.
Is. Your. Problem. Black?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” came the sardonic response.

He nearly flew off the handle, the growling in his head now barking, frothing, furious.
How dare he mock them? Remus began to tremble with the effort of holding back.
When he didn’t reply, Sirius prodded further. “You’re a wanker. You smell. And,” he
paused to pull out the other dozen notes he’d written, apparently intent on reading them all
to Remus. “Since you so rudely threw them away,” Sirius started, sounding for all the world
like McGonagall when one of them hadn’t turned in their homework on time. He cleared his
throat importantly. “You have been a right tosser lately, awfully moody.” He tossed that one
down, shuffling another to the front. “You--”
Remus didn’t let him finish. He raked his sopping wet hair back and grabbed the front
of Sirius’s robes with zero respect for their finery. He shoved Sirius against the marble of the
bathroom wall with ease and an actual, audible snarl that ripped its way from the bottom of
his spine and out his mouth like a rabid animal. He pinned Sirius there for several seconds,
their faces inches apart.
The look on Sirius’s face was strange -- Remus couldn’t place it. His eyes had
darkened, pupils blown wide. His mouth was parted slightly so that he could see the glisten
of his own spit on Sirius's lips, and his face was delicately flushed pink. Had Remus
been actually in control, he might’ve been able to identify it and their afternoon might have
gone quite differently, but the wolf had the reins and wasn’t keen on relinquishing them.
 Remus cocked his head back and slammed it into Sirius’s forehead with a
sickening crack, and his smirk, his weird look, slid from his face to be replaced by pain and
growing concern. “Uh, Moony, I--” he started, only to have the words stricken from his mouth
with a bony, full-moon-powered fist.
He smelled blood, sharp and seductive, and fear. His mind was a blur of adrenaline
and anger and a hunger that gnawed. He punched him again, this time in the stomach. Sirius
groaned and gasped for the air forcibly expelled from his diaphragm. Again, in his mouth,
slick blood coating his knuckles. Remus released him so suddenly that Sirius slumped to the
floor in a ball, but soon had his fists buried in those coveted, silky black curls. Ignoring
Sirius’s pained protests, he lifted him by the roots of his hair and pushed him against the
porcelain of the sink.
‘Bite him, bite him, bite him,’ was the seductive, ravenous cry in the back of his head.
He yanked Sirius’s head back to reveal the elegant lines and pale, perfect flesh of his throat,
the curve of his shoulder above his ripped collar. The galloping of Sirius’s heartbeat spurred
him on and he felt himself salivating. He wondered what his blood would taste like…
The thought startled him.
Remus caught sight of himself in the mirror and froze. The amber-gold eyes that
stared back at him were practically feral, and self-realization dawned with a nauseating calm.
He saw Sirius, bleeding profusely from his nose (no longer perfect, he noticed with lingering
satisfaction), his mouth split and his body bruised and swelling where bones were doubtlessly
broken, and staggered to a toilet to vomit.
“Fuck.” He retched again. And again. Nothing came out. He’d not eaten breakfast,
after all. Terror gripped him. He'd killed him, he was sure of it. He was going to be expelled.
Put down like the animal he was or, worse, locked in Azkaban. And he'd deserve it.
“Moo...ny…” Sirius was alive, at least. Thank Merlin. Or God. Or whomever. ‘Not
Remus,’ he thought guilty.

Fear and shame and horror at his actions froze him in the stall. After several more
minutes, he heard the shuffling of uncoordinated feet and felt a presence behind him.
“You uh… have a mean left hook.”

Remus spun around to look at him, incredulous once again. Sirius looked like absolute
trash, one of his eyes was blackening rapidly and he clutched his ribs like he was trying to
hold them together. But he had a grin on his busted mouth, which really only made it bleed
more, and Remus was stunned.
“I’ve been a knob.” A statement. A fact.
 “...” Remus couldn’t answer, still trying to grapple with what the wolf had
done. ‘What I’ve done,’ he corrected himself. He couldn’t blame the wolf -- it was
daytime, he had done this.

“A right prick,” Sirius continued. He ran his tongue over his teeth and spat out foamy,
bloody spittle on the ground.
“Yes, actually.” The absurdity of the conversation was not lost on him. They were
talking like Sirius had forgotten to buy Remus a birthday present, or like he'd hidden Remus's
homework from him as revenge for not helping him with his own essay.
Silence stretched between them and Sirius slumped against the cubicle wall before
sliding down it pathetically with a whimper. “M’sorry,” he whispered, flags of red on his
high, bruised cheekbones.

Remus crawled to where his friend huddled and carefully draped an arm around his
battered shoulders. “Me too, Sirius.” It seemed a lame and hardly-appropriate reply for
having thrashed his friend into a pulp but suddenly the tension that had lingered between
them all term was gone.

“Are you snogging Dearborn?” It came out before he had a chance to stop it, and
Remus banged his skull against the wall behind them in self-frustration. ‘Way to go…’
He felt Sirius’s face get warmer as he blushed. “Yeah, a bit. A bit more.” More silence,
then, “Do you hate me now that I’m a poof?”

Forgetting for a brief moment that he’d beaten the shit out of him, Remus cuffed his
shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I could never hate you, Sirius.”
Remus didn’t know how long they sat that way, Sirius’s head tucked under his chin,
Remus’s white school shirt soaking up the blood freely flowing from Sirius’s nose and
mouth, but he really didn’t mind it. He felt better than he had in weeks, like when an infection
was finally purged from your body, clean and hopeful. It felt good to sit there with Sirius,
listening to his heartbeat and his breathing. He felt his eyes growing heavy and was finally
drifting into sleep when the door banged open.
“Remus are you-- what the fuck?!” Oh right… Lily...
 Chapter 2: Sirius

Sirius Black was at the end of his rope. His summer had been spectacularly terrible.
After his stunt at Christmas where he rode the Knight Bus to the Potter residence, he hadn’t
actually been allowed outside, even in the back garden to fly. His parents torched every single
LP and Muggle band poster his dearest cousin Andromeda sent him and instructed Kreacher
that Sirius was not to have any contact with his blood traitor friends. Kreacher, the little
bastard that he was, burned every last letter that came through the owl post.
To top it off, Sirius had to attend his cousin Narcissa’s wedding to -- and the memory
now made him want to vomit -- Lucius Malfoy. Lucius looked like the poster child for dark
wizards, in Sirius’s oh-so-humble opinion, and while he had no particular attachment for
Narcissa -- the whole lot of his cousins were ridiculously mad -- he didn’t like seeing Lucius
looking so smug.
The conversation at the wedding took a horrifying turn when Sirius’s female relatives
realized that ‘oh, isn’t young Sirius turning sixteen this year? Why Walburga, you really need
to find him someone suitable.' Suitable. So, like maybe a second cousin or a first, if things
were desperate enough. Sirius spent the rest of his summer holidays 'entertaining offers' from
different pureblood families under the watchful eye of his mother. If he had to look at one
more too-similar-to-his-own-to-be-even-remotely-okay face, he would really hurl.
He'd tried ditching the dates, but his father found him in within an hour each time and
inflicted his own sense of punishment on his eldest son. Sirius's thighs still stung from the
memory.

Walburga made it painfully clear that she expected both of her sons to make
respectable matches in marriage. The Noble House of Black had a reputation to uphold, after
all, and while ‘having two sons might be a blessing, only one of them seemed to be toeing
the line’. Regulus, obviously. Sirius was the Great Shame... had been since first year.

In retaliation, because Sirius Orion Black III took nothing lying down, except for a
lie-down, he’d started acting out. He dyed his bedsheets crimson and gold in the Muggle way,
which took Kreacher ages to sort out. He added comically-placed eyebrows to every serpent
emblem in their family home and had tried to sneak out on no fewer than twenty-nine
occasions in the span of two months. None were successful, but it kept his parents on their
toes.

Coming back to Hogwarts had been high on his list of 'Things to Make Me Happy',
but when he returned to see that one of Their Very Own had decided to become a Prefect,
and it was Moony of all people, he’d been rather put out. He had enough to deal with as it
was, never mind Moony going off and 'bettering himself'. How were they meant to
do anything fun with a Prefect breathing down their necks? Not to mention, the Greatest
Surprise of All Time was going to be obnoxiously difficult if Moony suddenly turned into
a rule follower.

All that in mind, Sirius was looking for trouble. He found it in the very capable hands
of Caradoc Dearborn, a seventh-year muggleborn Hufflepuff boy. Sirius made it clear to
Caradoc that his involvement was strictly physical and was meant to get the ire of his parents
(no need to string the boy along, he might catch feelings), and he’d quickly found himself
absorbed by the wonders of snogging and holding onto something firm and strong, versus
soft and pliable. If he was being honest with himself, it was a fair sight better than snogging
girls, and Caradoc held up his end of the bargain by keeping things hot, heavy, and feelings-
free.
Sirius didn’t want to tell his friends outright, though-- James and Peter were
purebloods, and homosexuality of any opacity was taboo, even moreso than in the Muggle
world. And Moony, well… He wasn’t really sure Moony even liked him any more, to be
frank. He’d been avoiding the three of them and spending entirely too much time with Lily
Evans (swot loyalty, he supposed, trumped Marauder loyalty) and any interactions
he did have with Remus seemed strained and inorganic.
Without Moony there to keep him in check, (though Sirius didn’t know it was that
specifically), Sirius was free to do whatever he wanted. He gave into the nastier side of him
that just wanted to fight, teenage rebellion and hormones winning the war over level-
headedness with ease. Any small inconvenience was cause for an argument and it felt
so good, so exciting, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like it did when Caradoc did
that thing with his tongue…
Sirius was having a good time, he convinced himself, even if no one else was.

October rolled around and the night before what would later be known as The
Cockhead’s Crow Debacle (Peter was good at naming stuff like that), Caradoc told him he’d
started seeing someone his age more seriously and that their little escapades would have to
end. Sirius played it off like it was no big thing (it wasn’t), but he found himself mourning
the loss of their 'easy breezy' relationship. This was, of course, after they’d snogged for an
hour in a broom closet, which Sirius told himself was because Caradoc just couldn’t resist
one last mack on the Legendary Sirius Black. Not that he blamed him.

When he returned to the Common Room, his hair wonderfully disheveled and the top
four buttons of his shirt still undone, he slung himself over the back of a couch to sit next to
Moony with the intent to strike up some sort of heartfelt conversation. But then Moony had
the gall to scoff at him and leave, abandoning his homework (which Sirius then copied
because, well, he’d been busy earlier, hadn’t he?) and trotting off to Merlin-knows-where.

Sirius went to bed that night with his mind made up: he was going to fight Moony.
 It was the Perfect Plan -- he’d finally make him see what a prat he was being and the
fight would obviously earn him a letter home to his parents and at least a month’s worth of
detentions that would occupy his suddenly-free nights. His mother would be mortified that
their heir would subject himself to Muggle violence and not a proper wizard’s duel. Sirius
could tell Remus was about to boil over anyway -- it’d be good for both of them, he reasoned
wisely.
If there was anything Moony hated more than actually being a werewolf, it was the
toll the Day Of took on him. Sirius knew this and knew he’d have to make an early strike if
he wanted to push him far enough to actually engage in a fight. So at five am, once he’d
checked that Moony was actually asleep and not just pretending to avoid talking to him
again, he crept to the new record player he’d gotten from his cousin Andromeda and placed
the Thin Lizzy "Fighting" LP on. He was practically giddy with anticipation and excitement
and kept stealing glances over to Moony’s drawn curtains before he finally took the plunge.
Full-volume “Fighting My Way Back” broke through the gentle snoring of his dorm
mates. James’s and Peter’s reactions were expected and perfectly harmless, but Moony…
Moony’s growl was nothing short of furious and it sent a not-unpleasant shiver down his
spine.
He knew, logically, that he shouldn’t poke the bear -- er, werewolf-- but… audentis
fortuna iuvat and all that. “Time of the month, is it Moony?" he’d yelled. He knew it was
cruel but it felt good in a deliciously stupid, reckless way.

Moony swore at him and Sirius felt satisfaction twist in his gut, amazed that he’d
gotten to him so quickly. Three pillows bounced off of his shoulder and he dodged the heavy
textbooks lobbed at him from across the room with ease. He was well-rested. Moony was
not. Patented shit-eating grin in place, he cranked up the volume with a flick of his wand and
watched as Moony’s kettle boiled over. ‘Three, two… one!’ Music off right as Moony
shouted.
He raised his eyebrows and gave his best innocent facade, practically feeling the heat
rolling off of his furious friend. “My, my, Moony, there’s no need to shout.”

He really thought this would do it -- Moony looked so mad. Definitely a ‘Going to

Die’ on his ‘Moony’s Gonna Kill Me’ scale, and Sirius braced himself for impact. He
wondered what it would feel like -- he’d never really been punched before. Hit by a bludger,
sure. Hit by more jinxes that should be legal? Yeah. Struck by spells that no parent
should ever use on their child? Abso-fuckin-lutely. But never punched. He needed to know.
But James, in his infinite goodness and ability to sense imminent danger (Sirius’s was
defective), grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him from the room. He could only
laugh wildly, knowing that he’d just have to keep poking; the challenge was thrilling. When
they landed in the Common Room, James wasn’t laughing. He actually looked angrier than
when he’d woken him up.

“What the hell are you on about, Black?” James whisper-yelled, clearly not wanting
to attract McGonagall’s attention at 5:04 am.
“Oh come on, James, it was just a joke!” he defended and crossed his arms over his
chest. “Harmless bit of fun.”

James rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It was pretty awful to y’know…
bring that up.” It was hard for James to scold him. Sirius knew that. He had bet on it. Only
Moony actually called him out on his behavior these days. But the look on James's copper
face was clear -- he was upset about the werewolf jab and thought Sirius should be as well.

‘Damn,’ Sirius thought to himself, thinking fast. He’d have to get James off his trail
-- he’d definitely intervene if he learned about his Full and Totally Thought-Out Plan. “I
suppose it was a little too far. I’ll talk to him.” Not ‘apologize to him’. Not ‘make it up to
him’. But by the softening of James’s hazel eyes and the relaxing of his shoulders, Sirius
knew he’d interpreted his words as such. Perfect.

They split ways and went to breakfast in complete silence. Despite having recently
been dumped, Sirius sat next to puzzled-but-not-upset Caradoc with a blinding smile. He
wanted Moony’s anger to build a little more. At this level, he’d probably just hex him and be
done with it. Boring. He needed time away to think about his next move. It couldn’t be
something so cruel as calling out his lycanthropy, not in public anyway, so he weighed his
options.

It was in History of Magic that brilliance came to Sirius. He’d been dozing off during
the lecture, as usual, when the unmistakable gurgle of a hungry stomach interrupted his
daydream. Moony. Perfect. A hungry Moony was probably the most pissy, Sirius knew from
experience. If the boy didn’t get his full 3 helpings of food at every meal, he was snippy and
quick to annoy, which played right into Sirius’s hand.

He yanked parchment and quill from his bag and slapped it onto his empty desk (note-
taking was for important subjects like Transfiguration), spent half a second contemplating,
and then penned his note down. He chuckled to himself, congratulating himself on his genius,
and sent the note soaring across the room with a casual flick of his wrist. ‘Ten points to
Gryffindor,’ he congratulated himself when the paper ball found its target: Moony’s head.

He watched amber eyes flick back and forth over the short note, taking in the words.
Moony’s face was priceless. Oh, he was onto something here. Smothering giggles with the
sheer force of ‘I’m-a-pureblood-heir-emotions-are-weapons’ will, he jotted down another
note. This one, ‘Dearest Moonpie, you smell. Yrs, Always-Fresh Sirius.’
 He had a feeling Moony would try to dodge this one, so he enchanted it with a handy
honing spell, ensuring that it would hit Moony’s head no matter what. The force of Remus’s
next look made his heart skip a beat and he swallowed past a sudden trickle of ‘seriously, my
cock is shameless,’ which he assigned to having sat with Caradoc all breakfast and not having
gotten anything out of it but frustration (because he, of course, didn't fancy Moony).
Sirius wrote more notes as quickly as he could. He knew it was only a matter of time
before Moony put up a barrier charm and, sure enough, his next balled-up note, ‘Darling
Lupinlove, you need to brush your teeth. XOXO, S. Black,’ bounced off an invisible wall and
landed, unread, at his feet. Sirius was not deterred and churned out twelve more before the
end of class. Moony was ignoring him, that was so rude, but he knew by the tense set of his
shoulders that he was getting firmly under his skin.
He planned on continuing his assault in the hallway with a little bit of jinxing or
shoving, but damn Evans had to get in the way. Scowling, Sirius slunk back and out of sight
before Saint Evans decided to take pity on Moony and exorcise the demon known as Sirius
Black for him.
He considered falling back and picking up his plan at a later time, at dinner maybe,
but he was buzzing with nervous energy. He needed this. It had to be now.

He knew Moony’s schedule better than his own -- where even was he supposed
to be right now? Divination? Hah, fat chance -- and turned into the corridor just as he saw
Moony tuck into the boys’. ‘Perfect’. Sirius waited for a beat before following and watched
as the other boy busied himself at the sink.
He was swearing. Good. Sirius knew just what to do. ‘I’m brilliant,’ he mused to
himself before whispering ever-so-softly, “Aqua eructo." An icy cold barrage of water arched
from his wand tip to settle like the world's worst blanket on Moony’s head. It soaked him
clean through, by his gasp, and Sirius smirked victoriously.
Moony was mad. No, furious, and Sirius couldn't help but pat himself on the back.
This was it. He watched as the other boy tried to calm down and knew exactly what he was
going to say. Moony always wanted to know why Sirius did things, assumed there would be
a logical answer behind his actions, which was rarely this case this year.
Bored of waiting for the inevitable questioning, Sirius twirled his wand in his fingers
and across his knuckles, trying to play it cool. Moony wouldn't engage if he knew he was
being baited.

"What. Is. Your. Problem. Black."

Sirius only had one answer to give. "Isn't it obvious?"

'Almost there…' Sirius had to hand it to him. Moony had heaps of self-control, evident
even as Sirius watched him tremble with fury. He needed to push further. "You’re a wanker.
You smell. And,” he fished the discarded notes from earlier from his robe pockets and held
them up proudly, "since you so rudely threw them away,” he added, using his best scolding
voice.

He cleared his throat. “You have been a right tosser lately, awfully moody.” He tossed
that one down, shuffling another to the front. He was going to read all of these to Moony.
“You--"

The next thing he knew, he was against the wall, held a little higher than Moony’s
head by the front of his robes. The notes floated to the wet floor in a loose pile. The sound
from Moony’s mouth echoed in the marble room and shook Sirius to his core. He'd flinched
in spite of his conviction to riling Moony up but he opened his eyes to face his fate.
The boy's face was scrunched up in a snarl and his eyes would haunt him for the rest
of his life. They were hard, amber stones below a crumpled brow, and Sirius swore he saw
something that wanted to eat him. There was no trace of his friend in those eyes, and the
sudden realization of what he'd done dawned on him.
Moony was a werewolf.

Sirius knew this.

Today was the full moon.

Sirius knew this also.

He'd planned on it. What he didn't plan for was the extreme strength and actual animal
aggression that would inhabit his friend. He hadn’t bargained that the wolf would take over.
There were four Marauders for a reason, one of which was to think Sirius’s Totally-Not-
Planned-Out Ideas through.

He could be in real danger.

He was in real danger.

Ridiculously, his cock twitched. 'Wow okay… that's unacceptable,' he chided himself
with mounting panic. A sudden image of Moony thrashing him in a different kind of way
permeated his thoughts and he tried to banish it from his mind.
Suddenly a sickening pain bloomed on his skull and he knew that Moony,
that fucker had headbutted him. He saw stars, darkness enclosing on his vision as his head
swam. 'Oh, fuck me,' Sirius thought dully. He had to talk his way out of this. Fast.
"Uh, Moony, I--" Agony seared across his mouth, hot on the heels of a bony fist
powered by sheer rage. He tasted blood, sharp, and acrid in his mouth and as he ran his tongue
over his teeth, several felt loose. Sirius was filled with a sense of steadily mounting dread.
 He'd trapped himself in a room with a werewolf on purpose. He'd done this to
himself.

He tried to speak again, somehow placate the vengeful creature, but before he could
even open his busted mouth, the wind was knocked from him with another punch. He gasped
and tried to fill his lungs but couldn't. Sirius tried not to give in to the panic but he knew he
was losing it. He was hit again in the mouth. Sirius heard a pathetic whimpering noise and
knew at once it was him. He needed to get out of here.

He fell to the floor in a graceless heap and tried to curl into a ball, recalling some
Care of Magical Creatures lesson on how to not die instantly if a hippogriff attacked you
(hide your neck, soft belly, and groin), which seemed wildly appropriate here. Sirius tried to
do a mental checklist of his injuries, but he was soon lifted by his hair (really Not Cool).

His back screamed its protest when he was slammed against the hard edge of the sink.
Rough hands jerked his head back and he felt cool air on his neck. His nose, bleeding freely,
was starting to choke him with his blood and he felt the panic rise.
This was not what he'd wanted to happen. He thought Moony would shove him,
maybe punch him a few times, and that he'd get his own in, get to really rough up his
knuckles. They'd wrestle 'and maybe snog,' had been an intrusive thought but Sirius assured
himself that's only because it happened one time with James in third year. But it wasn't
supposed to be like this.
'I could die…' he thought dully somehow able to think through the solid pulse of pain
in his body. As he finished the thought, he was dropped again and this time stayed down. He
heard retching in one of the stalls.

"Moo...ny…" he mumbled, stupidly concerned for his friend's well-being.

He laid there for a few minutes to assess. He wasn't dead or rapidly dying. He had all
of his limbs. He hadn’t been bitten or scratched (but he didn’t know if that was an actual
concern or not). He heard a sob and guilt struck him to his core.
What had he done? He'd set out to provoke his most vulnerable friend on his most
vulnerable day and for what? To feel something other than misery and angst about his home
life? Sirius didn’t often think about himself negatively, but at that moment he certainly
was. 'I'm a bastard. ' He'd caused Remus to actually lose control and cornered him into
mauling him like a wild animal. Some friend.

He knew he had to apologize, for all the good it would do. He staggered to his feet
with the support of the sink, and shuffled to the stall.
"You uh...have a mean left hook." 'That's not an apology, ' he chided himself, feeling
stupid and small and weak. He clutched his middle tightly. It hurt to inhale too hard.
 Moony turned to look at him and his heart broke. He looked horrified. Sirius wanted
to cry, and he was not a crier, seeing the pain on his face. Knowing he was the direct cause.

He tried again. "I've been a knob."

Silence. He deserved silence.

"A right prick." He spat bloody spittle on the ground and tried not to think about his
loose molars.
"Yes, actually." Like mana from the heavens, water to a dying man, Moony’s voice
and acknowledgment sounded that good to his ears.

Partly in relief but mostly as a result of not being able to stand, Sirius felt himself
slump down the wall. Another sad noise. Him again. Everything hurt. "M'sorry," he
whispered finally, hearing his voice crack.

Miraculously, Moony crawled to sit next to him and the arm slung over his shoulder
was warm and heavy and comforting. He didn't deserve this, let alone the apology that came
from Moony’s mouth. Impossible. He was impossible. He didn't deserve him.
"Are you snogging Dearborn?" Was an unexpected question from Moony. What did
he care? He'd never really taken an interest in Sirius’s love life before. Oh, because he was a
bloke. Dread crept upon him like the blush that warmed his cheeks. Moony was gonna hate
him now for sure. He steeled himself. "Yeah, a bit. A bit more." No need to regale him with
news of their split. "Do you hate me now that I'm a poof?"
It was out there. And while Sirius didn't really think he was one hundred percent gay,
because girls really were great, there was no need to mince words.

"Ow!" Sirius protested when he was again assaulted, but this time with a gentle cuff
on the shoulder. A friendly assault. Maybe…?
"I could never hate you, Sirius."

It was said so softly, so genuine, it made his heart ache and his stomach lurch. It
magnified the shame he felt tenfold. This wonderful person who'd trusted Sirius with all of
his secrets and expected nothing in return. He'd been such an ass.
Fighting back tears, Sirius tucked his head under Moony’s chin, relishing the warmth
radiating off of his body as it served to distract from the pain. He knew he should go see
Madam Pomfrey, but Moony was starting to fall asleep, was looking so tired and done in…
Bang.

The door flew open and Saint Evans herself stood there, wand at the ready, and swore
when she saw them slumped together. 'We must look quite the pair, ' Sirius mused, him well-
thrashed and Moony splattered with his blood.
 They ended up settling the matter with McGonagall privately as to not raise suspicion
about Remus, and Sirius couldn't even take satisfaction in getting the letter home or the
month's worth of detentions that he'd sought out to get because Moony was so miserable.

Remus Lupin was his friend, and he'd used him like a pawn. It was dreadfully Black
of him. Sirius didn’t like that side of himself, the ugly, malicious side. He promised himself
that he would never treat him that way again. His dear Moony forgave him, though how,
Sirius couldn't imagine. The same could not be said for Lily Evans, but Sirius hoped Moony
could smooth that over later.
 Red-Hot Poker

One would think November 3, 1975 was a national holiday by the scale of things.
Although it was a Monday, that had not stopped the Moste Magical and Magnificent
Marauders from carrying on like it was the summer holidays and celebrating the turning of
sixteen by one Sirius Orion Black III.
Remus had wondered, halfway through the day when every single portrait in the
castle crooned the “happy birthday” song at Sirius as they walked by, how they were going
to top it next year, when it really mattered, but found that he couldn’t really care. Sirius was
over the moon and lived for the random well-wishes from students they didn’t even know
when they passed between classes.

Even McGonagall’s threat to “keep it a small, private affair, please for the love of
Merlin,” in regards to the party she knew was coming that night didn’t have its usual bite.
Remus supposed she was cutting Sirius some slack after the terrible summer he’d had, and
Remus, who still felt enormously guilty about their Big Fight a month prior, was in no
position to try to moderate James’s preparations, Prefect or not.

Dinner saw every single table covered in Gryffindor scarlet-and-gold and every
goblet emblazoned with “Happy Birthday, Sirius!!!”. Remus and Peter had tried to riddle out
how to charm party hats with Sirius’s initials onto every diner, but a) Sirius’s initials were
“SOB” and while Remus and Peter had privately laughed over that and found
it endlessly hilarious, that just would not do for the Birthday Boy and b) Flitwick caught them
whispering about it during Charms and refused to give them the advice they so desperately
needed.
Nevertheless, Sirius was pleased. He strode into the Great Hall like he was the King
of the World and gave a flourishing bow to Dumbledore who applauded him good-naturedly
before he was seated. James had transfigured his section of the bench to be a king’s throne,
which Remus was actually very impressed by, complete with inlaid rubies (which once had
been apples, apparently) and a lion’s head that roared every time Sirius wanted someone’s
attention.
It was how Remus found himself being roared at as he desperately tried to shovel as
much food into his stomach as possible. He knew their dessert was going to be entirely liquid
and he needed to line his belly first or suffer the same consequences as their last do, James’s
birthday, where he’d spent the entire second half of the night longing for death curled around
the toilet.
He tried to ignore the roaring as he loaded up his plate for the third time with pork
chops and buttery rolls, but it kept increasing in volume until finally, Remus’s eyes snapped
up to meet Sirius’s, gray and haughty. “Ahem,” Sirius said, clearing his throat pointedly. “As
I was saying, Mister Moony… we’re going to play a new game at my party.”

“Surely you’re not actually having a party, Black,” came Lily’s incredulous plea from
Remus’s left. Her eyebrows were shot clear into her fringe bangs and her lips were pulled
into a scowl. “It’s a Monday.”
James cut Sirius off before he could say something properly foul, smiling in his
winning way. “Oh c’mon, Evans, it’s his birthday. You know the rules! It’s not his fault it’s
on a Monday! Would you expect the sun to stop shining just because it’s cloudy out?”
“Did you honestly just compare Sirius Black to the sun?” Lily retorted drily.

“He’s not wrong!” Sirius finally chirped in, unable to keep quiet. “I am the Light of
his Life after all!” He flung an arm around James’s shoulders and James nodded adamantly,
mouthing ‘birthday!!’ to Lily in earnest.
Remus stifled a laugh into his roll. Ridiculous.

“Anyway!” Sirius interjected again, the lion roaring mightily to recapture Remus’s
attention. “A new game. It’s a Muggle game,” he said, clearly trying to entice Lily’s and
Remus’s interest.
“If it’s spin-the-bottle again, I am out. I ended up stuck in the closet with Peter for
seven minutes of uncomfortable humidity,” James interrupted with a sour face. Peter,
blushing, nodded his agreement.
“Pah! That’s kid stuff,” Sirius insisted, flapping his hand. “Adults play this game and
you know, in some cultures, turning sixteen is a rite of passage.”

“Not our culture,” Marlene McKinnon half-shouted two seats down from Lily.
“It’s my birthday and I am king and so mote it be and all that!” Sirius cried, clearly
growing impatient with all of their insubordination.

Remus smiled into his glass of apple juice and wiped his mouth neatly with his
napkin. “Alright then, what’s the game?” He’d play along. It was Sirius’s birthday, after all.
“Not here,” Sirius’s voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper. “Too many ears…”

“Then why bring it up in the first place, Black?” Lily chided, though it was clear she
was hooked, too.
Sirius merely grinned and took a large bite of the pork chop in front of him and
remained uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of dinner.

When they returned to the Common Room, it was splendidly decorated with
streamers and confetti and desserts piled a mile high on teetering tables. There were two
chocolate fountains and no fewer than four punch bowls, two of which Remus was positive
were not simply punch. His conviction of this fact solidified when two second years tried to
approach one of the tables and ran into an invisible wall. An age barrier. Ah, yes. Underage
drinking was fine, as long as it wasn’t too underage, apparently. Sirius’s record player had
been brought down and the sounds of ‘The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust’ greeted them.
Sirius bounded in and the party began. Remus made the acquaintance of the nearest
chocolate fountain, Peter at his heels. "I think I'm in love, Pete," he practically moaned around
a generously-coated marshmallow, his fingers already inching towards a second.

"Who's the lucky lady, then, Remus?" Mary MacDonald asked, sidling up next to
him. Her hip bumped his, or rather bumped his thigh (he was so very tall, nearly six feet at
fifteen was no small or painless feat) and Remus startled at the sudden contact. Mary took it
for shyness and pressed a little closer, pressing her chest against his arm as she leaned to take
a strawberry for dipping. "Go on, then," she encouraged coyly.

Remus stuffed his mouth with the second marshmallow in an attempt to avoid
answering. He knew he was gay, but no one else did or needed to know. It wasn't just
something you could tell people. He gave Peter a panicked look over Mary's head and Peter,
blessed Peter, "stumbled" into Mary and splashed chocolate across her top.

"Peter!!" She shrieked and Peter went pink, spluttering apologies and promises to buy
her a new one if he couldn't fix it. Mary just stormed off in a huff to change clothes.
"Pete, you're amazing," Remus said, honestly.

The smaller teen smiled and scratched his nose, blue eyes bright. "I know! She's keen
on you though, Moony. You could…" he trailed off, leaving Remus plenty of room to fill in
the blanks.
"I'll let her down easy," Remus supplied with a small frown. There were plenty of
reasons to not like a girl, he assured himself. His friends wouldn't figure it out.

They both attempted, unsuccessfully, to wrangle a chocolate frog into a chocolate

bath, and watched with unbridled laughter as the dripping amphibians hopped out of the
fountain and across the Common Room to cause chaos. They were more successful in a new
and terrifying game of dipped Every Flavor Beans, where the colors were now masked by
chocolate. Even Remus, who had never gotten a bad bean unintentionally (he could smell the
bad flavors), found himself with a grass-flavored chocolate bean and gagged.

Peter fell to his knees laughing, holding his sides. "You're -- hahaha -- you… you're...
you're Moooooo-ny," he squealed, drawing out the long syllables of the nickname to mimic
a cow.

Remus fell into the infectious laughter and helped Peter up just as James appeared
with his I'm Up to Something look on his face. His cheeks were very pink and his hair was
somehow even messier. "Lads?" He greeted and held out two too-full cups of the suspicious
punch from the end tables. "Wash that lot down with a spot of punch, hey?" He winked
deliberately and hopped back to the table to, presumably, procure more punch for their
housemates.
Peter imbibed gleefully, but Remus took one whiff of the swirling crimson liquid and
grimaced. Fruit punch and fire whiskey. Yuck. He sat his cup down but a pale hand picked it
up almost immediately and pressed it back into his.

"Moony, you wound me."

Remus looked at Sirius, frowning faintly. He didn't look wounded, a lipstick stain on
the collar of his shirt and a self-assured smirk on his face.

"Might as well drink it straight," Remus defended and regretted it immediately.

Sirius's face lit up like a beacon and he scrambled off, high-stepping his way past sprawled-
out Gryffindors to their dorm.
He returned a minute later with a shiny brass flask and slid it into Remus's pocket.
The act was so Sirius but so… teasing, Remus's arms broke out in goosebumps, the fine hairs
standing on end.
"I know!" Sirius hissed at his ear, misreading his shiver. "I had Marlene knick an extra
bottle from her folks, it's grand."

Remus opened his mouth to protest but, like was typical when Sirius was high on
attention and feeling himself, Sirius had wandered off and was wrangling his Trusted Few:
James, Peter, Lily, Marlene, Mary (newly returned with a yellow velvet top), and him, of
course, waved over. Remus took a sip from the flask, let the burn ground him, and joined the
group.

"So! The Game!" Sirius announced in a conspiratorial whisper. James, Peter, and
Marlene leaned in eagerly. Remus and the Girls with Any Sense traded looks of trepidation.
If it was a Muggle game, it could be anything from Pass Out, Twister (he hoped with
everything he had that it wasn't that; being tangled with Sirius was not going to end well) to-
-

"Poker! Hold 'Em, actually!" Sirius crowed, his eyes alight with what Remus knew
to be mad conviction.
He exhaled the breath he'd been holding. Poker. He could do that. Safe, distant, he
didn't have much money so he wouldn't have to play long, perf--

"And!" Sirius's voice interrupted his train of thought yet again. He waggled his brows
and looked at each one of them in turn. "To make things interesting, and since it's the Most
Holy of Days… we're playing Strip Poker!"
 His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. What the hell was Sirius playing at?
Then again, Remus had been so very careful not to reveal any more skin than strictly
necessary to his friends. They knew his forearms were a bit beaten up, his hands were a mess,
and he thought Sirius had seen his calves once last May, but he realized none of them knew
Everything.
He'd been fortunate enough to not have done any lasting damage to his face (yet), and
he kept every other bit of himself under wraps as much as possible, suffering through hot
weather in his full uniform, sleeping in a traditional kit of flannel. No one knew the extent of
the damage he'd done to himself, the silver network of scars that crossed his torso and would
absolutely give him away.
Desperate, Remus looked to Lily, his fellow Prefect who would definitely put
an end to the madness.

Or would have, if she wasn't on her second cup of 'Just Punch, Evans, I Swear'. She'd
literally let her hair down and had loosened her tie just a skosh. "Alright then," the Traitor
Lily agreed, to the raucous approval of the others.
Remus frowned and tried desperately to find a way out of this. He took another sip
from the flask, for inspiration.

Sirius appeared in his field of vision, warm and bubbly and smelling strongly of the
Just Punch. He invaded Remus's personal space without question (he did that a lot lately, ever
since their Big Fight) and draped his wrists over his bony shoulders dramatically.

"You're not thinking of ditching me on my birthday, are you, Moony?" He breathed,

far too close for Remus's comfort. He felt his breath on his cheek and the second Very Big
Reason for not wanting to play Strip Poker arose. He'd be in a room full of people with a
potentially very naked Sirius Black.
'Merlin's nuts,' he thought to himself dismally. On his own was one thing and sure,
he'd seen Sirius's bare chest more times than he could count, had seen all the way up to his
knees, and maybe once in third year saw his bare ass as he skinny dipped into the lake, but
this would be different.
"Moony?" Sirius's voice was in his ear now and Remus's knees threatened to give out.
"I'll go easy on you. Let's gang up on the girls, it'll be fun!" he assured him with his roguish
smile. Remus swore he felt the brush of his lips on the shell of his ear, but refused to dwell.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded dumbly. "Yeah, alright," he
murmured. He'd have to play this smart. No way out, so he'd need to outplay the others.
They agreed the best place for this Event was the boys' dorm, since the girls and
James, surprisingly, were wildly against the idea of public stripping. It calmed Remus a little
to be around familiar items and to know that if things went Very Badly, he'd at least be
limiting the number of people he'd have to Obliviate (he'd look up that spell) if they connected
the dots… or werewolf-inflicted body mutilation, as it were.

The seven of them settled in a circle and Sirius produced a deck of scarlet-backed
cards from his pocket. He shuffled them with a whispered spell, the cards dramatically
reorganizing themselves over and over until they returned neatly stacked to his hand. James
and Marlene clapped their approval.

Sirius ran them through the rules and Mary helpfully scribed the finer points in the
air above them in magical silver script. They'd be given two cards to keep secret and have
the option to fold immediately, or place their bet. The dealer (Sirius, this round) would then
place three cards face-up in the center. They would be given a second chance to fold, call the
bet, or raise. A fourth card would be revealed and the third chance would arrive. Finally, the
fifth card would be shown and their final chance to bet would happen.

"Pretty simple," Sirius assured with a wolfish smile. Peter looked nervous. Lily had
wild determination on her face, powered by liquid courage, and Remus felt sick. He took
another drink from his flask.
"Oh!! So if you lose the round, you have to take off a piece of clothing. That's the
rules. We'll bet money, here," Sirius passed them each a sack that contained 5 galleons, 20
sickles, and 40 knuts. Not much individually, but a substantial sum when distributed to seven
people. "If you run out of money, you can bet clothes or… hmm. Drinks. Or favors." He
winked openly at Marlene, who giggled.
The terms seemed agreeable enough and the game began. Remus looked at his cards.
A Jack of Hearts and a Jack of Spades. Promising. He kept his face even, and called James's
initial ridiculous bet of 1 galleon. Everyone else called.
The three cards appeared. 8 of Hearts. 3 of Clubs. Jack of Diamonds. Remus called
again, James hiking the bet to 2 galleons. "Potter coming in hot!" Sirius proclaimed.
Fortunately for Remus, everyone but Peter called.

The fourth card was an Ace of Clubs. Everyone held. The fifth card revealed the
Queen of Hearts. Lily raised by 5 knuts. Everyone called.
Remus's heart pounded in his chest as one by one the hands were displayed. James
had literally nothing. Lily had two Queens, Mary had two 3s and Marlene had two Jacks.
Grinning widely, Remus showed his hand of 3 Jacks and kept his clothes on, reaped his tidy
sum, and reminded himself to pay Sirius back whatever was left over.
James made a big show of kicking off both shoes and socks despite Sirius telling him
that just one set would do. The girls each took off their shoes. Mary looked nervous, she who
only wore a pleated skirt, socks, and that new velvet top. Marlene was in a corduroy dress,
but at least had a shirt underneath, stockings, a sweater, and her shoes. Lily was most prepared
in her uniform, like Remus.

The dealer moved to James, who let Sirius shuffle the deck again because it was just
so cool. Only Sirius and Remus were left in that round, Remus hoping to win with a straight,
or he'd have nothing, and the pot holding a handful of sickles. He watched Sirius closely as
James flipped the final card. Sirius tossed his hair just slightly, the barest flick of his head to
get the hair out of his eyes, only it hadn't been in his eyes. Hm. Remus looked at the cards
and rejoiced silently.

Sirius revealed his hand. 10 card high, which fell to Remus's straight. Sirius laughed
and uncrossed his legs like he was going to remove his shoes, but instead unbuttoned his
shirt. Remus swallowed thickly, watching his thin fingers ghost over each pearly button. He
heard Marlene and Mary's breath quicken and averted his gaze suddenly as Sirius's pale flesh
emerged from beneath the cotton shirt.

He left his tie on, the maniac, and tossed his abandoned shirt across the room to land
on his bed. "Fortune favors the bold, mates," he said with another laugh. The way his adam's
apple bobbed when he threw his head back was not lost on Remus, who found it very difficult
to focus on the third hand under Peter's deal.

Remus lost three sickles and a shoe. "You cannot put on both shoes at the same time,
therefore you can't claim them both as a singular item of clothing," he insisted firmly when
James, missing his belt, protested.
"Don't be such a jessieeee," Peter whined, as he'd already lost both shoes and was
panicking. He hadn't worn a belt. Or a tie. And inexplicably only had on one sock?

"I'm not," Remus replied hotly, a little harder than he'd meant. He needed to slow
down on the firewhiskey and find something else to look at besides Sirius's chest. But he was
sitting across from him and it was there.

It was Remus's turn to deal and for his efforts, Peter lost his single sock, James
remained clothed (shockingly), Lily's tie came off, and Mary and Marlene both were now in
their bare feet. Remus was glad the girls had the sense to bathe before the party, as they
smelled of lavender and lilacs, but Peter and James smelled of teenage boy, harsh, acrid,
sweaty. The girls didn't seem to mind, so Remus chose not to draw attention to it.
Lily was dealer next and somehow, Remus scraped by on a pair of sixes. Sirius lost
in the final hour, flipping his hair again, and removed one shoe and one sock. "Keep 'em
guessing!" he'd said slyly, winking at Remus. James's vest joined his rapidly growing pile of
clothing and Remus noticed Lily, sockless as well, averting her gaze more often than not.
Interesting…
 Certainly over the summer, the four of them had grown a lot. Fourth year ended with
them all a little too skinny (even Peter but especially Remus) and still with cracking voices,
but the summer filled them out. Sirius and James looked more like men than boys and Peter's
shoulders had filled out. He'd put on weight, but it wasn't as uneven as it had been when they
were just kids. Their voices now boomed more than squeaked and Remus definitely couldn't
fault anyone for looking at that side of the room.
He, on the other hand, was still too skinny, stupidly tall, gangly, and all bones and
jutting angles. His shoulders were broader, sure, but he hadn't managed to put on a single
pound over the summer. His mother was a good cook, but… fact of the matter was, feeding
a teenage boy was expensive. Feeding a teenage werewolf was impossible.
Mary dealt next and Remus, wrapped up in his own musings and the other more
liberal swig of alcohol, lost his other shoe. Sirius fanned himself with his cards, his practiced
pureblood lordling look fixed on his face as he appraised Remus. "Oh come on, Moony! It's
sweltering in here, don't you think?"

It was warm. Suspiciously warm. James fidgeted when he looked at him. That bastard.
Remus could throttle him. The girls were fanning themselves now, too. They'd been much
more conservative in their bets, though Marlene was missing her sweater. Sirius's chest had
little beads of sweat on it and Remus had a sudden urge to lick it off.

'This is not good.'

After removing his remaining shoe and sock, Sirius rolled up the legs of his jeans and
stretched his legs across their playing field so that his bare feet, crossed at the ankles, rested
on Remus's knee. He grinned at Remus. Wiggled his toes.

They were nice toes.

"Oh thank Christ," Marlene whispered as she realized it was her turn to deal.
Distracted by the infuriatingly wiggling toes, Remus missed Sirius's tell and fell for his stupid
bluff. He lost four galleons (four!) and his right sock. He conceded his left sock when James,
in a shocking display of half-drunken coordination, showed them that you could in fact get
both socks on without magic.
Remus tucked his feet under him. The girls didn't need to see the crosshatch of scars.
His trousers were too short, besides, and only his socks had kept his ankles hidden. His right
ankle was a mess.

Sirius was well and truly on his way to drunk. He fixed Remus with a look that Remus
thought he'd seen somewhere before, but couldn't place it. Heartbeats all around him were
pounding as layers of flesh were revealed one by one. Everyone was sweating. Lily tied her
hair back up and Remus longed for a hairband of his own. The Marauders had all Solemnly
Swore to not cut their hair until the end of term, and while it was very much In Fashion, it
was fucking hot.

Mary and Marlene announced they needed a break as the deal came back round to
Sirius. After promising they weren't going to sneak off to put on secret layers of clothing, the
group agreed to take five. Everyone stood except for Remus and Sirius, the latter staring at
him openly.

"What?" Remus asked, exasperated.

Sirius's brow furrowed and he lost his ever-present smirk. "You alright?" He asked,
words a little slushy but soft and genuine.

"Just…"
"Nervous 'bout Mary seeing you?" Sirius suggested, filling in the blanks.

Remus blushed, which of course Sirius took for a yes. He flung himself across the
circle and rolled until he was on his back in front of Remus. With his dark hair spilled across
the carpet and his chest glittering with sweat, his cheeks flushed with drink, Remus thought
he looked rather like a Renaissance painting of an angel. 'Well if you ever questioned you
were gay before, Lupin,' he chided himself mentally, banishing the thought.
But Sirius was smiling at him and he reached up to brush an errant sandy curl from
Remus's face tenderly. "She really likes you. She knows you're a stick but I think
she fancies sticks, Moonlove Moonpie," he assured, but left his hand in his hair.
He nodded in a way he hoped was conceding and with the greatest willpower known
to man, brushed Sirius's hand away. His skin was like fire. "Thanks, Sirius," he murmured,
forcing a grin.

"All part of the package, Moonage Daydream," Sirius said and began humming
(badly) the rest of the song. He rolled to his side and hopped up, muscles rippling under his
skin.

The girls were back, and James and Peter newly returned with refreshments. Remus
was glad for the distraction, something to do with his mouth other than imagine it on Sirius's
abs. He tossed a handful of pretzels into his mouth to the amazement of Marlene.
"How can you possibly be hungry? I saw you eat four chops at dinner, plus all that
chocolate! Where does it go? You're so thin!!" From another girl, it might've been cruel, but
while Remus was embarrassed, he was used to this by now. Marlene had developed very
womanly curves over the summer, and he noticed her eating carefully at meals.
James attempted to intervene, ever the pal. "Let'sss not pick on Remm--oose here,
okay?" Oh he was drunk as a skunk. "He's got a meta… metallurgy…"
 "Metabolism," Lily supplied sardonically, unimpressed.

"Thassit! He's got one of those!"

"Everyone has one of those," Peter corrected, erupting into a fit of giggles. Also
drunk.

Remus made a show of huffing and crossed his arms over his chest. "Just lucky I
guess, would kill to put on a few pounds. Can we get on with the game, please?" He looked
at Sirius expectantly.
If he hadn't been a werewolf, he would've missed Mary's soft, almost inaudible "think
you're just perfect", but since he wasn't supposed to be a werewolf, he powered through.

Remus won the round but gained little by way of money, a few knuts. Lily was stuck
trying to decide between her skirt or her blouse. Mary bravely tossed her velvet blouse away,
revealing a modest chest and a lacy white bra. She glanced at Remus from beneath her lashes,
nervously. Remus looked away.

Lily went with her blouse as well, a no-nonsense but nonetheless fine white bra below.
James made a strangled sound that they all teased him about, suggesting he find himself a
pillow to hide his shame.
Peter's shirt came away with little fanfare, save for a wolf-whistle by Sirius, who
looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. James and Marlene had folded earlier, still
mostly clothed.
James's deal lost Marlene the shirt under her dress, which she fished out with
surprising ease (girls were amazing). Her dress mostly covered her front, but she kept
sneaking looks at Sirius.

Nearly everyone folded on Peter's deal and Sirius frowned. "Oh dear, his lordship is
upset," Remus teased, seeing the storm brewing.
"Everyone drink!" The king decreed.

James whooped and snatched the flask from Remus's hand without thinking, taking a
deep swig. Panic cleared Remus's mind and he stared slack-jawed at James who had just
exchanged saliva with a known werewolf. What if he had cuts in his mouth? What would that
do to him??? He seemed keen to keep the flask, cradling it against his chest like a valued
treasure.

"Here, Remus, you can have a drink of my punch," Mary offered, interrupting his
panic attack with a new one. She leaned across Lily towards him, her breasts on clear display,
much to Peter's apparent excitement, judging by his breath sounds.
 Sirius scoffed and pushed her back gently, handing a bottle of cider to Remus from
behind him. "None of that swill! Only the best for the Moonage Daydream," he insisted with
a bark of a laugh. Mary sat back with a pout and Remus gratefully twisted the top off (Lily's
amazed comment of how he could do so bare-handed was lost in the noise of Peter's
disastrous attempt at shuffling cards the Muggle way) and took a long drag from the cool,
crisp, cider.
So much better than fire whiskey. It settled in his belly like a warm kitten, though the
purr he heard might well have been his own him of happiness. "Been holding out, Black," he
cajoled as he peeked at his cards.

Sirius's eyes twinkled at him. "Speak for yourself, Mister My-Clothes-Are-On. How
are you even so good at this game?" He gasped. "Is your mum a professional poker player? I
heard that's a thing Muggles can be!!"

His excitement was palpable, but Remus shook his head, laughing. "My mum's just a
mum. Paints sometimes. Sells a few, I guess. You're just really terrible at this game."
Sirius brought his hand to his forehead in feigned (possibly) dramatics. "You wound
me again, Moony, you absolute cur." He flopped dramatically to rest his head in James's lap,
much to the visible consternation of one Marlene McKinnon.

James was the out-and-out loser of Remus's second deal and foolishly removed both
shirt and tie in a fit of frustration with "the blasted thing". When the whole of his bronze torso
was revealed, Remus felt Lily stiffen a little next to him and again couldn't blame her. James
had really filled out over the summer, running himself ragged with Quidditch drills. He
was fit.

Lily dealt and Remus lost his belt. This was getting bad. Sirius made a horrifically
wonderful and terrible show of sliding his tie off from around his neck, the whisper of the
silk like an illicit promise. Remus couldn't watch.

Mary's deal earned Remus a good sum of money from James, who was now
Completely Broke and running out of clothes. He took a needlessly long drink from the
purloined flask, stood up, and shucked off his trousers in a move Remus was sure he'd
practiced before. James Potter was left in his teenage glory in a pair of dark gray briefs that
really didn't leave much to the imagination.
"Looking fit, Potter," Marlene called with a low whistle. James blushed but smiled
his thousand-watt smile, flexing his muscles.
Marlene dealt and Remus squeaked victory with literally a bluff. Everyone else had
folded.

Sirius ordered them all to drink again, claiming sobriety made them weak, and Mary
and Marlene had to hold each other up. Lily had slumped a little against Remus's shoulder,
much to James's chagrin, he who was trying to glare daggers at Remus and kept plinking him
with bits of pretzel from the other side.

Sirius dealt and Remus lost his tie. He was left with his shirt, trousers, vest, and briefs.
He tried folding during James's deal, but Sirius caught on to his game quickly.
"Don't be such a girrrrllll, Mooooooony," he sang, throwing another bottle of cider at
him. It was still too hot in their dorm so Remus drank it down greedily, to Sirius's cheers.

He played aggressively from there and, shockingly, fared well. Right up until Mary's
deal. Sirius lost his belt. Remus lost his mind.
He felt control slipping, and missed James's obvious drunken tell of a hastily-sucked-
in breath. Remus's vest joined the pile of clothing. He was much cooler but definitely starting
to worry.
He doubled down again and survived each round leading up to his deal. Sirius looked
him right in the eye when he lost to Lily's straight flush as he stood up to take off his trousers.
He didn't do it with nearly as much fanfare, and Remus was sure he didn't know why Sirius
was looking at him and not Marlene or Mary, but he felt his face get hot and knew he was
blushing.
He couldn't look away. He'd be mad to. Sirius's legs were a work of art, his crimson
briefs a fine compliment to his pale complexion. Soft dark hair covered his lower legs but his
thighs, Merlin his thighs, were mostly hairless, or so finely covered he couldn't see from
across the circle.

He heard Sirius's heartbeat louder than anyone else's. James had passed out against
Peter's chest, and Peter was snoring softly. The girls had regrouped and slept in a veritable
pile and it was just them, suddenly, virtually alone.

Sirius was nervous. Remus heard his breath quicken as he kicked his trousers off and
stood, unnaturally stiff in his movements. He wrenched his eyes away from his inspection of
his calves, his perfect calves, and forced himself to look at Sirius's face.
His teeth trapped his bottom lip and his face was sweaty and pink, his usually flawless
hair a damp mass against his neck. Sirius had that weird look on his face again, the one
Remus now placed as during their Big Fight, the one that had bothered him for a while, and
he puzzled over it now.
They locked eyes and Sirius looked like he wanted to say something, his jaw
clenching and unclenching rapidly. James snored suddenly, loudly, and Mary popped up from
the puddle of girl to run to their bathroom to be sick.

The boys looked away from each other and Sirius chuckled faintly. He rescued his tie
and looped it around his neck.
 "Good birthday?" Remus asked timidly, afraid of whatever it was Sirius was going to
say.

Sirius smiled ear to ear and leaned against one of the pillars of his bed. "The best yet.
Thanks, Moony."
Remus busied himself with rousing the girls and helping them sort out their articles
of clothing before sending them on their way to their dorm. When he returned from the
Common Room, Sirius was curled up on his bed in his underwear and sloppily tied
Gryffindor tie.
Remus threw a blanket over the lumps that were James and Peter and covered Sirius
in one as well. With everyone asleep, Remus pulled off his shirt to change into his pajamas,
freezing when he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him.

"Moony…" Sirius sounded sad, distant.

Remus sighed heavily and turned to face him, letting Sirius see the carnage that was
his chest. On his left hip, peeking over his slacks, was pink, puffy, raised bite mark that had
stretched with age and growth but still covered nearly half his width. Silvered gashes ran
down his chest and curled around his ribs in a mockery of a caress. There was a jagged one
he'd gotten last winter that bisected him from his right collarbone diagonal to his sternum
and then back to his right hip. It was starting to silver finally after nearly a year of looking
like an angry weal.
There were more, of course, too many to name. All self-inflicted and nightmarish, a
constant reminder when he looked in the mirror that he was not normal.
Sirius's fingertips brushed one of his oldest scars, a gouge in his shoulder, with
something akin to reverence. "Who did this to you? Your dad?" Guarded suspicion crept into
Sirius's face, remembering Remus's stories of Lyall's attempts to cure him.

"No," Remus replied patiently. He wanted to put his shirt on now, but he could see
Sirius processing this, could see his eyes flit back and forth over his chest.
"... You did this. To yourself." Realization dawned like daybreak, slow and
tremendous, and Sirius placed his hand flat-palmed over Remus's heart. It felt like a galloping
horse in his chest, threatening to leap out through his mouth and he was sure Sirius could feel
it, too.
Remus nodded, wordless. Sirius looked like he was going to hug him, and he really
couldn't handle that, half-drunk and half-naked and Sirius sobering up with sobering facts
and nearly naked, so he hurriedly slid his arms into his flannels and did up the buttons. Sirius's
hand fell useless to his side.
 "Are there more?" Sirius had curled himself up in his duvet now, just a harmless head
popping out from the down. He sounded small, hesitant, almost like he didn't want to know
the answer.

"Of course, but… I'm not ready to share them just yet, if that's alright." His voice was
tight, strained, and he hoped Sirius would drop it.
Fortunately, he did, with a gentle, sleepy nod. "Of course," he parroted. "I'm here if
you're ever ready. I'm always here."
He turned over to let Remus change into the bottoms in privacy, and only stirred when
Remus was in bed, lights off and the curtains half-drawn. He cleared his throat. "Thanks,
Sirius. Sorry your birthday ended so...morose."

Sirius shook his head vehemently, a burst of energy Remus hadn't expected him to
supply. "It's a gift I didn't know I wanted, Moony. I like learning your secrets." He flashed
him a small smile before twitching his curtains shut, and Remus fell back on his pillow, wide
awake.

He had a lot to think about.

 Antlers

One of the best things about being a dog, Sirius reckoned, and there were A Lot, was
that you didn’t really notice when it was freezing outside. He could go from shaking and
shivering in his full winter kit just within the treeline of the Forbidden Forest to standing
easy-as-you-please wearing nothing but the thick fur on his back. ‘Should spend every winter
as a dog,’ he mused cheerfully as he padded his way through the thicket to join Prongs and
Wormtail.
Wormtail was in his usual spot, high and observant from the tines on Prongs’s noble
brow. They greeted him with a squeak and a snort, respectively, and he barked softly back,
but his tail wagged madly behind him. This was still new for them, only their third time doing
this with Moony and, as terrifying as it should've been to run amok with a werewolf, it was
actually fucking amazing. It was the most fun Sirius had ever had.
He still wished he could be inside the Shack to watch Moony turn, but Moony had
been Very Clear about not wanting any of them within twenty feet of the Shack when he
transformed. While “twenty feet” was probably just a random number thrown about in the
heat of the moment, Sirius had taken it to heart and waited, with steaming breath on the frozen
ground, exactly twenty feet away.
They all heard Moony’s anguish, the screams as their friend’s body broke down and
mangled itself into something entirely different, and Sirius’s heart throbbed painfully in his
chest. It never seemed enough, to be able to do this for Remus, but not take away the real
pain. A few terrible minutes later, the wolf howled and any human thoughts Sirius had were
swept away with the force of his own answering howl and excited barks.
He kicked up his back legs and took off at a sprint as the form of the werewolf
appeared from the shadows. The wolf greeted him with a still-suspicious sniffing, a stiffening
of its legs and tail, and a rumbling, warning growl, but soon they were rattling through the
trees at a break-neck speed. Sirius heard the stag's rhythmic hoofbeats and the squeakity-
squeak of an excited rat behind him.

They ran through low-hanging branches and weaved between thick, gnarled trees, fur
catching in brambles and brush but it was exhilarating, this chase after… well, nothing,
really. The wolf just liked to run and run and run and Sirius was happy to oblige. He lept over
a fallen log, maybe stumbled a bit and ate a little dead leaf matter under the snow (no big
deal), and bumped his shoulder against the wolf’s in a playful shove.

They engaged in a mostly-friendly wrestling match on the forest floor, all teeth in
protective thick fur, red tongues, and ferocious-but-not-deadly growls. He’d just allowed
himself -- or so he would insist -- to be thrown by his scruff over Moony’s shoulder when a
horrible barking noise went up from a few meters off, followed by the panicked squeaking
of a rat who was no longer having a good time.

His ears pricked and he looked, wild-eyed and frantic, around him. Moony was
definitely still there, his large head tilted and golden eyes clearly asking why their fun had
stopped, but Prongs and Wormtail were missing. The bark came again, sharp and loud, and
Prongs thundered into their clearing only…

‘My antlers!!!’ he expressed in the way all animals speak to each other. Sure enough,
where once had sat decent two-point prongs was just a bare head. His large hazel eyes were
wide and he paced, pawing the earth and looking around him desperately.
‘Wormtail?’ Sirius asked, tilting his head.

Prongs barked, spun on his back hooves, and took off again, Sirius hot on his heels.
He dropped his nose to the ground and snuffled, searching for the Rat-Smell-That-Was-Not-
a-Rat. He searched for what felt like hours, combing every inch of the frozen terrain looking
for a small gray rodent that clearly did not want to be found. He kept one watchful eye on
Moony, who kept eying up Prongs like maybe he wasn’t so much of a threat anymore,
circling him cagily while watching Padfoot watch him.

Prongs just shifted his weight back and forth and dodged the occasional snap Moony
took at him with ease, the occasional ‘Oh no my antlers…’ spilling from him in clear distress.
Moony suddenly took off like a rocket and Sirius barked a curse and gave chase. ‘Find
Wormtail!’ he yipped at Prongs from over his shoulder. He had to stay with Moony, had to
make sure he was safe.
Moony skidded to a stop at one of the pine trees with the low branches and whined,
rising up on his hind legs to paw at the tree. He barked once, growled, and smacked his great
paws on the trunk as he tried to jump up into the higher branches. The wolf turned on Sirius
and growled at him as if to say ‘Aren’t you going to help me?’ and then Sirius heard it -- the
pounding of a tiny, overactive heart, the terrifying squeaking and gasping of a small animal
high in the trees.
He barked four times, their agreed-upon number should anything terrible happen, and
he saw moonlight glint off of two beady eyes as Wormtail poked his head out from behind a
pinecone. An excited yelping bark came from his side and Moony all but vanished into the
shadows. Wormtail took the moment of safety to take a daredevil leap from his branch to
land squarely between Sirius’s shoulders. He wrapped his little paws in his fur and signaled
he was good to go.
Sirius gave chase again to the werewolf and nearly ran headlong into the prancing
beast who had returned with, ‘Oh Merlin…’ Prongs’s antlers… in his mouth.
 *~*~*~
“In my mouth?” Remus asked in horror, starting to gag, as they retold this story to
him in the safety of their dorm room.
Sirius was crippled with laughter, tears in his eyes, as he rolled on his bed, clenching
his stomach. James did not apparently think this was so funny and launched himself at him
to put him in a headlock.

Remus looked wide-eyed at Peter. “ His antlers ?” he repeated, somehow both

flushed and pale at the same time.
Peter nodded sagely. “Yeah, apparently uh… stags lose their antlers every winter? It’s
a normal thing.”
James’s head shot up and he glared at Peter, mortified. “Normal?!” His voice cracked.
“It was TERRIFYING. I thought I was dying. When… when do I get them back?” He
removed his hands from Sirius’s throat and patted his now-actually-quite-flat hair longingly.

“Uh…” Peter opened his notebook again, scanning over hastily scrawled snippets.
He pursed his lips in a failed attempt to keep in the snorting laughter that escaped. “Uh…
three… three months?”
James wailed and threw himself off of Sirius’s bed in a fit of dramatics. He laid there
on the carpet with his hands buried in his hair. “My beautiful, regal, antlers… You’ll…” he
swallowed, as if about to say something Very Brave. “You’ll have to call me something
else…I won’t have any prongs …” He bit down on the knuckle of the fist he suddenly shoved
in his mouth.
Remus, who sat there aching and tired, rolled his eyes at the drama of it all. “Okay…
Bambi.”
Sirius’s face lit up like a Christmas tree at the nickname and his laughter resumed
anew. In a fit of glee, he turned into Padfoot and grabbed the antlers from their Place of Honor
on Remus’s nightstand. Two-point spikes in his open maw, he flopped on top of James’s
chest, thudding his tail against his face.

“Good boy, Padfoot,” Remus teased, and Sirius was Very Concerned with
how happy that tone of voice made him. His heart warmed and his tail wagged even harder,
smacking James over and over again.
Remus carefully slid from his bed and came over to scratch Sirius-as-Padfoot behind
the ears and ohhh that was some kind of wonderful! He didn't even notice James thumping
him in the chest to get off of him.
Being a dog was actually kind of great.
 Gold

"Goblins like gold, right, Professor Flitwick?"

The Charms classroom of mixed Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs fell uncharacteristically

silent.
The diminutive Charms professor looked like he'd bitten into a lemon. His dark
eyebrows disappeared into his hairline in apparent shock.

A solid thump hit Sirius's chest as Lily Evans struck him with her textbook. Sirius
didn't lose his earnest, it's-an-innocent-and-genuine question look, though, only clasped his
hands in front of him, patiently waiting.
The other three Marauders were horrified onlookers to this train wreck. James, who
normally would jump into any scheme with Sirius, looked completely torn between cracking
up laughing and hitting Sirius with his own book. Peter just looked petrified, literally, his
wand stuck in mid-air, watery eyes moving between his friend and Charms professor slowly.
And Remus… Remus buried his face in his hands with an audible groan, the only other
human sound to hit the air since Sirius's query.
Sirius ignored Remus in particular. It was all his fault Sirius needed to ask Flitwick
in the first place. If his so-called friend hadn't made such a fuss about what his favorite color
was, this wouldn't even be an issue!
After what felt like an eternity, Flitwick finally cleared his throat and fixed Sirius with
a more serious look. "That's not really an appropriate question for Charms class, Mr. Black,"
he began, but cut Sirius short when he saw the boy's mouth open to argue. "However, it is
my duty to educate you in any way that I can while here at Hogwarts." Sirius's heart
leapt...he'd get his answer! "We can discuss the finer nuances of Goblins over detention this
week, Mr. Black. 7 o'clock sharp."
Sirius's face fell. Peter's wand clattered to the floor, bounced off the ground, and lit a
small fire in the rubbish bin. James's resulting laughter broke the tension in the room, for the
most part. Lily strode over, positively fuming, to retrieve her book. "That was so…
so racist," she hissed at them, James somehow caught in the crossfire.
James could only watch her leave, mouth slightly open as he watched her ponytail
and other...tail… bounce as she stormed away. Remus managed a, "so sorry, he's an idiot!"
between his fingers at her and focused on trying to avoid eye contact with Sirius, who looked
completely dumbfounded as to why he'd been given detention. Flitwick never gave
detentions. It was part of his Charm.
 He was only trying to solve his Life's Greatest Mystery, after all. For as long as he
could remember, his favorite color was blue. It went with everything, it was widely available
in a variety of materials, and it made his eyes pop. And yet, when Moony asked them all what
their favorite colors were a few days ago, under the guise (Sirius was sure it was a ruse to
throw him off of his game for a group prank) that he was going to a cool new shopping center
this summer (those didn't even exist in Dover!) and wanted to treat his friends with something
nice, he found himself thinking "gold".
Obviously, the only reasonable explanation was that Sirius was part goblin. He was
so much shorter than Remus still, and that just wasn't right. Remus towered awkwardly over
his friends at a neat and new 6 feet tall, while James and Sirius struggled for 2nd place at
around 5'7". Peter, whose own parents weren't even 5'6", didn't really have a dog in the race.
Sirius's dad was tall, his mother was tall, so maybe somewhere down the line, there was a
goblin interest who'd convinced his great-great-aunty that size was not all that mattered.
It was the only explanation.

Why else would the color haunt him even in his dreams? Everywhere he looked, if
there was a golden gleam, his eye would follow. Goblets at dinner, galleons on a table, hell,
even his own house colors made him feel warm and fuzzy in a way that had nothing to do
with house pride. He could lose himself staring at the trophies he'd polished thousands of
times by now. He dreamed in gold monochrome, his best dreams being lit by the warm hue.

Honestly, he was starting to get a little concerned. Surely that couldn't be normal.
He'd brought it up to James, his Very Best Mate, who'd only responded with an ever-
so-helpful, "I'unno mate."

Peter hadn't been much help either, offering up some drivel like, "Well your favorites
can change over time you know, external stimuli and all." Something about a Muggle study.
Boring, useless stuff.

He hadn't gone to Remus because it was Remus's stupid question. He'd even dug
around in the library, trying to find some Divination or Astrology or another bollocks-magic's
answer that could explain the phenomenon.

The final straw before he'd posed this apparently problematic question to his Charms
professor had been his dreams. The fun kind. The ones that woke him up a little sticky but
satisfied.
In each dream for three days solid (three was an important number in magic, you
know), he'd been getting the best dream-or-real blow job of his life. He and the girl (he
assumed by the length of hair and the smell of lip balm) were in an empty classroom. Sirius
was on a desk with his legs spread wide (he was taller in his dreams, too). A bouncing head
appeared and disappeared into the shadow of the dark room, their hot mouth around his cock,
seemingly trying to suck out his very soul.

When he would get close to coming, the head would look up suddenly at him with a
hard suck and a mind-numbingly amazing swirl of the tongue around his cockhead. Normally
in real life, he'd appreciate the stretch of a girl's mouth around his cock or the drool dripping
down her chin, but all he could focus on in this amazing dream were two gold eyes glinting
in the light above him.

Just the sight of those eyes, exotic in their color and full of wickedness, sent him over
the edge every single time, coming down that tight throat with his fingers buried in soft light
brown curls. He'd be so turned on when he woke up that he had to jerk off in the showers,
eyes shut tight to keep the image of those golden eyes seared in his brain.

As if he could forget.
They seemed familiar, in a weird way, but Sirius was positive there weren't any girls
at Hogwarts with eyes like that. Must've been something he saw in a girly mag.

After Charms class ended, James and Peter raced each other to the Great Hall for
lunch. Sirius stayed behind to wait for Remus who, of course, was turning in extra credit for
literally no reason to Flitwick. That or apologizing for Sirius's
apparently inappropriate question. It wasn't his fault! Flitwick was the only part-goblin he
knew.
The look on Remus's face when he returned was just so insufferable, like a parent
scolding a naughty child, and Sirius was tired of everyone treating him like he was a bad guy.
Rolling his eyes the minute Moony opened his mouth, he stepped away the second Remus
went to clasp him on the shoulder. Not what he'd expected.
Sent off-balance, the twiggy werewolf tumbled to the ground, spilling books, quills,
and ink everywhere. "For fuck's sake, Padfoot," he grumbled as he rose onto his knees. Tawny
curls hid his face while he repaired his bag and began heatedly shoving books and supplies
back in. "Really? You're not going to help me?"
Sirius looked down from his high horse at the same moment that Remus snapped his
head up to glare at him, his golden eyes hard and incredulous.

Golden eyes.
Sirius nearly came right then and there, so ingrained were those eyes in his sordid
fantasies. Realization came crashing down on him like a sack of bricks and his last remaining
brain cells (those that weren't hard at work recalling all blood cells from the Cock Zone)
scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing.
 Moony had such a mad look on his face, tan cheeks flushed with righteous anger and
impatience while he waited for Sirius to get off his ass and help clean up the mess he'd made.
It was almost too much. Sirius swallowed thickly and cleared his throat as he slowly sank to
his knees.
Never let it be said that Sirius Orion Black lacked courage. He bravely (and to him,
this was on par with trying to ride a centaur) met Remus's gaze and held it without speaking.
The hardness in the gold pools turned to confused exasperation and then to genuine concern
as Sirius remained silent. Silence was not one of his Many Virtues, after all.

Sirius lost himself for a moment in his eyes, in the realization of what it all meant. Of
course, they looked familiar. How many times had he been scolded by Remus with those
eyes twinkling inches away? How many times had he seen them change into lupine shape,
all trace of his friend gone to be replaced by wild abandon? How many nights did he fall
asleep watching them glide over words on a page as Remus read him passages from Muggle
fiction?

"Padfoo-"
"Gold," he interrupted, a whisper. "Gold," he repeated louder, gaining confidence.
"My favorite color is gold."
 Beautifully Broken

Remus was beautiful in a broken sort of way, Sirius considered as he and the rest of
the Marauders enjoyed a blistering summer's day on the beach next to Remus's parents' house.
It was one of the special, ultra-rare occasions when Remus was allowed friends over-- his
parents were always so nervous that something would happen, or someone would find out
about their son. He and James and Peter all swore up and down that they knew and loved
Remus for it anyway... as if a little thing like lycanthropy could keep the Marauders apart,
ha!
His beauty particularly shone in the summer when his skin turned nut-brown from
the sun, causing his silvered scars to stand out even more, a highway system across his flesh
that spoke leagues of his adventures and misfortunes. James made off-hand comments about
Remus's tanning abilities, always comparing his own natural bronze to make sure he wasn't
usurped. Sirius and Peter, meanwhile, were not-so-secretly jealous of Remus's ability to tan
without effort, they who could only burn and freckle later, in Peter's case. Still, Sirius liked
it. It matched the gold of Remus's eyes in a companionship unlike any other and removed
years of premature age from his sixteen-year-old body simply by warming his skin tone.

Remus was still impossibly skinny though, and his growth spurt last May had sent
him shooting up to six feet tall (making him the tallest by at least a head, the lanky prat), all
tan skin, sinewy muscle, and jutting angles. Sirius supposed 'the wolf' didn't want its host
getting fat, didn't want Remus to put on pounds that would reduce its ability to wreak havoc
each month. It wanted to remain a lean, mean, killing machine so long as it had a say in
Remus's metabolism. His weight certainly wasn't for lack of trying—something that Peter
sure envied, Sirius had noticed on more than one occasion. He'd seen their friend devour plate
after plate of food on a regular basis, consuming thousands of calories that were all promptly
burned off on the rising of the full moon. But Sirius liked him skinny and could not imagine
him any other way.
There was strength in him yet, Sirius knew even as he watched Remus lose an
impromptu wrestling match in the sand with James that sent both of them, laughing, out into
the surf. Sirius knew that when the moon filled up, so did Remus's strength -- and temper --
and one would be wise to stay in his good graces. Sirius did not quite manage to do so one
month (okay, he had "deliberately and knowingly provoked him to test his limits," Remus had
said later) and ended up pushed against a wall (which was thrilling at first) and getting the
tar beaten out of him by a young man with animal strength (not thrilling, absolutely awful).
He'd lived, of course, and healed, and grew to respect both man and beast more for it.
 On normal days like this in the middle of the lunar cycle, Sirius was aware that Remus
was still holding back because as Remus grew, so did the wolf and its power in him. There
was a lot more to this werewolf stuff than their prejudiced textbooks taught them.

Remus's head turned as he surfaced in the foam, the sun lighting up his face. Sirius
knew Remus thought his face was too ugly to be handsome, but Sirius disagreed. It wasn't
conventional. It was full of sharp angles and fleeting shadows and your eye didn't really know
where to rest until he opened those big, amber-gold eyes framed by fluffy, almost-blonde
eyelashes. It was an interesting face molded by years of agony and countless transformations
and yet still managed to have faint laugh lines around his mouth, for which Sirius took full
credit. He was hilarious. Remus's face kept your attention and was constantly changing, much
like the sea, with each phase of the moon.
His hands were perhaps Sirius's tied for favorite though, as he watched them grab
Peter's arm (James had the other) and toss him, previously dry, into the ocean with ease. They
were just as scarred-up as the rest of him, but Sirius found himself fascinated. He caught
himself watching Remus write in class, his long fingers wrapped lovingly around his favorite
quill as he quickly but effortlessly jotted down notes, the ink scrawl beautiful and elegant
despite the speed with which they were created. He could stare at his wrists for hours, how
the tiny bones jutted out, barely concealed by his skin, how each knuckle was prominent but
not grotesque. They were an artist's hands, not great mitts meant for the fighting and rough
handling they were routinely put through.

His hair was beautiful, too, all sandy curls that were long in the popular fashion. The
gentle curls caressed his thin shoulders when dry but now, soaking wet and covered in salt,
clung to his face and neck in a possessive grip Sirius envied. What he wouldn't give to lick
the sea salt from his throat or brush it aside with his fingers to watch the pulse quicken under
his skin as he did so.

Sirius was startled from his thoughts when James chucked a beachball at his chest. It
struck him squarely and bounced off, leaving a faint red mark on the previously unmarred
skin. So rude. "Are you just going to leer at us all day while we swim, you prat, or are Blacks
afraid of getting their perfectly coifed hair wet?" he teased, and suddenly all three of them
were upon him but, as usual, Sirius could only focus on Remus.
The muscles in Remus's chest rippled below his skin as the trio pulled Sirius to his
feet. He was slung unceremoniously over Remus's shoulder, eyes directed at his ass, his
perfect, perfect ass…and then he was underwater, seafoam above him and sand below. When
he surfaced, he found himself face-to-face with a smirking Remus (a rare sight, surely, as the
young werewolf was not a smirker by nature) who had his arms crossed over his dripping
chest.

"You've been staring at me all afternoon," he stated, not a question. One eyebrow was
slightly raised as if to challenge Sirius to deny his claim.
 "Yes." The water droplets sliding down Remus's pectoral muscles found a scar groove
that fast-tracked them to his navel where they clung to coarse hair and Sirius was glad for the
seafoam and dark water.

Remus paused and swallowed and Sirius took the opportunity to admire his adam's
apple bobbing in his throat and snuck a glance at his sloping jawline before he was redirected
to Remus's eyes by an impatient clearing of his throat, but no words came.

"Are... you asking me to stop?" Sirius asked suddenly, brazenly, his own challenge
clear in his eyes, steel grey to Remus's copper-gold.
He scoffed, rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of ruining your fun, Padfoot. But do try
to blink every so often or someone will suspect we're up to something." It was very clear that
Remus knew what was being "suspected" but he did not show evidence of caring and with
that, he swam off like a fish. Sirius pouted and pursued at an admittedly slower pace to join
his mates deeper out in the surf where they were riding waves and laughing as they were
pushed under, simply enjoying the company of his best friends and the boy he was hopelessly
in love with, sneaking glances when he could and happy to be around him when he couldn't.
Summers at Remus's were the best.
 Beauty is in the Breeding

James and Peter left yesterday to go on family trips with their folks, James to
Bermuda and Peter to Glasgow ("Why the hell would anyone want to visit Glasgow?!" Sirius
had jabbed) and Remus was thrilled that Sirius declined his standing offer to vacation with
the Potters ("Don't want your dad to get jealous of how your mum will drool over me in my
swimmies, Prongs, would upset the happy family balance, like," Sirius had explained) and
elected to stay behind for a few more days. He assured Remus that spending more time at the
Lupin house was also leagues better than spending it at Grimmauld Place, where he'd lock
himself in his room and try to ignore the strangled sounds of Regulus whacking it. While the
imagery was immediately distressing, Remus truly appreciated the gesture.
He was in the kitchen making lemonade, watching Sirius outside through the large
bay window. Try as he might, he couldn't get the other day out of his head when he'd caught
Sirius staring at him from the beach. He didn't understand why Sirius did it in the first place;
it wasn't like he was seeing anything he hadn't seen before. They'd been housemates for some
six years now, and privacy was an ill-afforded luxury between the four boys. Beyond that,
Remus felt that he lacked any truly remarkable features that would warrant such unabashed
staring.

Sirius, though… Sirius was worth looking at. Everyone knew that. His was a beauty
so classic and so timeless that it took Remus's breath away unexpectedly.
Like now, watching Sirius help his father with yard work, suffering through it without
complaint even though they were forced to do it by hand thanks to the Muggle area the Lupins
lived in. The sun, when it decided to peek out from behind the clouds, lit up his face
beautifully. When it managed to sneak up on him and hit his eyes, for a moment they glowed
like freshly polished silver and his lashes kissed his flushed cheek as his brows furrowed to
meet above his nose when he squinted against it. As soon as the sun tucked itself in its cloud
nest again, Sirius's eyes would go back to a normal, mortal gray.
Despite the heavy lifting, Sirius still had a white-toothed smile plastered on his face
as he cracked up with Lyall in an effort to make the time pass quicker. Remus found Sirius's
expressions to be just wonderful, as ever-changing as the wind across the sea, each one
unique and as dramatic as the last. Remus could usually tell what Sirius was thinking by the
set of his mouth, an ability he was deeply embarrassed to admit he possessed, even to himself.
It betrayed that he'd spent a great deal of time studying the mouth in question, more time than
was appropriate for two friends.

It was a perfect cupid's bow, not mutilated by teeth like Remus's own thin beak, and
just the right shade of rose that made Remus pause. When it split open into a smile and Sirius
would laugh, the world laughed with him, swept away by the joy in the simple sound, in the
mirth of such a handsome individual; the world begged to be included in on the joke, to be a
part of something this Adonis took pleasure in.

Remus frequently envied Sirius for his good looks and was not proud of that. James
was handsome, too, but without the limitless confidence that followed him around like a
chained pet, James would likely only be considered "above average". Sirius's attractiveness
was one hundred percent due to him being just that good-looking. Sure, wore a surface-layer
of confidence, but if even if he Peter's meekness, he could still pull off that tortured, dark
prince look. His face was as if carved from polished marble, a Grecian masterpiece given
breath with a kiss and brought to life. He really shouldn't be thinking about kissing Sirius's
face.
He supposed he was most jealous of how flawless Sirius's skin was. Good breeding
kept his pale face clear from blemishes and there was neither scar, nor freckle, nor mole
anywhere to be seen on the other boy's body (except perhaps around some naughtier bits
which Remus was not privy to at this time, but that was all speculation). Even now after a
week's worth of time out in the open sun, Sirius's face was only mildly flushed (his
punishment for not utilizing the "sharp-smelling spunk-looking lotion" Remus tried to get
him to use the first day. Ah, hubris.) and the only further "mismark" was a week's growth of
beard, a signal that they were indeed becoming men. The Lupins had razors to spare, of
course—Lyall was a clean-shaven adult male after all—but Sirius was ridiculously terrified
of slitting his precious throat open with "those unsafe Muggle torture devices" and decided
to let his "face fur" grow until either he was as "furry as Moony" or until he could obtain a
magic razor.

Most sixteen-year-old boys looked ridiculous with that much beard on their face,
Remus included, but not Sirius. For some reason it did not detract from his looks, only added
a dangerous, rogue-like element to it that Remus was sure the girls would find ever-so-
attractive and Sirius would be begged by his legion of females to never shave again. Remus
simply liked it for amusement purposes, as Sirius had spent a good thirty minutes trying to
get all of the sand out of it earlier that morning. Remus preferred seeing the elegant lines of
his jaw on display, not hidden.
As envious as he was of Sirius's dashing good looks, he supposed he didn't know what
he would do with all the attention he would get if he looked half as good as Sirius. His main
goal at Hogwarts was to keep a low profile (a difficult, almost impossible task given his
friends' proclivities for mischief) and succeed in academics (check!). Remus was very aware
that he was not going to win any beauty contests even if he wasn't a mangled scrap of skin
and bone.
He absent-mindedly squeezed a few more lemons into the pitcher, purposely taking
as long as possible in order to line his thoughts up at a safe distance.
 Sirius's posture was impeccable, too, especially when compared to Remus's father.
Lyall Lupin was just a mixed-blood wizard of no grand line or consequence and slouched as
most common men did. Sirius Orion Black, however, had proper posture and movement
etiquette drilled into him from birth and even that month in third year of him deliberately
slouching and dragging his feet could not change that. His slowly-growing frame (he was a
hair shorter than James who was five inches shorter than Remus still) was supported by
muscles because he'd seen how even skinnier Remus got when he shot up. And, as Sirius put
it, he refused to be "a skinny chewed-on stick like Remus," but in the most polite way. He'd
put on practical muscle that gave him the strength to clear up the debris from last night's
storm.

Remus certainly did not miss how his biceps bulged when he hauled a driftwood log
onto his shoulder, oh no. Or how the muscles in his back rippled with the effort.
He followed the curve of his bicep to study the line of his back when suddenly he
found himself looking into piercing grey eyes filled with confidence and teasing clarity of
his actions. Remus flushed scarlet and looked away abruptly, knowing he'd been found out.
Great. He busied himself with finishing the lemonade, grabbed the glasses with ice, and
rushed out the door before his father came to investigate his tardiness.
After handing his father a glass of lemonade, he and Sirius walked a few yards down
towards the beach. It gave Remus time to summon up some Gryffindor courage and he looked
Sirius full-on. "I've been staring at you all afternoon."

"Yes."
"And I'm not much inclined to stop, but I will try to blink as to not raise suspicion.
Does that sound fair?"
"Why, Mr. Moony, I suppose that does and I agree to your terms," Sirius responded
with a sly grin. "But only if you stop lounging and help us out—you're stronger than the both
of us and you know it and you were making lemonade? Merlin, man!" The last bit was much
louder than the first in an effort to keep Mr. Lupin from getting too suspicious about their
grinning whispers.

Even as his dad clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder in agreement with Sirius,
Remus shook his head with a soft smile, set down the pitcher, and resumed his work on
moving rocks and seaweed, occasionally sneaking a glance at Sirius when he could manage
it and secretly pleased when he caught the other boy staring back.

He was ever so happy Sirius stayed.

 Smoke Trails

Chapter 1: A Surprise

"Psst. Moony. Moony!"

The noise split the comfortable silence of the dormitory like a whip. Remus's eyes
flew open. He’d almost been asleep, well on his way to an increasingly-elusive dreamland,
and the sound was like a fish hook behind his navel, as disorienting as a side-along
Apparation, vaguely nauseating. He squeezed his eyes shut with a sharp exhale. The voice
was—of course—Sirius, annoying and wide-awake, judging by the sound of his breathing.
James and Peter were asleep, but just barely. Maybe if he remained quiet, he could-

"Moony, your dumb eyes glow in the dark."

Like fuck they did! Remus turned his head sharply to glare at Sirius, who was
sprawled across his own bed in his pajamas. "No, they don't," he hissed back and resigned
himself to be awake—apparently—at the behest of Sirius Black. The tempus charm James
kept running on his nightstand confirmed that it had only been twenty-two minutes since
they'd all agreed to shut the fuck up and get some sleep. It was a Sunday, they had class in
the morning, and Slughorn had made a not-funny ‘joke’ that there 'might' be a pop quiz first
thing.
"No, they don't," Sirius snickered. He all but threw himself off of his bed and crossed
the distance between their four-posters with an effortless grace that Remus envied. He invited
himself to sit on the side of Remus’s bed closest to the window and sat cross-legged next to
his prone form, his knee pressed against his arm. The contact made Remus flinch and he
immediately sat up as well. Staring up at Sirius just felt wrong. Vulnerable. Intimate.
Sirius's knee still pressed into Remus's thigh even as he drew his knees to his chest,
but that was okay. It was better. There was more breathing room between them now and he
could hear his own thoughts again instead of the thunderous sound of his beating heart.
Sirius's nails, newly painted black, traced the plaid lines on his bedsheets and when he looked
back at Remus, it was through the fringe of his bangs. "They do glimmer, though," he
murmured in a tone that almost sounded... reverent.
He must be having me on, Remus thought viciously. He felt himself blushing and
cursed the nearly-full moon for lighting their room so brightly. He was sure Sirius could see
his cheeks turn scarlet and hastily leaned back against the headboard to hide his face in the
shadows. "Is there a reason you’ve woken me up, Padfoot?" He tried to add a biting edge to
his words, but a mix of the butterflies in his stomach and sudden concern for Sirius dulled
his blade. Maybe he couldn’t sleep, maybe he was having more nightmares, maybe-

“You weren’t asleep,” Sirius answered simply, as if it was obvious, common

knowledge. The glint in his eye should've given Remus time to prepare, but he was distracted
by how truly beautiful Sirius was when washed in the moonlight. So, when a definitely-not-
human tongue licked a slobbery, warm stripe up his cheek, Remus shouted in shock.
"Padfoot!" he roared—or rather, shrieked—and shoved the giant black dog off of his bed.

James's curtains swished open and Peter's blond head popped from between his own
as the two boys blinked blearily into the gloom. "Moony…! C'mon, mate," James whined,
his rude hand gesture turning into a fist to bonk an exuberant Padfoot on the head when he
licked his arm. "A man needs his sleep!"

In a flash, Sirius was human again and back on Remus's bed, completely ignoring the
death glares from the others. "Didn't want to be the one getting yelled at when they woke
up," he whispered, far too close, into Remus's flushed face, all smiles and breathy laughter.
His breath smelled like his minty toothpaste. Remus could throttle him. "Now that I have
everyone's attention!" Sirius chirped, holding onto his knees and rocking back and forth on
the mattress in apparent glee.

“This couldn’t have waited until morning?” Remus asked, nudging Sirius’s side with
his toe. Sirius looked at him like he’d just suggested he jump off the Astronomy Tower, and
Remus stamped down the sudden urge to shove him off the bed again and instead let himself
be swept up in the tide that was a determined Sirius Black. He'd long since learned he couldn't
fight the undertow once it started pulling.

James threw a pillow at Sirius's face, which Sirius skillfully batted away with a swipe
of his arm, and Peter just made a pitiful noise that mirrored how Remus felt. "Get on with it,
Padfoot," Peter yawned as he brought his duvet in a cocoon around himself. "S'bloody cold
in here, yeah?" he whimpered, eyeing the cracked-open window.
Remus disagreed. It was boiling. He felt himself sweating a little, but, then he was
always a little more than a bit warm. Lately, proximity to Sirius had the unfortunate side-
effect of shooting up his temperature, as he suspected was happening now. It was rather
inconvenient, really. He made no move to close the window, though. Peter was a wizard, he’d
figure it out.
"Right!" Sirius struck his fist against his open palm and straightened up to regard
them imperiously. James and Remus shared a look of 'here we go again,' both of them well-
versed in reading Sirius's expressions. This, no doubt, was going to be something like the
Poker Game of Fifth Year, a big reveal Sirius would make them wait for. "So, our dearest,
darlingest, dare I say daintiest-"
"You dare not!" Peter interjected sharply.
 "-Marauder," Sirius continued, unfettered by the complaint, "comes of age this week,
as we are all aware. I have something Very Special and Wonderful planned for this Joyous
Occasion." Remus didn't know exactly how Sirius did it, but he had a way of pronouncing
words he deemed important that made them sort of... stand up straight in his mind, in a weird
way. It was hard to explain, but now when Remus closed his eyes, he could see them in
Sirius's elegant script: Very Special, Wonderful, Joyous Occasion.
Peter was quiet for a beat or two before blurting out, "You've actually done something
for my birthday?" His shock, admittedly, was not unfounded. While Peter was certainly a
valued member of their wayward gang, his birthday celebrations had traditionally been small
affairs. The 9th of September was just after their first week of lessons, and homework
assignments usually kept them busy enough that it just… passed. They always did something,
of course, but nothing to the scale of Sirius’s or James’s parties.
Not that—Remus knew—Peter really minded. Peter, like Remus, preferred to stay
firmly out of the spotlight as much as possible. Remus found his Animagus form very fitting:
small, discreet, frankly adorable, a penchant for fine cheese, a bit bitey when pushed too far.
Peter, in a nutshell. Still, it was always nice to have the option.
Sirius nodded eagerly and, in a burst of energy Remus hated him for having at—
ugh—two o’clock in the morning, crossed the room as Padfoot only to sit next to Peter as a
boy again, one arm draped around his blanketed shoulder. It was jarring when he did that,
went from dog to human again in a span of seconds. It got under Remus's skin a little, to see
him shift so effortlessly, without pain or anguish. "Of course, Wormy. It's not every day a boy
turns seventeen!" Sirius pinched his cheek and got a blanket-softened elbow in his ribs for
his troubles.
Something in Sirius's smile set off warning bells in Remus's mind. It was vaguely
predatory, his white teeth like daggers in the moonbeams, and suspicion brewed in his
mind. What was Sirius up to?
Peter basked in the assurance, though, and smiled happily. "Gee, thanks, Pads- wait."
His sparkle dimmed and he cast a guilty look at Remus. "There's a full moon the night before,
maybe we should…?" Peter trailed off, looking from James to Remus, back to James, and
finally to Sirius and then back at Remus in askance.

Sirius looked for a moment like he was going to speak for Remus, but clamped his
jaw shut at the last minute at a pointed glare from James that did not go unnoticed. Remus
smiled gently and shook his head. "We'll manage, Pete, this is a Sacred Day." And it was,
truly. Remus didn't mind. He'd be knackered to hell and back and his friends would be tired
as well, but it would be alright.

"I'll run with Moony that night! Let you lot get some sleep, be well-rested for your
Big Day," Sirius volunteered, his arm still wrapped around Peter's shoulder.
 "Padfoot, I don't know about th-" James started, ever the realist, his hazel eyes wide
and concerned behind his glasses.

Sirius flapped his hand at him dismissively. "Pish posh, Prongs! Moony and I get
along famously!" he assured before turning his winsome smile on Remus.
Remus released his bottom lip he hadn't realized he was chewing and nodded. "It'll
be alright, Prongs." It would... probably be all right. He wasn’t sure how they’d manage the
knot on the Willow, but they’d figure it out.
James wasn't convinced. "Moony, the first full is usually pretty…um… touch-and-go,
remember?"

He wasn't wrong. While Remus had very few actual memories of his Transformations,
lately he’d started having dreams about them, his recollections confirmed by his friends when
he'd regale them later. He dreamed in flashes of feelings and smells and sounds and through
them he knew that the first full moon after a time away from his friends could be a little
rough. The wolf didn’t immediately recognize the strange animals with him. After Christmas
last year, he'd dislocated Padfoot's hip and had nearly slipped past Prongs to try and eat
Wormtail's tail. It took a while—time was not a concept he could track in that form or in his
dreams—to get reacquainted, and after a whole summer apart, who was to say…

"Prongs, stop worrying! It'll be fine," Sirius insisted with a groan. He stood and
crossed his arms over his chest, his legs spread bracingly on the wooden floor. "The
wolf loves Padfoot. And," he said, smirking triumphantly, "I won the little dust-up on the last
full moon we did together." He flexed a bicep and Remus rolled his eyes, ignoring the swell
of muscle that made his heart skip a beat. "I'm strong, I've got this!"

Remus didn't have the heart to tell him that if he had won, it was only because the
wolf let him. He remembered a dream of that same full moon before the end of term when
he'd raced Padfoot through the forest and into the lake, how they chased fish and frogs, and
how he'd allegedly gifted Padfoot a dead bunny. Though his dream-memory told him he’d
caught the rabbit and Padfoot stole it from him and buried it under a rock, the other three
swore it had been a gift and Sirius had acted like it was the best present ever. Personally,
Remus was mortified that he’d killed an innocent rabbit, but Sirius’s reaction had been pretty
nice.
James removed his glasses and rubbed his face wearily with one big hand. "Ugh, fine.
But… I'm putting a tracking charm on you, Pads. Just in case." He looked quickly at Remus,
a flash of guilt crinkling his face. "No offense, Moony."

"None taken, Prongs," Remus replied, pushing past the little spike of pain in his chest.
James hadn't meant anything by it. He was just speaking the truth. Remus knew that, but it
still stung a little, a reminder that he couldn't be trusted when he transformed.
 "What's the surprise, then?" Peter asked, steering the conversation back to something
pleasant. James groaned and shoved his glasses back onto his face, clearly abandoning all
hope of sleep at this point. Remus filled the glass of water on his nightstand and sipped it
gratefully...it really was quite warm in here.
Sirius tutted and rolled his eyes. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise! Wormtail,
surely even you can grasp the concept!" His tone had a bite to it and Remus scowled at him
even as Peter bristled. Peter didn't need Remus to defend him, but it didn't stop Remus from
being annoyed on his behalf. Sirius had a predisposition for picking up on Peter's insecurities
and hounding him, which given his Animagus form, was fitting. For all the years spent in
their company and out from under his family’s influence, Sirius still maintained a cruel streak
that reared its ugly head every so often. He was working on it. They were working on it with
him.
Peter slung a stinging hex that hit Sirius in the thigh and Sirius yelped, clutching his
leg and hopping on one foot. "Alright, alright, I deserved that," he admitted as he fell to the
floor, laughing. Peter seemed mollified by the admission, but his face still held an element of
concern regarding Sirius's surprise that hadn’t been there in the beginning.
James stood up and grabbed the Map and his Invisibility Cloak. "If you lot are going
to keep jabbering, I need a snack. I know Moony's hungry, what about you two?" Right on
cue, Remus's stomach growled and Sirius howled with laughter as he, still limping from the
hex, followed James out of the dormitory.

“You alright, Wormtail?” Remus whispered to the bundle of blankets that was Peter.
He was starting to tremble, and Remus was singularly concerned for his friend.

“Wish he’d just say what the bloody surprise was. Hate surprises,” was Peter’s quiet
response and he burrowed further into his covers.
When they returned laden with cheese-and-pickle sandwiches and peach tartlets,
Peter's anxiety had spiked to the point of green-gilled nausea, so Remus polished off his
portion of the sandwiches. Despite their insistent questioning after his well-being, Peter
pulled his curtains closed and cast a silencing charm to shut them out.

"What? I've done nothing wrong, " Sirius defended hotly, his mouth pulled into a
petulant scowl. A bit of crumb and peach filling was stuck on his chin, distracting and wicking
away Remus's concern for Peter. The urge to lick it away surged, hot and sticky in his chest,
but Remus resolutely handed Sirius a handkerchief instead, despite the way his entire body
seemed to vibrate with the effort of holding back.

They weren't a thing. They were just friends, he reminded himself. Good mates who
maybe spent the summer staring at each other shirtless on the beach when Sirius was over.
Good mates who maybe had thicker undertones to their banter lately. Just friends! No matter
who much it hurt to watch Sirius dance to some tune he could only hear in his head while he
crossed the room back to his bed. Just...friends.
 Chapter 2: The Moon

As the days to his birthday ticked down, Peter's growing anxiety was palpable.
Whenever Peter saw Sirius, which was nearly all the time, his heart rate would spike and
Remus could smell the sweat pooling on his lower back. He could practically taste the
anxious fear that poured out of him. Though deeply concerned for his friend’s mental and
physical health, Remus didn't know what the big deal was… Sirius had been tame all term
(all seven days of it) and hadn't actually done anything particularly nasty to Peter in ages.
Peter didn't much like surprises, though, no matter who they came from.
Remus attempted to distract him and boost his spirits with miniature pre-birthday
presents in the form of brightly-wrapped candies and pocket-sized word search puzzle books,
Peter’s favorite. Though Peter thanked him and smiled at the gifts, it didn't quite reach his
eyes. His hesitation hurt and frustrated Remus, but he tried to keep his cool—Peter was
entitled to his feelings, after all, even if Remus didn’t understand them.
Peter spent the day of the full moon dodging them, making up stammering excuses
to sit next to literally anyone else in class and fleeing from the room if Sirius so much as
poked his head in. James and Sirius were—naturally—quite cross with Peter and his
ridiculous behavior and ditched him to run drills on the Quidditch Pitch. Remus, already
high-strung and on tenterhooks from the full moon, had had just about enough of the pussy-
footing around.
He cornered Peter in the Common Room and convinced him—with maybe a dash of
threatening and a heaping promise of letting him eat his dessert—to join him outside to fetch
James and Sirius for dinner. With the autumn sun bright and warm on their faces, their mood
was vastly improved and they engaged in friendly banter.
“How’d Glasgow treat you, then?” Remus asked as they neared the Pitch. They were
talking about their summer holidays and their favorite things. Remus’s had, of course, been
when his friends visited him at his home. His mother was happier than he’d seen her in ages
when they were there; she was delighted he had friends who knew, friends who stuck by him
no matter what.
Peter looked up at Remus with a shy smile. “It was alright, yeah.”
Remus raised a brow at him—he was hiding something. “Just ‘alright’?”

His smile turned massive and Peter blushed a little. “Okay, okay, a bit more than
alright. Snogged a really fit girl on the ferris wheel at a fair.”

Remus whooped and jumped in the air. “About time, Wormtail! Proper man you’re
becoming now,” he teased, laughing. Peter had been notoriously shy with the girls in their
year but had been a bit bolder in the week they’d been back. Remus caught him and Mary
making eyes at each other in Charms, and at breakfast, and well, just about everywhere.

Peter playfully elbowed Remus in the ribs but laughed also, his face alight with glee.
Remus retaliated by bumping his shoulder against Peter's in what was supposed to be a gentle
shove.
Instead, Peter stumbled and fell to the ground with a cry of agony that had Remus
hyperventilating on the grass. Memories of last autumn, with Sirius crumpled on the
bathroom floor, broken and bleeding, flashed rapidly through his mind. He’d
hurt another person, another friend, with startling ease. He wanted to hurl. The edges of his
vision darkened as the growling in his head grew louder. James and Sirius were on them in a
flash, sweat-soaked and rank from their scrimmage.

Sirius dropped to his knees next to Remus and pulled him to his chest, fingers buried
in the crisp cotton of his shirt. “Moony, Moony, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered into his
hair. Remus shook his head violently and tried to pull away, but Sirius held firm and looped
his arms under Remus’s, clasping his hands together at his back to keep him close. “Shhh,
shh,” he shushed, and Remus realized he’d started crying, panting as fear tried to sweep him
away. “It was an accident, he’s alright, he’s standing. Look. No blood. An accident.”

He loosened his grip enough for Remus to see James help Peter to his feet. His
normally pink-splashed face was gray and a little green and his arm hung at an odd angle
from the socket. His bottom lip was sucked tightly into his mouth, and he was obviously
trying—and failing—not to cry. James looked at the pair of them on the grass and quickly
blocked Remus’s view with his bulk. “Going to the Hospital Wing,” he informed Sirius
quietly and led Peter away.

“Fuck, fuck, Padfoot, I-” Remus hissed, looking up at Sirius, wild-eyed and terrified.
Sirius cupped his face in his hands, hot and a little sticky, smelling of broom polish
and dirt. “Hey, he’s okay, right? You didn’t mean to! Saw the whole thing from the sky, I did.
Pops will patch him up, and he’ll be right as rain.” He ran his thumbs over Remus’s cheeks,
smearing salty tears away from his eyes.

Remus leaned into the touch despite himself and savored the warmth from his hands.
“We should go to the Hospital Wing,” Remus decided after a few seconds. He pulled away
from Sirius and ached at the loss of contact. Sirius nodded and helped him to his feet and
wrapped his arm around his waist to steady him. Remus weaved a bit on their first few steps,
his legs like gelatin, but Sirius’s presence grounded him and gave him strength.

Later, their bellies achingly empty in the Hospital Wing from missing out on dinner,
Madam Pomfrey informed them that Peter had a dislocated shoulder and a bone bruise.
Nothing life-threatening or that she couldn’t fix, but she quietly warned Remus to be more
careful. He had been careful, he thought darkly to himself. It was just a friendly tap…
 It hadn't always been like that. While he always had a flash-point temper on the days
leading up to the full moon, Remus was normally able to manage his increased strength under
normal conditions. Granted, this wasn’t the first time he’d lost control of it, either. The July
and August moons had him accidentally ripping his bedroom door off its hinges and
shattering his mother’s favorite teacup when she scolded him for arguing—again—with his
dad. His mum was still cross and hadn't quite forgiven him. His growth spurt seemed to be
affecting him in other ways, which was just fucking perfect, bloody typical of the universe,
to have it out for him. Sixteen was hard. Maybe seventeen would be easier.
Fewer… changes.

Peter, patched up in a matter of minutes from the skilled mediwitch, forgave him, of
course, and said it wasn't a big deal, but Remus made the trip to the Shack earlier to spend
the rest of the evening before moonrise alone. It was safer that way.
Remus was, frankly, surprised when Sirius appeared in the Shrieking Shack alone.
"Managed the Willow, did you?" Remus asked shakily, trying to fight the anxiety clawing at
his chest. He hated this, the waiting, the modified tempus charm on the wall counting down
the minutes to moonrise ominously in neon blue. He'd been a werewolf for almost thirteen
years and instead of getting easier, the Transformations were only getting harder and more
painful.
"Took a bit, but I'm a genius, so…" Sirius smirked, rapping his temple with his index
finger smugly. His leather jacket, still new and a little stiff, creaked with the gesture.

Remus cocked a brow and narrowed his eyes. "You got Wormtail to do it for you,
didn't you?"

Sirius's face fell and he stuck out his tongue petulantly. Remus almost expected to see
a piercing there, what with the way Sirius was going on this term. A mullet with a shaved
underside, black fingernails, eyeliner… a tongue piercing seemed on-brand, but it was absent.
Just a perfect, pink tongue. No stud. "He's got plenty of time to sleep still, it's fine," Sirius
admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, a habit he'd picked up from James after
years of close quarters.

Remus grinned, but it turned sour when he looked at the clock charm again. "You
should wait outside." He didn't like it when people saw him transform. To the best of his
knowledge, his father was the only person to have ever witnessed the Transformation, and
Remus knew the toll it took on him to see his only son break and scream the way he did.
"Twenty feet." Their agreed-upon distance.
Sirius frowned. "Moony…" He took a step forward.

Remus held up his hand and shook his head resolutely. "No, Padfoot. I don't… you
can't see it. I don't want you to. Please." His voice broke on his plea and he looked away. He
couldn't look at Sirius's eyes, sickle-silver in the dim.
 "Twenty feet," Sirius echoed quietly. He drew Remus in for a hug and their cheeks
brushed as he tucked his face into Remus’s shirt collar. Sirius's was cool and smooth yet
somehow electrifying on Remus's skin where stubble was starting to grow. He smelled like
strong tea, a hastily-devoured ham-and-olive sandwich, and the leather of his jacket. The
familiarity of his smell quelled the rising panic in Remus's throat enough to let him breathe.
After several long seconds, Sirius released him, left the Shack, and Remus counted
down the seconds to agony.

~*~*~*~
It was unusual for Remus to wake up in the Hospital Wing instead of the Shrieking
Shack. He usually stirred before first light to find his friends hovering nearby and ready to
pass him his clothes. But the smell of the bed below him was astringent, sterile, and clean,
not the musty damp of the Shack. When he opened his eyes, Madam Pomfrey's relieved face
hovered over him. She mopped his brow with a cool, damp cloth and passed him a cup with
a swirling, iridescent potion Remus knew all too well. He tossed it back and felt the searing
pain melt from his bones to be replaced by a steady, dull ache.
"Good morning, Remus," she greeted in her gently cheerful way, opening the curtains
next to his bed. Sunlight streamed in, warm and buttery.

"Poppy," he croaked with a lopsided smile. After the third time she’d stitched him
back together in his first year at Hogwarts, the mediwitch insisted that, if it was just the two
of them, he should call her by her given name. They’d be seeing a lot of each other, after all,
and ‘Poppy’ was much easier than ‘Madam Pomfrey’ on a sore throat. Remus liked it—it felt
less like he was a constant burden and more like a friend who just happened to need a little
patching up every twenty-eight days. The smile made something on his cheek burn and he
winced. "Mirror," he beckoned, needing to face the damage.
She was already passing the bronze-backed mirror his way without a word, though
she soon launched into action as three familiar heads poked through the hangings around his
bed: two black, one blond. They must’ve broken her locking charm—Peter’s doing, no doubt.
He was great at those. "Will you three ever learn?" she bemoaned, though her fondness for
them was evident on her face. She was glad Remus had people, had friends to miss him and
to look out for him.
Remus didn't hear their reply or watch them as they came in, too caught up in looking
at the carnage he’d wreaked on himself. A thick gash, nearly half an inch across, bisected his
left eyebrow. It narrowly missed his eye and, despite Pomfrey's efforts, was still angry and
red around the jagged edges. A set of cuts he recognized as paw swipes curled up from under
his jaw and ended in thin slices on his right cheek. Those were less deep and, with luck,
would fade to nearly nothing with dittany. Yellow shadows on his forehead and neck were
the only things that remained of the other bruises and scrapes, and he knew those would
disappear in an hour or so.

"Five minutes," Pomfrey conceded, relenting under the sheer force of boyish energy
that plagued her, and closed the heavy door behind her to give them some privacy.
"Salazar’s shite, Padfoot." James seethed when he saw Remus. He was livid, hazel
eyes flashing in fury behind his glasses. Sirius, bags heavy under his own eyes and paler than
normal, was limping a little, though whether it was from last night's werewolf adventures or
James-inflicted, Remus wasn't sure.
"Merlin, Moony," Peter whispered, his eyes flickering back and forth across his face
and down to his chest where a dark, nearly-black bruise bloomed from his sternum to his
shoulder. Remus couldn't feel anything—it was numb and smelled like the rest of him, caked
in healing salves and things that burned his nose.
"Happy birthday, Peter." Remus smiled at him, mustering every amount of joy he had
to ignore the twinge on his face. "I've had worse," he assured, remembering full moons before
he'd had company, when he was locked up in the Shack alone and left to rend his own flesh
to ribbons month after month. This was rough, but comparatively much better. He wasn’t
going to let something as inconsequential as new face decorations stop him from celebrating
Peter’s special day.
James, meanwhile, had boxed Sirius in against the nightstand with his broader body
and was whispering accusations in his face while gesturing at Remus. He spoke so fast,
Remus could only pick up traces of the one-sided conversation, which was mostly him telling
Sirius how fucking stupid it was to go it alone and how he’d been right all along. Sirius was
uncharacteristically quiet against the monsoon that was James Potter’s wrath, and nodded
sullenly every so often.
Remus cleared his throat and both boys turned to look at him, red-faced. "Well?" he
asked expectantly. Something had apparently gone a bit cock-eyed, by James’s anger.

Sirius scuffed his good foot on the tile and looked up at him through his blown-back
bangs. He'd forgone the eyeliner today, and looked younger for it.
"TherewasakneazleandIchaseditandyoufolloweditupatree," he spewed.
James hit him, hard, in the shoulder, and Sirius groaned. He took a deep breath and
looked nervously out the window. "There was a kneazle...and Padfoo- ouch, Prongs, for
fuck's sake!!—and I chased it… and you followed it up a tree. You’re quite a good jumper,
did you know- Prongs, stop it I am telling him! And then the branch broke—bit of a heavy
bugger, the wolf is—ow!!—and you fell on top of me." He rubbed his shoulder defensively,
caught between glaring at James for his assault and looking repentant for his actions.
 Remus blinked once, twice, three times, stunned, his mouth agape. His mind raced.
First, with hot anger that Sirius had abandoned him for a fucking kneazle, and then with cold
fear that something could've happened when Sirius wasn't watching, but then just utter, warm
mirth at the mental image of Padfoot being squashed under an enormous werewolf, which
was presumably the cause of both of their impact injuries. The laughter snaked out of him as
a wheeze, then a cackling howl, and Pomfrey came bursting through the door with another
potion in-hand.
"If I've told you once, I have told you a hundred times -- he needs his rest," she
scolded the trio, a fire in her deep blue eyes she reserved solely for them.

James looked like he wanted to hit Sirius again. Sirius's mouth was pursed tightly to
keep his own laughter in, clearly feeling less guilty now that Remus was somehow finding
humor in the situation. Peter swallowed and squared off against Pomfrey in a moment of total
Gryffindor courage. "Madam Pomfrey, please, it's my birthday… please can Moo- Remus
come to breakfast, please?"

Like clockwork, Remus's stomach grumbled noisily. He’d not had dinner last night
and apparently hadn’t eaten the kneazle, for which he was endlessly grateful. He made his
best impersonation of Padfoot's puppy eyes up at the mediwitch, hoping she’d agree.
Peter had said ‘please’, after all, many times.

Pomfrey tutted and poked Remus's bruised shoulder in a few places with her wand,
checked his vitals with a quick diagnostic spell, and passed him the pain potion. "Your
collarbone is no longer in pieces, but you really need to give your body time to rest." She
looked at the other three, who wore matching pitiful expressions, and sighed. "Alright, you
may go to breakfast, but you will come straight back here. I'll let your morning classes know
you will be absent." She favored Remus with a fond smile and his heart soared. “Happy
birthday, Mr. Pettigrew,” Pomfrey added, and Peter glowed.
Though Remus knew Sirius, like him, was bone-tired and war-weary after their
eventful night, Sirius drew on the endless well of energy that came with being sixteen. By
the time they reached the Great Hall, he'd kicked his limp and even helped James carry Peter
to his seat. Today was a Sacred Occasion, after all, and Peter looked magnificent perched on
their shoulders. With a twirl of his wand, Remus transfigured a knut in his pockets into a tiny,
bronze crown that settled atop Peter’s blond locks. He was King for the Day: a time-honored
tradition.
A sea of Peter’s favorite foods greeted him: heaping jars of marmalade, sweetbreads,
fat, glistening sausages, and perfectly poached eggs. Every plate in the Hall bore a small
etching of a dancing rat wearing a party hat around the rim, and Peter’s face nearly split in
two from the intensity of his smile.
 Bolstered by no fewer than six cups of heavily honeyed tea, an entire plate of
sausages, five stacks of pancakes, and a literal mountain of thick, syrupy waffles at breakfast,
Remus felt like a new man. Pomfrey was pleasantly surprised to see his color returning nicely
and after a potion-aided nap, let him leave after lunch once he swore to be careful and not do
anything reckless.
Normally, he'd listen, but, well, it was Peter's birthday, wasn't it?

Despite Peter's squeaking protest that he didn't need to, Remus took up the role as his
personal mount. He was the tallest, after all, and Peter deserved to have a taste of the high
life. So, with Peter secured high on his bony shoulders, James and Sirius cleared a path
through the ocean of students. They marched dramatically and blew squawking tinny
trumpets—previously rolls of Transfiguration homework—in an off-key fanfare. Remus's
clavicle panged something fierce, but Peter's wonder at being so high off the ground made it
all worth it. As they passed, portraits tipped their hats and curtsied to ‘King Peter, First of
His Name’, and a few students bid him the same.

Peter made a show of using Remus’s overgrown curls like horse reins and Remus,
being a good sport, leaned into it with his best whinny-and-snort warhorse imitation that had
James and Sirius sputtering in laughter around their transfigured trumpets. Despite her shock
at seeing him in her classroom on this particular afternoon, Professor McGonagall was less
than impressed when Remus bucked Peter off his shoulders and into his chair for her lesson,
but Remus didn’t wilt under her disapproving glare. She looked at him, her mouth in a hard,
thin line that crooked betrayingly at one corner.
“How many feet are you now, Mr. Lupin?” she asked drily, imposing despite having
to look up at him. At Remus’s response—Sirius and James booed him from their seats, bitter,
wee prats that they were—she sighed and waved her hand in a vague motion of misery. “Six
points, then, from Gryffindor, for your coltish nonsense. You are a young man, not a prancing,
preposterous parade pony! Now, find your seat before I add Mr. Pettigrew’s five to your
total.”
Remus ducked his head but complied, smiling and uncowed by the loss of points. He
was still riding his breakfast sugar high wonderfully and had not missed the sparkle in
McGonagall’s eye during the dressing-down. Taking his seat was a relief, though, and his
body relished the cushioning charm James casually cast under his breath before he landed.
He shot James a grateful smile and tried to focus on the lecture instead of the throbbing ache
in his shoulder.
 Chapter 3: Cigarettes

The mystery of Sirius’s Very Big Surprise remained until nearly ten o’clock that night
when most of the Gryffindors -- namely one Lily Evans -- had emptied out of the Common
Room. “One sodding Prefect is enough,” Sirius had bemoaned darkly at dinner, eyeing a re-
caffeinated Remus with over-exaggerated suspicion. Remus flipped two fingers at him and
stole the enchanted strawberry fairy cake from his plate, which chirped, 'Happy birthday,
Wormy!’ when bitten into. Peter had been delighted.
Unlike most of Sirius’s Surprises, where he desired as large of an audience as
possible, he only wanted the three other Marauders present. This was to the bristling chagrin
of Marlene and Mary, who had grown accustomed to joining them in their impromptu parties.

"It's sexist, is what it is!" Marlene snarled, freeing her wrist from the circle of Dorcas
Meadowes's fingers and advancing on the four of them with righteous indignation. Dorcas
hung back by the stairs with a resigned sigh.

"Not to mention rude," Mary piped up. She stood at Marlene's side with her hands on
her hips.
Peter dithered at Sirius's elbow, shooting an apologetic glance Mary's way. "Padfoot,
maybe they could join us, it's my birthday," he attempted, and Remus was impressed by his
bravery. Snogging that Glasgow girl had apparently done wonders for his self-esteem.

Sirius whirled on him with a scathing look and Peter quickly withdrew to James's
side, evidently remembering that he was bloody nervous about Sirius's surprise. Well, Remus
mused, some things never changed.

Sirius and Marlene went toe-to-toe -- they were the same height, which Sirius loathed,
gray eyes boring into blue. They argued, red-faced and furious with each other, Mary adding
her own insults whenever she got the chance. Remus and James knew better than to
intervene… they loved Sirius dearly, but he'd brought this on himself.
It was going on eleven by the time a sleep-weary Lily dragged her dormmates back
up the stairs. James had to have his jaw picked off the floor by Peter after seeing Lily in a
lavender silk dressing gown -- “Silk!!” James had croaked -- but, finally, they gathered
together around the trunk at the end of Sirius's bed. Peter kept making nervous keening noises
that Remus alone could hear and looked like he might bolt at any moment.
Remus, pink-cheeked, watched from the corner of his eye as Sirius rummaged
gracelessly through his disaster of a trunk. He was bent nearly double and his wrinkled,
untucked shirttails rode dangerously high up his back to reveal several inches of perfect, pale
skin. Not that Remus was looking, he was just… looking. When Sirius finally righted
himself, his face was flushed with victory. In his right hand, he held an unopened bottle of
Ogden's Reserve Firewhiskey and in his left, a lightly crumpled pack of Muggle cigarettes.

Caught off-guard, Remus snorted. “Really? Ciggies ?” He wasn’t opposed, quite the
opposite, really -- some of his earliest memories were of his dad smoking on the porch
watching the tide come in, and even his mother was partial to one with her coffee after dinner
on cool autumn nights. He was just shocked to see Sirius in possession of something so
completely Muggle.

Remus stole a quick look at James, whose thick brows were drawn together in
uncertain trepidation. Remus could practically hear his internal screaming and the war
between his teenage rebel and outstanding athlete sides. Peter looked...on the fence, his
plump bottom lip captured between his prominent front teeth in a worrisome grimace.

Sirius rolled his eyes, nearly black in the dimness of their dorm, at Remus and shook
the packet enticingly at Peter. “Kindly keep your sass to yourself, Mister Moony --
it’s most unbecoming among the peasantry. Wormtail, my beloved,” he began, ignoring
Remus’s derisive tut and Peter's huff, “ these are the true makings of adulthood.” His cupid’s
bow lips curled into a wicked, gleaming, white-toothed smirk that absolutely did nothing to
Remus’s insides.

Sirius extended the offerings to Peter, who took them with a mild frown. "So
you're not going to... make me pierce something?" Peter whispered, his eyes wide.
They all looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. "I'm sorry, what?" Sirius asked,
his lips curling into a wicked grin.

Peter blushed and clutched the cigarettes and firewhiskey bottle to himself
covetously. "I... you... I thought you were going to pierce my ears or something! You two
were talking about it the other night!" he accused, pointing the bottle at James and Sirius.
Remus covered his mouth with his hand, shaking with the effort to control his mirth.
James had no such qualms and properly burst into giggles, holding onto Sirius's shoulders to
remain upright. "We'd never force that on you, Wormtail!" he laughed, wiping tears from his
eyes.
Peter sputtered, "You forced me to grow out my hair all last year!"

"Hardly the same!" Sirius defended cooly, flapping his hand dismissively. "Besides,
you looked wicked."
Peter tried a new tactic. "Where did you even get these, Padfoot? You don't know how
to use Muggle money," he accused with well-placed suspicion.

James finally seemed to snap out of laughing fit and joined Peter. "Wait! You've had
them all term? My mum would go mental if she--"
 Sirius held up a hand, looking for all the world like a serene elder calming the rowdy
youth, the smile still firmly in place. "Mum’s not going to find out, Prongs, and I got them
on the way back from Diagon, if you must know, but it doesn't matter how I got it. I've got it,
now you've got it, now let's have a go then!" He gestured impatiently at the gifts in Peter's
hands.
Peter cracked the cap on the Ogden’s and took a practiced sip, hissing as the liquid
burned a path down his throat. With firewhiskey smoke furling out of his nostrils, he plucked
a cigarette from the pack and regarded it at an arm’s length. He grabbed his wand, ten inches
of springy willow, from his pocket and raised it. Before he could cast an ignition charm,
Sirius snatched the cigarette from his fingers with a gasp. “Nearly forgot!” Sirius exclaimed,
practically buzzing with excited energy.
“Oi, Black, that’s mine!” Peter protested, half-exasperated at the fickleness of Sirius’s
attention span.

Sirius ignored his protest and fixed the cigarette with an expression Remus could only
describe as halfway between constipated and fury, but Remus’s mocking laughter died on the
back of his teeth when Sirius snapped his fingers and, wonderfully, a flame caught the end
of the cigarette.

Arousal coiled in the base of his spine and Remus gawped -- Sirius had just
done wandless magic. Wandless… wordless magic, at that. As far as Remus knew, none of
them could even manage a simple lumos before the end of term last year, and judging by the
shocked look on James’s face, this was news to him as well. Remus knew Sirius was talented
-- he was absolutely brilliant when he managed to put his mind to something -- but this was
impressive. Hot on the heels of his attraction, though, was simmering envy and the all-
encompassing need to figure out the trick for himself.

Sirius just about burst with pride and self-accomplishment, his eyes sparkling in the
warm glow of the lit cigarette. He passed it to Peter with a flourishing bow and took the
firewhiskey bottle back for a victory swig. The heat from the liquor colored his face prettily,
and Remus saw a bead of sweat drip down from his temple, watched it caress his skyscraper
cheekbones and down his neck and disappear under the rumpled collar.

Oh, he was well and truly fucked.

Peter’s hacking cough interrupted his reckless train of thought. James and Sirius
pounded him on the back, which really only made it worse, and Remus wisely crossed the
room to the window. He pushed it the rest of the way open and sucked in several greedy
lungfuls of fresh, Scottish autumn air. It was a mild night, and the wind plucked playfully at
his curls when he looked up at the moon.
With his good shoulder bearing the brunt of the weight, Remus pushed one of the
heavy wooden chest-of-drawers against the wall and climbed atop it. The top of the dresser
was perfectly level with the window sill, a convenience they discovered in second year.
Remus leaned on the brick wall and stretched one leg out across the wooden dresser, the other
bent at the knee. “Sharing, King Peter?” he asked Peter once he'd ceased his dying, a crooked
grin set on his face.
“Ah, so perfect Prefect Moony joins us in our debauchery,” Sirius teased, sending a
shiver down Remus’s spine that he hoped would go unnoticed.

"When ever have I not?" Remus muttered sourly, annoyed at Sirius's jab. This
behavior -- their hot and cold -- made figuring out his feelings so difficult. One moment, he
wanted to snog Sirius senseless and the next, he rather fancied sacrificing him to the Giant
Squid.
Peter generously passed a cigarette to each of them and with a hop and some
clambering, joined Remus on the other end of the dresser. James climbed over the dresser to
boldly sit on the windowsill after some shuffling and misplaced elbows and let his socked
feet hang precariously over the edge. Sirius leaned against the chest-of-drawers between
Remus and Peter, his face turned into the moonlight. The waning gibbous cast a beautiful
light on his fine-boned face and Remus's breath hitched in his chest.
"Alright, Moony?" Sirius asked, glancing over his shoulder. "Collarbone still
whinging?" he supplied helpfully, saving Remus from having to explain himself.
Remus smiled slowly and nodded, rasping his fingertips over his white school shirt.
Without asking, because ever since the summer, Sirius had a shocking disregard for Remus's
personal space, Sirius leaned over. He plucked at his collar and peeked down Remus's shirt
at the gnarly bruise. "Oof, rough stuff, Moons," he whispered, whiskey-spiced breath
brushing Remus's jaw.
If the other boys noticed this casual display of intimacy, they didn't say anything, too
busy with trying to sort out Sirius's snapping trick. Remus was grateful for their distraction -
- he could barely focus on anything except for the specimen before him, all pale skin, raven
hair, and eyes that looked like silver saucers in the moon's light. He hadn't been able
to stop looking at Sirius all term, kept seeking out his presence wherever they were, and
missing it sorely when they were apart.
Remus knew, deep down under his layers of self-preservation and everything in his
head screaming that it was a bad idea, that this was more than a simple pash, more than
friendship, certainly. For all the jokes about James and Sirius being inseparable, surely James
didn't feel like his heart had been ripped from his ribcage, like there was no air for his lungs
when Sirius wasn't around. No, Remus was well and truly doomed.

"Moons?" Sirius was still very much in his space, his shoulder pressed against
Remus's shin as he peered into his face.
 Remus saw his eyes darken just a tad when heat flooded his face and he swallowed
the love-shaped lump in his throat. "Sorry, just...trying to riddle out how you did the lighting
trick," he lied smoothly, and snapped his fingers fruitlessly.

Sirius threw his head back and laughed, long throat exposed and beautiful. "Some
secrets are worth keeping. If I taught you, you'd have no use for me." Sirius stuck the cigarette
between Remus's lips and, frowning again, lit the end with a snap and a victorious smile.

“S’pose you’re right about that,” Remus replied, breathier than he’d intended.
Sirius, thank Merlin, peeled away from Remus to light James's cigarette for him,
dangling half out the Gryffindor Tower in a maneuver that made Remus tense. It would serve
him right to fall, really, but it would be a terrible shame. Remus met Peter's gaze above the
black masses of hair and they shared a half-amused-half-concerned grin. Sirius didn’t fall
and instead squeezed next to James on the short sill, leaning back on his hands.
Without thinking too much about it, because he'd seen his dad do it enough and
maybe, just maybe, he'd snuck one -- or four -- on a wild hair before, Remus took a short
drag from the cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a sigh. Sirius was going to be the death of
him.

"Oi! Moony, since when have you known how to smoke?" James cried, then grumbled
behind Sirius's shushing hand over his mouth. From the way Sirius yanked his hand away,
retching, James must've licked his palm.
Remus merely grinned. "You've got your secrets, Prongs, and I've got mine."

"I've got no secrets -- an open book, I am!" James interjected, laughing.

As if to prove his point, Remus took another drag to fill his lungs and, after a second
or two spent in deep thought, sent the smoke out the window in a stream that spelled, albeit
shakily, "Lupin". A favorite of his father's.
Peter looked at him in awe and passed the Ogden's to him reverently. "Your Majesty,"
he intoned seriously, though his blue eyes shone with amusement.

Remus felt Sirius's eyes on him, felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end,
and shrugged with his uninjured shoulder. "Your tribute is noted and appreciated, Lord
Wormtail. You will always have a place in the Court of Lupin." He barely got through his
sentence before joining Peter in laughter.
Holding the cigarette between his fingers, Remus poured a healthy measure of the
spiced liquid into his mouth. It seared his scream-raw throat and burned all the way down --
it was a wonder anyone drank it at all, but the heat was oddly gratifying. Another sip had him
sweating, and after passing the bottle back to Peter, he carefully removed his shirt. He used
to be terribly secretive about his body, but his friends had joined him for nearly a year's worth
of full moons and had seen, first-hand, the silver scars on his flesh. Sirius was the first to
have seen any, on his birthday last year before Remus knew about their Animagus forms,
though that had been an accident. Instead of looking at him with pity, Sirius made him
feel... safe. Another secret he would keep for him.
So, when it was just the four of them, he'd forgo his long-sleeved pajama shirts and
thick jumpers and had taken to walking around their room like any other boy. And his friends,
though he knew they had questions, said nothing of the scars. It certainly made nights like
this easier to bear, with firewhiskey warming his veins, and he let out a sigh of relief as a
breeze ghosted over his newly-bared torso, wicking away the faint sheen of sweat. For good
measure, he rolled up the ends of his trousers a few times to expose his calves and felt
immediately cooler.
James wolf-whistled and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the sight of Remus.
"You just wanna show off your chest hair, mate!" he cackled and ripped off his own shirt with
a practiced flick of his wrist. He looked down at his own chest, where only a few spare black
hairs grew against his copper skin, and scoffed. "Mine's apparently lost in the owl post."
Remus rolled his eyes and instinctively rubbed the middle of his chest. His summer
spent in the sun had brought with it a growth spurt, new freckles, and the beginnings of a
carpet of dark hair from his sternum to his waistband. He hadn't noticed it much at first, but
his fading summer tan made the contrast greater. It wasn't as much of a surprise and it could
have been-- his father was covered in body hair from head to toe -- but having seen himself
turn into something with actual fur every month, it evoked an uncomfortable feeling.
"I didn't know we were having that sort of party!" Sirius commented, smirking
broadly before his shirt, too, joined the growing pile on the floor. Remus abruptly looked
over his head at James, then at Peter, who reluctantly shed his shirt with a grumble and
another slurp of whiskey straight from the bottle.
Yet another inhale of smoke and dose of alcohol emboldened Remus to look at Sirius,
at his legs with his trousers rolled up to his knees dangling from the window sill, at the
faultless planes of his chest set against the night sky like a damn painting, unearthly and
ethereal. In the recesses of his mind, where he allowed himself to wax disgustingly poetic,
Remus sometimes thought that people of Sirius's blood status, the Sacred 28, had a…
different look about them, like maybe they weren't quite human, but something… more.

It was probably the inbreeding. Definitely the alcohol, encouraging this train of
thought, and Remus started when Sirius caught him staring. Sirius stretched languidly, a flash
of dark hair under his arms as he reached for the stars, the muscles under his fair skin rippling
and settling as he leaned all the way backwards to rest his back on top of the dresser in the
scant space between Remus’s and Peter’s legs. From half-lowered eyelids, he looked at
Remus, who thought he might actually combust into flame. The bastard had to know what he
was doing to him.
 Never one to miss a golden opportunity, James smacked Sirius's belly with an open
palm, and the sharp noise followed by Sirius’s yowl and the sheer teetering panic of ‘oops,
Sirius might actually fall 140 feet to his death, better catch him,’ let Remus come back to
himself. It wasn't Sirius's fault he was so handsome, but it was definitely Remus's problem.
Sirius caught James in a headlock and they struggled together for several seconds before
calling a tie on the grounds of self-preservation.
“Still reckon there are charms to keep us from jumping, though,” Peter remarked
thoughtfully as he looked at the sloping grounds below.

“Won’t catch me jumping,” Sirius said and pushed his bangs off his forehead. “Can’t
afford to ruin this beautiful face, you know?”
“What a cheerful line of conversation for a birthday party, Padfoot,” Remus
admonished and tossed the butt of his cigarette into the pitcher of water next to the dresser.
"So lads, plans for the year?" James proposed in a tactful change of subject, holding
his burning cigarette out to Sirius, who gladly traded it for the butt of his first one. James had
taken a few polite drags and decided it was not worth his inevitable Quidditch career, thanks
all the same. Peter had stopped coughing each time and actually looked calmer than he had
all term.

"Never let Padfoot run alone with me ever again," Remus teased, gesturing to the
angry cut on his eyebrow. It was starting to scab over finally, but it itched something fierce.
"Nearly lost an eye this time."

"Hardly fair, Moony!" Sirius snapped, flicking his ash onto Remus's bare shin. "We
had a great time chasing that kneazle."
Remus snorted and accepted another cigarette from Peter and regarded Sirius
critically as he clamped his lips around the cigarette. Sirius sat up suddenly and Remus leaned
forward, entirely too close, and pressed the end of his cigarette to the lit end of Sirius’s.
Remus inhaled, and the tip caught with a soft glow. Remus stared at Sirius, frozen despite his
boldness. He’d seen it on a television show before, he hadn’t thought it would work.
He longed to close the distance between them, to rip the cigarette from his mouth and
replace it with his lips, his tongue. He wondered what he would taste like. Cigarettes and
firewhiskey, probably, the practical part of his brain supplied. Sirius's eyelashes were
impossibly long, thick curtains to his mercurial eyes that were looking at him like… like
maybe he wanted to, too.
"Show off," Peter grumbled, causing both of them to jump in their skin.
Remus leaned back, and Sirius pulled away with a distant look and plastered a smirk
on his face. "Look, Wormtail, I know it's your birthday and all, but jealousy is not a fetching
color on someone with your complexion."
 Peter rolled his eyes and looked over at James, who was watching Remus with an
unreadable look in his eyes. "I'm going to finally ask MacDonald out, I think," he admitted
to the half-empty bottle of Ogden's.

Sirius and James shouted in delight, shushed each other, and turned their focus on
Peter. "Fantastic plan! We'll all get birds this year-- not Padfoot, obviously, but the three of
us!" James amended hurriedly, washing down his cackle with whiskey. Sirius had informed
them all after Christmas last year that he was well and truly bent, and while they weren’t
totally surprised given his closeness that autumn with Caradoc Dearborn, Remus envied him
his bravery.

His friends didn’t know that he’d fancied blokes since he was just a boy, but now,
with half a bottle of firewhiskey gone between them, shared cigarettes, and the comfortable
ease of being shirtless on a moonlit night with your best friends… he thought it was a bit
silly.

“Right, so Wormtail’s trying it on with MacDonald, Evans is bound to

say yes eventually, Padfoot’s queerer than a three-legged goose, so, Moony -- which girl gets
the honor of your tall, dark, and handsome self?” James asked coyly.
Remus inhaled a lungful of smoke and held it for nearly thirty seconds as he mustered
his courage. Now or never, he supposed, even though never was terribly tempting. “Reckon
I’m a three-legged goose,” he admitted in his exhale. He tried to coax his smoke trail into the
shape of a goose, but it ended up as a wobbly ball before being caught by the wind.
Peter’s cigarette, hardly more than a butt, fell out of his mouth all the way down to
the grass and his eyes widened. “You’re what ?” he squeaked.

After the briefest pause, James placed his big, warm hand on Remus’s knee and gave
him a reassuring squeeze. “A three-legged goose, Wormtail, you heard the man.” He laughed,
suddenly, and looked at Remus full-on. “Poor Mary, chasing after you all last year, ha!”

James’s acceptance brought a rush of relief, cool and balmy over his readily-fraying
nerves, and Remus welcomed his jokes. He knew Peter was just a little surprised, but Sirius
had been oddly quiet since his admission. James passed the bottle to Peter, who, after taking
another gulp, seemed to come to terms with things.
“Poor Mary,” Sirius said at last, his eyes fixed on the stars. “Full of secrets, aren’t
you, Remus?”

He’d called him Remus for the first time in years, and it stung like he’d been slapped.
Remus suddenly felt too hot to smoke anymore and sucked down the dregs of his cigarette
in one large pull. James was looking at Sirius like he wanted to hit him again, but Remus just
felt sick to his stomach. Pain potions, healing magic, cupcakes, and alcohol didn’t quite mix
together well, he supposed. He untangled his limbs and slid off the dresser with a faint groan
at his protesting joints. “Happy birthday, Wormtail,” he ground out between clenched teeth
and slunk back to his bed.

He managed to close his curtains, but his drunkenly-cast silencing charm was shoddy,
and he heard James’s hissed scolding and Sirius’s low, toneless brush-offs. Despite himself,
tears stung his eyes, hot and angry. What possible reason could Sirius have to be upset with
him for being gay? They’d never asked before -- it wasn’t something you just told someone,
either. His mind raced as he glared up at the cover of his four-poster, longing for a hole to
open up and swallow him whole. Anything would be better than this. Maybe some
secrets were worth keeping.
 Chapter 4: Three-Legged Goose

Remus woke the next morning with a headache to rival the striking of Hephaestus's
hammer and a mouth that tasted of stale cigarettes, bile, and firewhiskey. He spared a thought
to curse his past self for not brushing his teeth, and agonizingly peeled himself from sweat-
soaked sheets. He parted his curtains, stood on legs that felt like lead, and immediately honed
in on Sirius’s bed. The empty bottle of Ogden’s was laid on its side there, its cap lost to the
chaos, but his hangings were still sealed shut and for that, Remus was relieved. Memories of
how last night ended were like a fresh wound, raw and aching across his heart, and he was in
no mood for a confrontation.
The dresser was still shoved against the window, though someone had closed the glass
panes, which explained the pools of sweat on Remus’s bed. He ran his tongue over his dry,
cracked lips and groaned. Why did they drink so much? His stomach roiled and he clutched
the wooden post of his bed to remain upright.
James’s tempus charm told him it was just after 6 am, and the sun had just started its
lazy crawl over the horizon. James’s curtains were open and he was sprawled on his stomach
on his bed, sans blankets, drooling a little onto his pillow. Remus spared a grin -- he must
really be beat to not be down at the Pitch already. Peter, of course, was still snoring away on
his own bed and Remus was grateful for the privacy his early morning provided.
With a half-hearted prayer sent to his mother’s God -- he’d take whatever help he
could get, today -- Remus willed his legs to move. Through considerable effort, he made it
to the bathroom and leaned his battered body against the cool marble of the sink. Ordinarily,
he’d be in better shape on the second day after the full moon, but he’d pushed past his limits
yesterday and was paying for his sins today.
The boy looking back at him in the mirror was rail-thin and haggard with sweat-
matted hair and the purply-red shadow of a bruise spread across his shoulder. The cut on his
brow was fully scabbed over and he longed to pick at the itchy thing. Instead, he turned the
sink tap and splashed cold, crisp water on his face. He cupped a little in his shaking hands
and sipped from them, relishing the icy slide down his throat. His stomach lurched again, but
he grasped the edge of the sink and breathed in slowly through his nose to quell the upheaval.
Remus considered, for a moment, making the long walk down to the Prefect
Bathrooms for a nice, hot soak in the baths. It was terribly tempting, but his skin was littered
with grains of sweat salt and his burning muscles assured him it would not be an easy journey.
Resigned to his fate, he undressed carefully, tossing his wrinkled uniform trousers and briefs
into the laundry bin, and stepped under the magically-perfect spray of the shower.
 The water was restorative; the warmth seeped into his throbbing joints and coaxed
them back to pliancy and Remus was content to just lean against the tile and let it wash over
him. After several luxurious minutes spent under the downpour, he worked shampoo into his
curls and filled his nose with the smell of eucalyptus and sandalwood. Through the roar of
the spray, he heard the door to the bathroom open and sighed -- any privacy was short-lived
with three other boys around. He couldn’t pick up on anyone’s scent through the
overwhelming fragrance of his shampoo, but figured it was probably just James.
The shower next to him turned on, cementing Remus’s assumption -- James was
shower-obsessed and was the only person Remus knew who would shower before he got
disgusting on the Quidditch Pitch. He rinsed and ran a soapy flannel across his skin, watching
as suds mixed with a little bit of dried blood funneled down the drain. When the water shut
off, a towel appeared for him, pre-warmed and fluffy, and he dried off vigorously, wrapped
it around his waist, and stepped out of the shower stall.
He felt renewed -- definitely still hungover, and his mouth still tasted vile, but his skin
was clean and the cold drip-drip of his long hair down his back was bracing rather than
irritating. The cuts on his cheek from the day before were nearly gone already, just hair-thin
pink lines over his jaw that would eventually silver, but they were faint enough he didn’t
think they’d matter much, in the long run.
A toothbrush and toothpaste materialized in the glass near the sink and Remus gave
silent thanks to the house-elves -- lifesavers, they were. He set about brushing his teeth and
the mint helped calm his still-uneasy belly. Remus bowed his head to spit and when he looked
back up, Sirius Black stood behind him in a towel, looking just as surprised as he did.
“Thought you were Prongs,” they said in unison, and Remus’s heart clenched when
Sirius looked away from him. The hurt and anger he felt last night welled up like a geyser
and he gripped the toothbrush so hard it snapped in his hand. Fuck.
Sirius seemed intent on studying his reflection, stormy eyes not moving from his
breathtakingly beautiful -- and it hurt to even think that, now -- face. His thick, black hair
was slicked back from his shower and with the closed-off look on his face, Sirius looked
chillingly like his mother. He’d only seen her once in person, and it had not been a pleasant
interaction. Remus dropped the broken toothbrush and rinsed his mouth before he could say
or do anything stupid. When Remus stalked out of the bathroom, Sirius was still staring at
himself in the mirror.
He opened the top drawer of his dresser to get a pair of briefs and paused. Peter had
scrawled a note: ‘Sorry Pads is a prick.’ and stuffed it down the front of his top pair along
with four cigarettes. A spark of fondness flared for his friend and Remus tucked them into
the pocket of his hanging robes. He held up the note and brought his other hand close to it,
screwed up his face, and willed a flame to spark when he snapped his fingers. Predictably,
nothing happened.
 Great.

He tried again, and again, and still nothing. Bitterness replaced the joy the cigarettes
had given him, and his mood turned sour once again as he crumpled the unburned note and
dropped it back into the drawer.
“Breakfast, Moony?” a fully-dressed-but-unshowered James asked, startling Remus
from his brooding. He sat on the edge of their rearranged dresser and gave Remus a knowing
look. Remus sensed he had more to say -- Prongs always did, but was grateful for his brevity
at this early hour.
“Just give me a mo’,” Remus agreed, and dressed quickly. He’d nearly forgotten it
was Friday, but James’s mostly-together uniform clued him in. Great, he’d have to go an
entire day of classes with his brain feeling like mush and his blood humming with bitter anger
over Sirius’s reaction. He tied his tie sloppily, remembering with a sickening twist to his gut
that Sirius used to tie it for him on days like this when his hands shook.
The walk to the Great Hall was quiet -- it was still early for most students to be awake,
and the only sounds were their footsteps and the occasional greeting from a portrait. After
they’d cleared the staircases, James grabbed Remus’s elbow and looked up at him. “About
Padfoot…” he began, and Remus felt a surge of kinship towards his friend.

James really was the best -- he was always looking out for them, always trying to find
a way to improve their lives, and even if he was a bit of a knob and a horrifyingly chipper
morning person, Remus would trust James Potter with his life.

Still, he wasn’t ready to talk about Sirius’s bullshit so early in the morning. His head
pounded, his stomach still threatened to spew firewhiskey and stomach acid everywhere, and
he needed tea and greasy sausages before he could engage in a James Potter therapy session.
“It’s fine,” Remus lied, freed his elbow, and kept walking.
They sat across from each other at the Gryffindor table and Remus piled his plate
high of sausages and bacon and crispy fried eggs. The first two sausages were a risky
maneuver, but a slice of toast helped soak up any remaining ick and by his fourth cup of tea,
Remus felt mostly human again. James’s breakfast consisted of a regimented bowl of oatmeal
-- no sugar, no milk -- , a cup of sliced apples, and three boiled eggs, and he read the sports
section of that morning’s Prophet with his single cup of tea. Remus knew he had something
to say, judging by the way his hazel eyes kept glancing around the page at him, but James
knew him too well. He'd have to wait.

His belly fit to bursting, Remus submitted to James’s insistence that they walk off
their gluttony and followed him outside. It was a cool, crisp dawn, a sure sign of summer’s
end, and they carved a path through the morning dew with their steps. When they approached
the Great Lake, James produced a wad of bacon from his pocket and tossed it into the water.
“Morning, Gertrude,” he bid the tentacle that snatched the bacon. Remus snorted -- Gertrude,
indeed, what a ridiculous name. “So. Padfoot.”

Remus watched the ripples on the surface of the water to avoid looking at his face.
James wouldn’t give up until they were sorted again -- it was part of his insufferable charm,
to maintain the balance between the four of them. Remus sighed and shrugged. “Padfoot,”
he muttered in consent, knowing he’d have to get it over with sooner or later.

James flopped down on a log and Remus obliged his request to sit next to him. “Now,
I don’t know what’s going on in his thick head -- thank Godric for that, I s’pose -- but…” He
trailed off and screwed up his face a little as if searching for the right words. “Well, he’s an
arsehole, but you knew that. I tried talking to him last night but he clammed right up, Moony,
wouldn’t say a fucking thing.”

Remus looked at him levelly -- so far he hadn't said anything particularly newsworthy.
James sighed and continued. “Right. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t do that thing
you do when you just...disappear, okay?”
On instinct, a curl of anger coiled in Remus’s chest and it took several moments of
careful breathing to control it. He knew what James meant. Remus had a long, well-
documented history of cloistering himself whenever things got difficult. It was better to
separate himself from the problem while he worked through it rather than face it head-on.
The last time he had actively addressed a problem of this magnitude, Sirius ended up in a
bloody heap on the bathroom floor. And though that thought was sickeningly tempting at this
moment, Remus knew James was right. “So I’m supposed to, what, talk to him?” Remus
asked, unable to keep the sharp edge from his voice.

James drew idle lines in the sand at their feet with his wand and nodded. “Doesn’t
have to be today. Take your time. Just know Wormy and I have your back.” He looked at
Remus and smiled, his bronze face turned golden in the warm sunrise. His smile turned a bit
cheeky and he laughed. “Honestly, Moony, I’m dead chuffed you’re queer. Reckon I
should’ve believed you when you told me you didn’t fancy Evans, though, hey?”
Remus kicked sand onto his shoes with a soft chuckle. “Too right, ya bell-end.” He
paused in a moment in indecision but plowed ahead, Gryffindor courage firmly in-hand.
“She’s… known for a bit, actually.” He felt guilty for telling Lily Evans before his best
friends but, well… she was his best friend too, wasn’t she? At James’s confused face, he
continued. “It was more like she told me, in no uncertain terms, was I to keep leading Mary
on if I had no interest in girls, after Padfoot’s birthday party last year.”
James laughed, long and loud and full-chested in the way that could always lift
Remus’s spirits. “That girl,” he said breathlessly, and Remus saw his love etched in every
crinkle of his nose, in the joy that radiated from him like a beacon. James loved Lily without
hesitation, without fear, even though he’d been flat-out rejected on several occasions. It was
daunting, to see it so brazen on his face, but also reassuring, in its own way.

James pulled him to his feet and stood on his tiptoes to ruffle Remus’s still-damp hair.
“We should get to class, I guess,” he said with a sigh of resignation. The clock tower struck
a warning bell and they climbed in companionable silence up the hill back to the castle.
Despite James’s pep talk, Remus tensed when Sirius spilled into their morning
Potions lesson. His face like ice, Sirius took his spot with James at the cauldron without so
much as a glance over his shoulder. Lily wrapped her cool fingers around Remus’s trembling
wrist, and her worried face made him cringe. “Long story,” he whispered down at her.
“He didn’t try to fight you again, did he?” she asked a few minutes later while they
cut ingredients, and his hands shook so bad he cut himself with the sharp blade. Frowning at
the pain, he stuck his finger in his mouth to stem the bleeding. “That’s not a ‘no’,” Lily stated
frankly as she pulled his hand back down to the table. With the barest tap of her wand, the
cut stitched itself back together neatly, and Remus grinned in spite of his nerves.
“Thanks,” he murmured, touched by her tender care. “No, he didn’t, we… some
things were said last night at Pete’s party and he’s being a horse’s arse.” She opened her
mouth to push the subject, but Remus just shook his head. Slughorn was making his way
down the rows, and the last thing he wanted was to give him another reason to give him poor
marks. “Later,” Remus promised. Lily squeezed his hand in understanding and they
continued their potion prep.
After Potions, Remus lengthened his strides when he saw Peter leaving his Art class
-- N.E.W.T.-level Potions was not something that appealed to Peter. “Wormtail,” he greeted
and draped his arm across the shorter boy’s shoulders. Peter looked up at him with a small
grin and tried to do the same but his hand barely scraped the top of Remus’s shoulder despite
his stretch. “Sorry about last night.”
Peter’s hand slid from his shoulder and he yanked playfully on Remus’s sandy curls.
“No. No apologizing, Moony.” He watched James and Sirius pass them and frowned.
“ He needs to apologize. He’s being a knob. He can’t be mad just because you’re-- well, a
three-legged goose.”
“I could’ve picked a better time to… reveal my avian nature,” Remus admitted,
struggling to stick with the goose metaphor.

Peter shrugged. “Firewhiskey always makes you chatty,” he teased. “But seriously,
Moony, it’s okay. I’m glad you told us.” He looked up and his round, gentle face was so eager
and genuine, Remus had no choice but to believe him.
“You’re a prince among men, Wormtail,” Remus said, smiling and leaning his entire
weight on his sturdy shoulders.
 “I know. Say, are princes exempt from being leaned on by lanky gits?” Peter staggered
dramatically under Remus’s bulk, and they nearly ran into the wall laughing.

Remus finally straightened up and ruffled his friend’s straw-colored hair

affectionately. “Alright, alright. I’ll see you at lunch,” Remus bid, and caught up with Lily
just in time for Arithmancy.
He felt remarkably better after his chat with Peter and after an entire lesson where he
didn’t have to look at the back of Sirius’s head. Professor Vector praised Remus for his recall
abilities and even awarded him ten points for it, which had Remus going into lunch in a fine
mood.
Remus sat with Lily, Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas, disguising his reasoning for doing
so from a very suspicious James by prattling on about their lesson, to Lily’s amusement.
Marlene leaned against his shoulder and peered up at his face. “So. What secret boy stuff did
you lot get up to last night, then?”
“Remus, was your face like that last night?” Dorcas asked, leaning across the table to
get a better look. Her face was wrought with concern, and Remus’s stomach plummeted.

“Yes! I told you!” Mary hissed, yanking her back down by the back of her sweater.
“Potter tried to get him on a broom again,” Lily lied for him, her features contorted
into a very convincing scowl. She glared down the table at James, who looked shocked and
affronted. He mouthed, 'what've I done wrong now?' and Lily just shook her head.

“Peter said you fell,” Mary said, her big brown eyes wide. Ah, Peter. Prince among
men indeed.
Remus flushed and took a deep drink from the cold juice in his cup to buy a few
precious seconds. “Fell from the broom,” he answered at last, doing his best to look
embarrassed.
Dorcas and Mary had the decency to look like they felt sorry for him, but Marlene
snickered. “What?” she cried, still giggling a little. “I’m sorry, okay? But… you’d think
you’d’ve gotten the hang of it by now.”

He stole a chip from her plate in retribution and flicked her nose. “Easy for you to
say, McKinnon,” Remus grumbled. “My parents named me Remus, not Hermes.”
Marlene rolled her eyes dramatically and elbowed him. “So? Last night!”

“Cover your ears, Lily, please,” Remus urged, and Lily clamped her hands over her
ears dutifully. It wasn’t the most subtle, but they’d long since agreed this was the best way to
keep her Prefect conscious clear around them. “It wasn’t anything exciting, really. We
smoked some fags and drank firewhiskey and talked, that’s all.”
 Lily uncovered her ears at his nod, Dorcas gave Marlene a ‘told you so’ look, and
Marlene sighed dramatically. “Well, that’s a bit of a let-down, innit? Black made it seem like
you were all going to pierce your pricks or something the way he went on -- ‘lads only!’,
‘sacred ritual of manhood’, ‘no dumb birds allowed’,” she parroted, aggressively shoving a
chip into her mouth.
Remus nearly fell off the bench as laughter took hold of him, ripping from his very
core until he was wiping tears from his eyes. “Peter,” he wheezed, his cheeks aching from
his smile, “Pete thought so, too. Poor bugger was scared of Sirius all week.” A piece of him
broke off when he said his name -- he'd been avoiding it all day, and the rawness returned in
spades.
“Well,” Dorcas began and leaned in again. From the corner of his eye, Remus saw
Marlene look appreciatively down Dorcas's shirt. Interesting. “If you need more of the…”
she glanced quickly at Lily, “...the party favors, I know a guy.”

“I don’t want to know, I do not want to know.” Lily groaned and took her plate of
sandwich and chips several seats down to sit next to Alice, to the roaring laughter of Mary,
Marlene, and Dorcas.

Marlene tugged on one of Remus's curls and stole one of his chips this time. "So, Professor
Lupin, care to show us how it's done?" She plucked the cigarettes from his robe pocket and
stuck them in her shirt pocket, eyes gleaming with mischief. "It's payback, for not sticking
up for us! You don't need all four, surely!" she defended, cheering loudly when Remus
relented.

Despite feeling badgered and overly prodded, Remus smiled down at his plate. Girls were so
much easier to please.
 Chapter 5: The Greenhouse

Remus successfully managed to dodge Sirius the entire day, though he had the
sneaking suspicion that Sirius was also avoiding him. Arsehole. After consulting the Map,
Remus ducked through the Portrait Hole and snuck down to Greenhouse Two. He'd expected
to see Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas, but only Marlene's blonde head popped out from behind
the stacked wooden crates when he arrived. "Going stag?" he asked, looking around.
Marlene hopped up on one of the workbenches and nodded. "'Cas said she
already knows how to smoke and Mary's scared of getting detention even though I told her
you're a Prefect." She scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Did you know Peter's
asked her to Hogsmeade so now she feels like she has to be on her best behavior." Marlene
pulled a face and kicked her shoes against the wood.
Remus was surprised -- Peter was really going after things this term, and pride swelled
in his chest for the formerly meek young man. "Didn't think he'd act so quick," he said fondly,
rolling up just the cuffs of his maroon jumper. He didn't need Marlene asking questions if she
saw the rest of his arms, but bony wrists covered in scars were fine. She'd seen them before.
He regretted his choice of outfit, though. The cool morning had turned into a rather humid
night, and the jumper was a bit suffocating.
"Not jealous, are you?" Marlene teased and withdrew two of the four cigarettes she'd
stolen from him at lunch. It was dark in the greenhouse, even with the moon hanging high,
but her blue eyes still caught what little light there was and reflected it back with a
mischievous gleam.

For a brief moment, the weak insecure side of him wondered if Lily had told Marlene
why he'd not asked Mary out yet, but quickly reminded himself that Lily would do no such
thing. She knew just about everything about him and had kept his confidence, loyal to the
end. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, peeling away dead skin with his teeth before
Marlene tilted her head at him. He was taking too long to reply. "Er…" he floundered, baffled
at why this was so hard.

"You're not jealous," Marlene stated slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Because… oh ."
Were all girls this perceptive? Remus thought about crawling into one of the storage crates
and dying there, surely that would be a fair sight better to whatever this was. "Right?" She
asked softly, rolling the cigarettes gently in her fingers.

Remus swallowed and forced himself to look at her. Her normally smirking face --
she was so much like Sirius it was eerie, sometimes -- was soft and gentle, and the laughing
mockery he usually saw in her eyes was gone, replaced by a warmth he hadn't expected. He
nodded, a stiff jerk of his head, and fiddled with a loose thread at the end of his jumper.
 "Welcome to the club. It isn't very fun, it's awkward at family gatherings, and
we don't talk about it," she said gravely, startling Remus. So he had seen correctly at lunch,
after all.

He found his voice. "So...you and Dorcas?"

Marlene scowled. "What did I just say?"

Don't talk about it. Right. "Right. Sorry." This was awkward. He looked at the ground,
curious if he could find a hidey-hole under the slats.
Her laughter surprised him and he whipped his head up so fast, his neck popped.
"Your face," she gasped, kicking her feet gleefully. "You berk. You can talk to me about it,"
she assured, her wide mouth pulled into a genuine smile.
"Bint," he grumbled, snatching one of the cigarettes from her hand. She laughed at
him again and they exchanged a look of understanding between them that had Remus feeling
a little bit of alright. Certainly better than earlier.

"So...Dorcas?" he pressed, eager to know.

She ran her free hand through her hair and pulled it over one shoulder. "I'm working
on it. Fancy the pants off her, for obvious reasons. Circe has nothing on her, I swear." Remus
knew the look in her eye -- he'd seen it before, on his own face, and nodded. "I'll keep you
updated. Show me how to work this thing!" She waved the cigarette at him impatiently, and
Remus grinned.
"It's not hard," he assured and took his wand from his back pocket. He lit her cigarette
for her with a quick incendio and tucked his wand behind his ear. "Gentle inhale -- not too
fast, you'll probably cough. Hold it for a second in your mouth--" he paused at the joke he
could see coming on her face and rolled his eyes "-- wow, McKinnon, you astound
me. Anyway, hold it and exhale nice and slow. Repeat until you get to that gold bit there."
She did about as well as expected -- her first inhale was too big and the harsh smoke
likely stung the back of her throat, but she recovered from her coughing fit easily, and soon
had a basic grasp of the mechanics. "Are these poisoned or something?" she asked shrewdly
when he didn't join her.

Honestly, Remus had been hoping to work on the wandless trick again, but didn't
want to fail spectacularly in front of Marlene. But he only had this one left -- two more if he
could get Marlene the Niffler to give back the ones she'd stolen -- so his opportunities were
slim. "The correct answer is 'Thank you ever so much, Professor Lupin, you've turned me
into a proper delinquent now with these smoking lessons, I am forever in your debt,'" he
retorted, trying his best to maintain his composure.
 "Oi, I'm sixteen, this is proper legal," she insisted with an attempt at a huff, but it
dissolved into a laugh. "But yes, alright, thank you, whatever. Light up! Join me!"

“You cannot laugh,” he warned lowly, and placed the cigarette between his lips. He
stared down his nose at the unlit end and squinted. He imagined the feeling his magic leaving
him when he’d cast the spell with his wand moments ago, how it rushed out of him, through
his hand, and out his wand with a spark. If he could just … “ Incendio, ” he mumbled around
the cigarette and snapped his fingers. A spark flashed and he dropped the cigarette in shock
even as the spark fizzled out. He caught it before it hit the ground and looked at Marlene,
wide-eyed.

“Remus!” Marlene cried gleefully. “Do it again! C’mon, go!” she encouraged,
bouncing up and down where she sat.

He took a deep breath and tried again, this time with the cigarette between his free
hand. “ Incendio, ” he said with conviction, and his heart soared when a flame burst between
his fingers and caught the end of the cigarette. He took a hasty inhale before it went out and
shook his hand vigorously to get rid of the fire. “I did it,” he breathed on his exhale, feeling
a little light-headed.
“I didn’t know you could do wandless magic!” Marlene was beaming at him.
“Doesn’t seem like a very Prefect trick, though,” she drawled.
“I was a Marauder first, you know,” Remus defended, scowling.
“Still going with that name, are you? -- what is it, "Moony", yeah? Ridiculous.” She
blew a stream of smoke in his face, grinning. “Who taught you?”
“No one. Sirius did it last night and I figured it out. Mostly. He can do it without
speaking.” His heart gave a painful, pitiful flop in his chest and he knew it was plain as day
on his face.

Her eyebrows rose and she regarded him with an expression he couldn’t place. “He’s
an arsehole,” Marlene declared, hopped off the workbench, and wrapped her arms around his
torso. She was the same height as Sirius, which he couldn’t help but notice, and she fit rather
nicely against his chest. She squeezed him tight, and Remus hugged her back, enjoying the
smell of vanilla that wafted up from her hair.

From over her shoulder, he thought he saw the dark shape of a dog beyond the thick
glass, but when he blinked, it was gone.
Marlene released him and jumped back onto the workbench with her legs crossed in
front of her. “So, how are we punishing him? We could dye his hair -- I think he’d look rather
fit as a blonde, don’t you?” she proposed with a skilled flick of her own golden hair.
 Remus laughed quietly despite the rawness in his chest. “I’ll think on it and get back
to you, why don’t--”

Someone bumped into the tool storage outside the greenhouse and swore -- someone
female. “Fuck! Lils is coming, sorry, Remus, I cannot get another detention from her, I swear
to Godric she’s out to get me!” Marlene hissed, and passed him her half-gone cigarette as she
slid down. “Here, the evidence,” she whispered conspiratorially and shoved the other two
into his pocket. With a brief kiss to his cheek, Marlene ducked out the side door and
disappeared into the night.

“Remus John Lupin, is that a cigarette?” Lily was at the door, and closed it quickly
behind her. She looked from the two smoking cigarettes in his possession and her eyes
widened. “ Two cigarettes, Remus, really ?”

Remus cringed but didn’t bother to hide the evidence. Instead, he took a drag from
his cigarette and sent a wobbly ‘L-I-L-Y’ into the air in the smoke. Her eyes widened further
and she thumped him in the arm as she drew near. “Neat trick aside-- what are you doing
here?”
“Ow,” he whimpered around the filter, rubbing the actually-quite-tender spot she’d
struck. “How did you find me?”

It could’ve been a trick of the poor lighting, but Remus would bet money he didn’t
have that Lily actually blushed. “Well…” she trailed off, twirling the end of her ponytail
nervously around her finger. “Okay, I’ll say it. I was looking for you and somehow Potter
knew where you were, and don’t think you can just sneak that by me-- since when do you
smoke?” She snatched Marlene’s abandoned cigarette from his fingers and squinted at the
filter. “Is that lipstick ?” Lily produced a ball of light in her hand and Remus groaned --
of course Lily could do a wandless, wordless lumos. Bloody typical. “This is Marlene’s
shade-- she was here. Remus, you’re a Prefect!”
Remus wiped the lipstick he was sure was on his cheek hurriedly but waited until Lily
finished her tirade to speak. “You finished?” Lily frowned. “As of yesterday, yes, and I can
neither confirm nor deny the presence, or lack thereof, of Marlene Jane McKinnon.” He
ticked off each answer with his fingers and withstood another withering glare before Lily
gave up her attack.
“Pott-- James wanted to know if you were okay. You never did tell me what
happened, Remus,” Lily finished quietly. There was a note of pain in her voice and Remus’s
gut gave a guilty twist.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured and finished his cigarette with a long drag. He ground the
butt against the iron on a crate and tucked it into his pocket to dispose of discretely. He owed
her the truth. “We got proper drunk last night. I told them I’m queer. James and Peter were
great, actually,” he added hastily, cutting Lily off before she could speak, “but Sirius…” He
felt like such a girl, which he knew was probably unfair to girls, if he was being honest. But
his chest grew tight and it was hard to breathe, thinking about Sirius’s face last night and the
cold mask he wore that morning.

Lily reached out and took his hand, intertwining her pale fingers with his scarred tan
ones. Her palm was soft, warm, and completely dwarfed by the size of his, but the strength
with which she clung to him defied her diminutive size. She didn’t speak, but kept the
pressure on his hand until he felt ready to continue. “He was really upset, completely shut
me out. Shut James out. I don’t understand, I thought… of everyone, he’d be okay with it.
Fuck.” Remus shut his eyes tight and squeezed her hand.

“Remus,” she whispered, reaching up to cup the side of his face with her free hand.
“I love him, Lily, and he fucking hates me.” There. It was out.

His declaration seemed to echo in his mind, mocking him. It was reckless,
stupid, pointless to have fallen in love with Sirius Black. He was brash, irresponsible, moody,
and unpredictable. He was broken and bitter and angry at the world. He was self-absorbed
and didn’t think things through. He was a thorn in his side, always waking him up, a pest. He
was a cruel streak a mile wide, taunting smirks and glinting silver eyes.

He was his shoulder to literally cry on. He was calm words like a stream, soothing
his frayed nerves. He was a Greek statue given breath and come to life, handsome despite the
cracks in his making. He was silken hair Remus braided in the Common Room, an attentive
ear to the novels he read aloud. He was jokes and double entendres, a source of desperately-
needed chaos to Remus’s regimented world. He was a firm hug before a full moon. He was
a heartbeat that lulled him to sleep when the nightmares came. He was everything.

“Fucking hell, I love Sirius Black,” Remus wheezed, and swayed. Lily helped him to
the ground and even put Marlene’s cigarette in his mouth. She lit it with her wand and
watched in silence as it settled his turmoil.

“You need to talk to him, Remus,” she said, tucking herself against his side. Remus
draped his arm over her shoulder and she leaned into the embrace willingly. “I don’t think he
hates you.”
The thought of talking to Sirius now, knowing what he knew, was panic-inducing.
“You didn’t see his face.”

“No, I didn’t,” she conceded, and rubbed gentle circles along his back. “But I see how
he looks at you. Do you think after… after everything, he’d hate you for this ?” They both
knew what ‘everything’ was -- the scars she traced with her fingertips, the ones she had never
seen.

Remus didn’t know what to say, so he sat in silence, submitting to her tender touch.
She smoothed the tension from his shoulders with the pass of her hand and carefully
untangled the curls at his collar to rake her fingernails over his scalp. James witnessed this
interaction, once, in their corner of the library they reserved for serious studying, and had
been angry with Remus for a week. But it didn’t mean anything like that -- just Lily giving
her touch-starved friend the affection he’d needed his whole life.
He crushed the lipstick-stained cigarette butt into the ground and sighed. “You’re not
going to give me detention, are you?” he asked, meeting emerald eyes with gold.

“I really ought to -- you’ve admitted to drinking and smoking on school

grounds and I’ve caught you out of bed after hours, but… I’m out of bed, too.” Lily shrugged
and helped him to his feet. “I’ll tell Potter you’re alright so he doesn’t send all of Gryffindor
on a search party.”
“Thanks, Lily… for everything.” He enveloped her in a hug and breathed in her scent
-- rosehips and, now, cigarette smoke. “I’m just gonna... get some fresh air, maybe.”
Lily gave him a final squeeze, took the cigarette butts from his pocket with a soft tut,
and walked with him outside. “I’ll be up for a bit, if you need me. I’m helping Mary with her
Potions homework, should take until at least two.”

Remus watched her walk up the hill to the castle and turned off towards the Quidditch
Pitch. The idea of hiding in the stands was incredibly tempting -- it was dark, out of sight,
and he could transfigure his jumper into a pillow if he got tired. James’s urging to
not disappear echoed in his head and he frowned. Fine. He walked a winding path, just
following his feet, and when he looked up, he was faced with the Whomping Willow.

“Oh good. Get in.” James’s voice startled him and Remus nearly shouted in shock.
He heard him but couldn’t see or smell him, his nose polluted with the cigarette smoke.
Wormtail popped out of seemingly thin air and pressed the knot on the Willow before
disappearing again. “Get. Go.” James was insistent, and Remus stepped through into the
pathway to the Shack, rolling his eyes.

Once the door closed behind them, James pulled his Invisibility Cloak to reveal
himself and, to Remus’s true and utter dismay -- why did his stomach flop like that? --
Padfoot. “Right. Now,” James began, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I know I said
it didn’t have to be today, but it’s after midnight and I’ve had about all of this I can take. So!”
He gestured at Padfoot, who regarded him with clear disdain, his ears back. “This isn’t
a discussion. You’re going.” He kicked at his paws and Padfoot growled before hopping into
a beaten-up armchair on the opposite side of the room. James scoffed. “You two,” he said,
fixing Remus with a hard look. “Are going to talk. Human speech, Padfoot. Human
emotions. I’ll be back for you -- or your bodies -- in two hours.” With that, James disappeared
under the Cloak again and left the Shack.
Remus regarded the dog on the chair with a frown, hating the rapidity of his pulse
and the thudding of his heartbeat. It was deafening, he couldn’t even hear Padfoot’s over the
din. Sirius made no show of shifting back into human form, and Remus felt like shaking him.
It wasn’t fair for Sirius to just get to choose when to be a dog, to just shut himself out of a
conversation he didn’t want to have.

His hands shook as anger bubbled, all of the emotions of the past twenty-four hours
threatening to boil over. “Fuck you,” he spat at the dog. “I’m not fucking doing this.” Remus
spun on his heel and stalked to the door -- James had locked it, the utter prick. He slammed
his fist against the heavy, scarred wood and snarled, a sound from deep in his belly that
usually only surfaced before the full moon.

“You have one hour and fifty-eight minutes left, Remus!” James shouted from the
other side of the door. Fuck.
Remus returned to the room of battered, broken furniture, and looked at the… empty
chair. He whirled, trying to hear literally anything aside from his own pulse, to smell
something other than the cloying cigarettes, and felt suddenly, terribly, human for the lack of
it all. Long fingers wrapped around his bony wrist and pulled, and he stumbled, disoriented
and nose-blind, against the wall.
His skull hit with a crack and he grimaced at the pain, which bloomed constellations
behind his eyes. When the darkness and stars cleared from his vision, he found it filled with
Sirius, in human form. Sirius’s face was wan, drawn, and he’d smudged his eyeliner badly.
His hair was in a messy bun, not tied by his wand for once, which was in his other hand, and
he was staring at Remus like… well, Remus didn’t know what.
“Let go of me, Sirius,” Remus growled, wrenching his hand free with a little more
effort than necessary. Quick as a whip, Sirius latched on again and pushed him against the
wall. The splintered wood bit into his bony spine uncomfortably and he squirmed. His anger
lapped, hot and heady, at his throat and a streak of viciousness overcame him. “You remember
how this went last time, don’t you?” Remus snapped, even though it sickened him to think
of their last physical confrontation.
Sirius threw his wand down and pressed his thumb hard into the curve of Remus’s
jaw, angling his face down with his other fingers that wrapped around the back of his neck,
tangling into his hair. “You idiot,” Sirius breathed, and kissed him.
 Chapter 6: Confessions

Warmth like a flower unfurling for the first time after a frozen winter spread through
him. It felt like a pain potion, easing the raw ache in his chest and replacing it with velveteen
serenity.

Remus’s body responded in the apparent absence of his good sense. His hands flew
to Sirius’s neck and he tugged on the bun in his hair until it fell in a cascade of leather-and-
tobacco-scented ebony waves. Sirius’s lips, though smooth and perfect, were far from gentle
in the crush against Remus’s mouth.

Remus was consumed by it -- lost to the inferno of Sirius’s kiss, his tongue demanding
entrance as his teeth nipped at the chapped flesh of Remus’s bottom lip, insistent, impatient.
Sirius breathed something that felt like 'Moony' into Remus's open mouth and clung tighter
to his neck. He felt his knees turn to water as Sirius's tongue grazed his, twisting and
exploring every inch of his mouth in frantic, kinetic need.

Remus had been kissed before. Once, by Lily, in third year -- it had been timid, and
shy, and nothing more than a peck. A simple press of her lips on his that felt like a question,
and one he’d answered incorrectly. In fourth year, James had gotten so drunk on the spiked
punch at a Quidditch Victory celebration that he’d macked on just about everyone who let
him within arm’s reach. It was sloppy, wet, and tasted like artificial cherry when James
shoved his tongue down his throat. It hadn’t meant anything and James remembered nothing
from that night after passing out on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Sirius made a faint moaning sound, one Remus hoped he’d never forget, and wedged
his well-muscled thigh between Remus’s legs. The pressure against his treacherously
burgeoning groin startled Remus into awareness, and sense slowly filtered through the heavy
fog in his mind.

‘You’re upset with him,’ the rational part of his mind reminded, even as Remus pulled
Sirius closer. He’d never been kissed quite like this before like it was his last day on earth
and kissing him was the only thing keeping the clock from ticking down. ‘He’s been terrible
to you,’ the sensible voice insisted, rapping on the door to the forefront of Remus’s mind.
Sirius relaxed the vice on his wrist and ran his hand slowly up Remus’s arm until his fingers
wrapped around his bicep. It shouldn’t have felt so bloody divine, but his touch felt like water
to a man lost in the desert -- sweet, a relief, a -- a trick. A mirage.

Remus pulled his hands from Sirius’s hair and put them on his chest, flat-palmed,
and shoved. The fingers on his arm bruised his skin but slipped away as Sirius stumbled
backward, his hair a mess, his pupils huge, and his lips shiny with spit. He was so heart-
stoppingly beautiful, Remus could scream. Sirius looked confused. The part of Remus who
would do anything to make him happy screamed at him to just ignore his sensibilities, to run
back into his arms and lose himself in them like he’d been about to a moment ago.

But Remus’s anger had the helm, and his throat was tight with it. “You…” he started,
annoyed by the heaving of his chest. “You don’t just get to kiss me like… like everything’s
okay!” His voice steadily grew in volume until he was shouting, glaring at Sirius with hard,
hot fury.

He felt, more than he saw, Sirius’s magic pulse in the air and grabbed him by the front
of his shirt. His bangs were starting to turn into triangular dog ears, and Remus was outraged.
“Absolutely not. You do not get to hide behind Padfoot right now, Sirius!” he spat, tightening
the grip on his shirt. He could tell Sirius still wanted to shift -- his eyes were perhaps a little
more silvery now and there was dark hair on his arms that resembled fur. Remus saw the
curtain start to rise in those eyes as Sirius started to withdraw into himself, so he released
him with a growl. Remus strode to the other side of the room in long, stalking steps, resisting
the urge to pace back and forth like he did before a Transformation.

To his surprise, Sirius remained human and watched him like one would watch a
caged animal. His hair flattened, his eyes returned to their normal gray, and his arms were
practically hairless once again. Remus stayed quiet -- he wasn’t going to drive this
conversation only to leave pockets of space Sirius could jump into and say all the right things.
If Sirius wanted… whatever it was he wanted, he could do the hard work for once.

“You kissed me back.” Sirius’s voice was hoarse, it crackled on the last word, and he
cleared his throat nervously. He was probably halfway to a dog's voice box, Remus thought
bitterly, by the now-familiar rumble in his timbre. He didn’t meet Remus’s gaze, but kept his
eyes on Remus’s hands, his shoulders, his legs, no doubt seeing the tremor in them.

Incredulity dawned in Remus’s mind, surging past the hurt, and he laughed in a sharp,
ugly sound he didn’t know he could make. He tried to find the words as he stared, open-
mouthed, at Sirius. “What is wrong with you?”
The way Sirius flinched under the force of his words opened a new line of pain on
Remus’s heart. A memory of Sirius's letter a week before he ran away from home resurfaced
from Remus's mind like a brand.
Moonrise in the Skies,
I quite like that one, don't you? Rhymes a bit. I’m keeping it. Ooh,
I AM clever!
Mother actually asked what was wrong with me, at dinner. In front of
everyone -- Bellatrix and her spooky fiance, Narcissa and that revolting Lucius Lucy Malfoy
-- she's dyed her hair blonde, you know, it's not a great look --, and Reg.
 I thought she meant why hadn't I had any of the obscenely expensive elfwine
Malfoy brought -- seriously, who brings elfwine to a summer dinner party? -- and I was just
about to tell her I didn't fancy being poisoned, but then she just… looked at me.

I know you don't know the look. Your mum's a dream, Moony. Give her my
love, would you? But… it was like she was daring me to say it out loud.
I wanted to tell her, "Oi I'm Sirius Black, I am, and I love to suck big cocks,
and muggleborn taste the best!!" but I guess I'm not that brave. Or stupid. No, okay, I can
hear you now. I am that stupid. But I didn't.
Father repeated her question "What is wrong with you, boy?" and I just
went off… told them I didn't want to be in their cult, my best friend is a half-blood and I
wasn't going to marry one of my cousins just to make more creepy gray-eyed pureblood
babies for them to brainwash.
Think I'll have to leave soon. Don't want to be here anymore. Maybe Reg
will come with me. I don't want to leave him. Prongs said I can kip with him. Would've asked
you, but… I know how your dad gets every month. I'd prefer to be a beach bum with you,
Moonscicle, but needs must, and all that.

Okay, this letter is very long and I think Reg's owl is going to take one of
my fingers as payment for the bulk. Reckon I can survive without my pinky…
No, I need those to make that weird Muggle promise you do with Evans.
Hm. I'll sacrifice a ring finger.

Until next time.

Yrs, 9-toed Padfoot

P.S. You seem the right person to ask… do dogs have 20 toes or just 10?

P.P.S. Wait, they don't have thumbs. I need you to count them for me when
I see you again. This is Very Important.

Remus crumpled a little. He'd thrown Walburga’s miserable words in his face. Even
if he hadn’t meant to, he shouldn’t have said it. Some friend he was.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Moony?” Oh, so he was actually Moony again, that was
good, he supposed. Sirius looked at his face for the briefest moment before he continued to
stare a hole into the rolled-up cuffs of Remus’s maroon jumper. His voice sounded smaller,
devoid of his usual bravado and dramatic flair and another piece of Remus broke.
 He kept his distance, kept his body turned away from Sirius, afraid that if he faced
him head-on, he’d be drawn in like a magnet or, more appropriately, a black hole. “I did tell
you,” Remus said pointedly. “Last night.”

Sirius knit his brows together and a crease formed between them as he shook his head.
“No, I mean… before.” Remus stilled -- what was he going on about? There was no ‘before'.
If Sirius expected Remus to come out the way he had when he had -- casually and with an
air of indifference while Remus folded his socks for him after the Christmas holidays, he was
barking mad. Sirius just didn’t get to decide when Remus told their brothers he was gay.

As if sensing Remus’s temper was at the flash-point again, Sirius sighed and raked
his hand through his hair. “First day of term-- with your stupid shrinking shirt and your pants
on my face? This summer on the beach, just the two of us? Last May when I got detention
from Flitwick -- when I told you my favorite color was gold? Hell, my birthday party last
year?!” His voice pitched up and shook and he looked, finally, at Remus, his eyes overbright
and desperate.

Oh.
Sirius swallowed, took a ragged breath, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his
jacket. “I’ve been after you for ages, Moony. I… I thought you knew .”

Oh.
It wasn’t how Remus dreamed this would go. No, he’d imagined, in his hopeless way,
that it would be something much more... romantic. It was definitely a byproduct of one too
many inspirational romance novels of his mother’s read by wandlight, pink soft-covers that
told of pure, true love that only got to the good stuff after a church wedding and a white dress,
however historically inaccurate that was. He knew they were rubbish, but sometimes he
fancied himself in place of the heroine in the arms of the shirtless men with long, flowing
dark hair on the cover art.
He'd thought there would be a walk through Hogsmeade in the snow and he’d bundle
Sirius up in his cloak because of course Sirius forgot his and there, in the closeness, Remus
would tell him how mad he was for him. Or maybe Sirius would jump off his broom and rush
him on the Pitch after a Quidditch victory, sweep him up in his arms, and kiss him -- sweaty
and grimy and smelling like exhausted man -- before professing his love.
‘A man plans, and God laughs,’ his mother liked to say. She employed the idiom at
key frustrations in his life, the devout Catholic that she was, and tittered at his annoyance
before dragging him into Mass. Remus wasn't religious by a long stretch, but he could
appreciate the comfort it brought his mother. Whatever she could get, he would support. She
deserved some peace.
 “So you thought I was, what, just...ignoring you?” Remus asked, mustering up
enough power in his voice to push beyond the fluttering of his heart.

Sirius flushed, red splashing his aristocratic face, and looked away again, this time at
the creaking floorboards at his feet. “Something like that.”
"Something like that?" Remus repeated. This was no time to draw conclusions.

"Thought maybe... you were just playing along, maybe, to make me more
comfortable. Wormtail was a bit of a wankstain after, if you recall." His expression turned
sour. The way Remus remembered it, Peter had fairly exploded with jubilation at the news
of Sirius’s queerness, proclaiming that he finally had a chance with Sirius out of the picture.
Hardly a 'wankstain', in Remus's opinion, but he knew Sirius's pride must've taken a bruising.
"Thought maybe you were just being yourself, finally, and I was reading into it because every
time I see you I want to hold your hand. And snog you a bit, but...mostly hold your hand."
Sirius was properly scarlet now and trembling, too, shivering in his creaking leather
jacket. Remus stared at him in wonder, feeling all the rage and frustrating drip off like spring
thaw.

"Um…" Remus uttered intelligently, wordsmith that he was. What was he supposed
to say ? Lines from those absurd books sprung to mind but he banished them quickly before
his stupid mouth actually said them. “I wasn’t… any of that, I think. When have I ever gone
along with one of your ridiculous schemes just to appease you?” He drew a wiggly line in
the thick dust on the floor, and grinned up at Sirius through his curls.

“Never,” Sirius responded immediately, his tone petulant but good-humored. He

sucked in a sharp inhale of breath and took a step closer towards Remus. Evidently satisfied
that Remus wasn’t going to jinx him or run away, he closed the distance and leaned against
the wall so that they faced each other. “So, I guess… okay, I’ll say it properly: Moony,
I’m besotted. Captivated. Enamored. Hopelessly mad about you. If you don’t feel the same…
well I’ll be crushed, I won’t lie.”

Heart hammering, Remus reached out and looped his pinky finger around Sirius’s,
letting their joined hands hang between them. Sirius’s face lit up and his smile -- Merlin, had
Remus missed it -- illuminated the doldrums looming in Remus’s chest. “Smoke?” Remus
asked, pulling the last two cigarettes from his pocket. It only seemed appropriate.
Sirius looked at him with unbridled glee and nodded. “You’re a terrible Prefect,
Moony,” he teased even as he squeezed the filter between his mouth with his free hand.
Remus laughed and, remembering he’d mostly gotten the trick to work, batted
Sirius’s hand out of the way. “Let me,” he insisted, desperately hoping it would go off. He
pictured it again -- a flash of flame, ignition, the feeling he got when he sat around the
fireplace watching the tongues of flame lick at the wood. Remus imagined he held his wand
and not two poised fingers, and when he snapped, he mouthed the incantation instead of
speaking it aloud. A flickering, urgent flame appeared between his index finger and thumb
and he smiled.

Sirius leaned into the fire to light the cigarette in his mouth, exhaling smoke with an
appreciative and impressed hum.
Remus lit up quickly and shrugged. “Wasn’t so hard,” he lied.

“Nah, not for you, Moony. Terrible Prefect, but the brightest of us. And I should know,
being Sirius and all.”
He snorted. “And here I thought you’d used up all of your name puns in second year,”
Remus wondered, shaking his head. “C’mon.” Still connected by their pinkies, he guided
them across the room to sit on the floor. There was only one armchair and the thought of
being alone with Sirius on a bed right now was not doing anything good for Remus’s poor,
abused heart.
Sirius didn’t complain and stretched his legs out without fuss across the dusty wood.
Remus stretched out, too, and heard Sirius tut. “Fucking giant. Six feet indeed, St. Mungo
help us.”
“Jealous.”

“Madly.”
They smoked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the quietly burning tobacco and
their inhales and exhales their only audible companions. Sirius made no move to unlink their
pinkies, even though it was a bit uncomfortable, and Remus found he didn’t want to, either.
He felt light, the weight that had preyed on him all day finally lifted.

Remus tapped Sirius’s other fingers with his to get his attention and jerked his head
towards the air in front of him just as he exhaled smoke that spelled “Eighteen”.
“Eighteen what ?” Sirius asked, tilting his head in a puzzled expression so Padfoot-
like that Remus snickered.
“Eighteen toes on a dog. Ten in front, eight in the back.”
“Hmm. Well, while I appreciate the answer to my Most Burning Question of the
Summer, Mister Moony, I’d rather hoped it was for something else.” He puffed and obviously
tried to make words out of his smoke trail, but a single letter, ‘K’ hovered before collapsing
on itself. “Bloody hell that’s hard,” he grumbled before rolling over and seating himself in
a very surprised Remus’s lap, his knees on either side of Remus’s hips.
Their chests touched and Remus swallowed thickly. “Um, hello…” Unable to help
himself, he bent his knees a little so that they braced Sirius on either side. They fit together
wonderfully well, and the weight of Sirius in his lap was solid, comfortable, real. Not a
mirage. Not a trick. “What were you trying to spell?”

Sirius leaned in and brushed his lips against Remus’s ear. The hairs on his arms and
the back of his neck stood on end and a shiver shot straight down his spine. His hair tickled
his cheek and Remus felt Sirius’s pulse through the front of his shirt, rapid and heavy. “K-I-
S-S,” Sirius breathed, and sat back to take Remus’s cigarette out of his mouth. “Kiss me,
Moony?” he asked softly, as if afraid Remus might say no.

Remus wet his bottom lip with a flash of his tongue and watched Sirius mirror him.
He groped blindly next to him for his wand, which had fallen out of his back pocket when he
sat down, and hastily transfigured a bit of rubble into the world’s ugliest ashtray. Remus
grabbed the cigarettes and sat them in the dish before nodding. Sirius didn’t move until
Remus had wrapped his arms around his narrow waist and pulled him flush, not until
Remus’s mouth was on his in a soft, tender embrace. Only when Remus’s tongue traced the
seam of his lips did Sirius kiss him back, his tongue gentle but demanding as Sirius cupped
his face in his hands like he’d done a hundred times before, but instead of calming, pacifying
words being whispered into his cheek, he held Remus to him like a lifeline.
Sirius, unsurprisingly, tasted like cigarettes, and Remus quickly realized he was
growing addicted to the feeling -- perhaps not smoking, but this, Sirius on top of him, drawing
out small, gasping noises from Remus that had his head swimming. Dizzily, he broke away
only enough to breathe properly and ask, “How much longer do we have before Prongs comes
back, d’you reckon?” Their noses bumped, Remus’s long, many-times-broken monstrosity
against Sirius’s Greecian masterpiece, and they laughed together, breathy and flushed.
“Well it was eighteen minutes,” Sirius answered, filling in a blank Remus had long
forgotten about. He reached back and yanked one of Remus’s shoes from his feet, ignored
his half-hearted cry of protest, and chucked it at the wooden door with a dull bang.
“For the love of the Founders, Remus, suffer the fool for ten more minutes!” James’s
voice, tired and irritable, cried after a moment of scuffling.
Remus smirked and pulled Sirius in for another soul-searing kiss. He could do this
forever, he imagined, finally understanding the tangled-limb knots of couples he’d given
detention to all last year.
Ten minutes later, though Remus and Sirius had lost all track of time, the door banged
open and they flew apart. Remus hurriedly handed Sirius his cigarette back and hoped James
didn’t notice their ruffled hair and pink cheeks. James came into the room with his wand
raised, clearly expecting the worst, and made a noise of disbelief when he saw them sitting
side-by-side, smoking.
“Wha-- oi! How long have you two been living it up in here like this?” he demanded,
brandishing his wand threateningly.
“Couldn’t very well smoke in the dorm two nights in a row, now could we, Prongsie?” Sirius
cackled, eyes gleaming.

“Too right, Prongs. I’m a Prefect, you know,” Moony added, trying not to be so
bloody obvious about how drunk Sirius’s smile made him feel.
James huffed and lowered his wand. “Should’ve kept you two apart, don’t know what
I was thinking, having you make up. Quietest fucking day I’ve had since I met you pricks,”
he muttered bitterly. Without acknowledging it verbally beyond the spell, he re-Transfigured
Remus’s hideous ashtray into something quietly elegant. Sirius and Remus smirked at each
other knowingly through the smoky haze -- James hated shoddy work.
“Yes, right, well,” Sirius grunted as he hopped to his feet. “Moony and I’ve kissed
and made up and all that, I’ve apologized for being a -- what was it? -- ah, yes, horse’s arse -
- and we’re right as rain, aren’t we, Moonbeam?”
Remus could swat him -- kissed and made up indeed. James didn’t pick up on Sirius’s
actual meaning, though, and Remus nodded. “Right. Back to a -- what did you call it? -- a ‘2’
on the ‘Moony’s Gonna Kill Me’ Scale.”

“Is it ever at a zero?” James asked as they slipped through the Willow’s branches,
huddled together awkwardly under the cloak. James, holder of the Map, led the way with
Remus and Sirius flanking him from behind. Remus was hunched over to accommodate their
significant height difference and his spine ached terribly from sitting on a hard floor.

Remus thought about Sirius in his lap, his lips, his tongue, his smile, his hands in his
hair, the smell of his leather jacket and cigarettes. “Sometimes,” he answered, and linked his
pinky with Sirius’s behind James’s back.
 Frozen Morning in Waning Gibbous

The Shrieking Shack was frigid. Sirius could see his breath in faint puffs around him
and was shocked he was even warm enough internally to make the difference. December in
Scotland really was shit. Fuck everyone who found the winter to be “romantic” and
“peaceful” and “quiet”. Merlin. What a load of cock. He'd take blazing hot summers over
this crap any day.
He sat on a tattered puce armchair next to an equally tattered not-puce bed, looking
at his best fri-- no, his boyfriend, he mentally corrected himself with a satisfied grin, feeling
for a moment just the tiniest bit warmer. Remus was his boyfriend and he was sleeping
soundly despite the freezing temperatures. Any other day of the month and Sirius would
begrudge him for his success at sleeping, but this morning was Sacred. No one fucked with
Moony on the Mornings After, Sacred Vow.
He supposed it was a little weird to be watching him sleep, but well...okay it was just
weird. And also not the first time. At least here, in the icy enclosure known as Sirius’s New
Circle of Hell, it was just the two of them, or it would be until the nurse came to check on
her Most Trying Patient.

Sirius supposed he could just enchant himself warm. A little wave of his wand, a little
Latin, and poof!, he’d be as toasty as a roasted marshmallow, but a) technically students were
not allowed to perform magic outside of classrooms, and Sirius was, of course, a Rule
Follower and wouldn’t dream of breaking such an important rule, and b) he was absolutely
knackered. After all, he’d been running alongside a goddamn werewolf all night after doing
some very complicated magic to turn himself into a dog. He wasn’t even sure he could muster
a lumos at this point.
Remus made a noise in his sleep, small and resembling a whimper, and Sirius wanted
nothing more than to crawl in bed behind him, take him in his arms, and kiss the bad dreams
away. But they hadn’t gotten to that just yet. They’d done a lot of snogging and some frantic
“oh-shit-yes-please” over-the-clothes frottage in the months since they’d been Official, but
Sirius hadn’t found himself in Remus’s Actual Bed since they were first years.
Back then, Remus’s nightmares would wake him up -- James and Peter could literally
sleep through a herd of exploding Erumpents -- and Sirius would just invite himself to sleep
next to him, his own small warm body bringing enough comfort to Remus’s that the
nightmares went away. It worked with Regulus, too, back when they were still brothers.

At eleven, Sirius had no clue why the boy was haunted so; it was hard to think of a
time when he didn’t know everything about his Moony, his Favorite Werewolf -- he was
workshopping pet names, terms of endearment, totally normal boyfriend behavior.
 But they weren’t eleven anymore and crawling into a man’s bed had a lot of other
Implications that could very well spook the injured werewolf and Sirius didn’t want to make
him any more uncomfortable than he already was.

Another noise, a furrow of his brow, a growl. Twitching. Distress on his face. Bony
fingers clenching the blankets like a lifeline.
Sirius sighed, rubbing his frozen face with his stupid frozen hands. Fuck it. He toed
off his shoes -- he wasn’t an animal -- and oh-so-quietly padded over -- Padfoot, har har, he
joked to himself -- to the bed. Looking down at this angle, Remus looked so small.
Nevermind that the Skinniest Werewolf was some four inches taller than Sirius -- who had
blessedly outgrown Prongs in the fall, the Second of October, to be exact, but was still only
5’8” to Remus’s six feet and that would Just Not Do. He was researching growth potions.--
he just looked fragile.

His body was covered in an array of new scrapes and bruises, his bottom lip was split
wide open and he was bleeding in a number of places, albeit sluggishly. Frozen, probably,
like my ass, Sirius mused, but nothing was overly concerning based on what Sirius had
witnessed before. It had been a relatively uneventful Full Moon, the three animagi sprinting
alongside their wolf friend, doing whatever it wanted to do, per usual. Peter clung James’s
antlers for dear life -- Deer life, he corrected himself -- when they plunged into the
fucking lake after a fucking goose, and it had been so Merlin-awful-kill-me-now cold that
Sirius, in his Endless Benevolence, insisted the other two go back to the dorm and sleep the
minute the moon set.
That was about an hour ago. The nights in Scotland winters were long and terrible.
Summer full moons didn’t seem nearly as bad, the one or two they usually got before term
ended, anyway. Remus’s parents obviously didn’t - and couldn’t - know that the three
teenagers were unlicensed animagi, so there was no way Mr. Lupin was going to allow them
over within a week of the full moon. Sirius shuddered to think of how his Delicate Flower
managed the summer moons on his own. Striking “Delicate Flower” from the list, he decided
inwardly.
He considered, for a moment, turning into Padfoot and curling up at Remus’s feet,
but wasn’t totally convinced he could pull it off right now and was totally convinced he was
just being a little chicken shit and trying to find an excuse to not be a brave Gryffindor and
crawl into bed with his boyfriend.
Steeling his resolve, because Sirius Black was not Afraid of Anything, he lowered the
blankets from around Remus’s neck and squashed the sudden urge to try to heal all of the
little injuries he saw. Healing spells were not (yet) on his List of Things He Was the Best At
and there was that whole ‘no magic left to blow out a bloody candle’ thing. And the rules
thing. That, too. Using his superhuman abilities -- his words, of course --, Sirius soundlessly
crawled in behind Remus and tucked his body against the bony frame.
 It was unsettling just how much heat radiated off of Remus. Sirius had noticed, over
the years, that Remus was always warmer than the rest of them and had never really
complained about being cold. Sirius used to think it was because the Handsomest Werewolf
used some loophole about being a Prefect to enchant himself warm during the balls-fucking-
cold winters, or maybe -- and more likely -- he just was acclimated to a colder winter since
he was raised on the coast, tucked up nice and chilly on the Channel. But now...now he
thought it was some werewolf bullshit and resolved to make use of his tawny space heater a
little more often.
He resisted the Oh-So-Strong Urge to bury his nose into the Werewolf Inferno’s neck,
where it was assuredly the warmest, and settled for gingerly draping his arm across his waist.
Almost immediately, Remus stilled in his sleep and stopped his gut-wrenching noises. Sirius
felt his tense body relax and leaned into him a little. His heart fluttered, his stomach flopped,
and he felt altogether like a third-year girl whose crush finally looked at him in Potions class.
He felt stupid, but that was Remus’s hold on him. He made him feel like that all the time,
and he didn’t hate it. It was actually really nice.

Smiling smugly, he tucked his nose in the Actually Kind of Gross and Sweaty hair of
his Lycan Love -- Striking that one from the repertoire, he noted mentally, not liking how
icky it made him feel to refer to Remus as such -- but left it there despite the dubious state of
cleanliness. Remus would be mortified if he knew, Sirius was sure, but that was part of the
fun. Finding new ways, new more sordid ways now, to mortify Moony. Honored Marauder
pastime.

He savored the way Remus was breathing gentler, the soft rise and fall of his chest a
stark contrast to the ragged heaving he saw earlier. Merlin, but he was beautiful. Sirius had
always thought that but here, up close and surrounded by his overwhelming warmth -- which
made him the Hottest Werewolf -- seeing his face at its newest, the first human face he’d
wear for the month, made Sirius’s heart leap. The odd, jutting angles of his bone structure in
the dim pre-dawn light of the Shack were like modern art to Sirius, candy to his eyes to keep
him interested. Each scar on his body told a different story, every line had its secrets and he
was Founders-Favored enough to be privy to most of them by this point.
Instinctively, he tightened his hold just a smidgen around Remus’s waist, feeling the
need to protect him and keep him safe. He could do that for him, it was the least he could
manage. Pay him back for all the things he’d done for Sirius. He smiled into his hair, wanting
to savor every moment they had together in this weird limbo of time between moonset and
Madam Pomfrey’s arrival.

Suddenly, Remus started up his whimper again, clenched the blankets tight, and
fidgeted. Sirius lept into action, drawing him in tight against his chest in a practiced hold. He
wedged his knee between Remus’s legs and remembered, for the first time, that Remus
was naked. So… so very naked. He swallowed thickly, determined not to let His Moonship’s
state of undress stray him from his Road of Good Intentions, and held him secure. When his
Secret Spooning Technique was completed, his whole body basically enveloped Remus’s
from behind; then he heard the sound that Summoned a Thousand Soldiers.

“Padfoot… please… uhnnn…Siriussss... ”

Silence.

“Sirius, please there, oh...yes!”

Remus was definitely still asleep -- Sirius lifted his head to peek and saw his eyelids
still drawn close over those amber eyes that he couldn’t stop looking at. He felt a gentle
stirring against his knee and the realization that dawned on him made his heart race, face
flush, and his trousers uncomfortably tight. Oh fuck me… he thought to himself, trying to
focus on anything, anything other than the fact that his boyfriend was having a post-
Transformation wet dream about him. Him!
Remus could not wake up to Sirius’s hard-on in his back. He wouldn’t allow it. No.
Sirius Black had more control over his cock than that, surely! Frantic, he started thinking of
the time he walked in on Bellatrix and Rodolphus shagging over summer holiday, the time
he walked in on Bellatrix and Rabastan shagging, the time he walked in on Bellatrix and
Lucius shaggi-- okay, really anything to do with his awful cousin’s sex life was a useful anti-
boner tool and at least for now, it worked. He was Calm, Cool, and Collected, except
he wasn’t because internally he was doing somersaults and a happy jig because he was the
Main Feature in Remus’s Wet Dream.

Remus fidgeted again, his very naked, just-plump-enough arse rubbing against
Sirius’s finally-managed cock and Sirius almost shouted. Not cool, not cool, not cool.
Literally any other time, any other situation where his Delicate Moonflower could’ve
properly consented to something more sinful and he’d be on him like syrup on pancakes but
it would be Actually Very Wrong to take advantage of him now. Right? Right. Right.

Suddenly, Remus turned over in his sleep so that he was facing Sirius, one lanky
limb -- really, who needed to be six feet tall at sixteen??? -- tangling up in the denim-covered
legs of Sirius Black, his arms tucked against his chest and his glorious wonderful, flushed
face only inches from Sirius’s. Sirius held his breath and tried to be as still as possible. He
felt like any second now, Remus’s Werewolf Tingly Senses would alert him to this Very
Weird Threat and he’d be in Big Trouble.

Morgana fuck me, I hate being right all the time, he bemoaned inwardly as Remus’s
perfect eyelashes fluttered. A dry, twice-bitten tongue peeked out to swipe his cracked bottom
lip and he groaned in a not-sex-dream way as his body adjusted to both being awake and in
moderate pain. Sirius watched it all unfold with a growing sense of dread, guilt, and shame.
There was nowhere, no time, no way for him to escape. He’d have to think fast, come up
with a reason, an excuse, a --
 “Padfoot?” Remus’s voice was hoarse, like he'd gargled stones, and his eyes were
ever-so-wide. Sirius wanted to get lost in them, two pools of molten amber he could fall into
over and over again. They widened further as realization crashed on him-- Sirius’s
clothedness, his own nakedness, his uh… hard...ness. “Padfoot?” he repeated, stronger,
vaguely accusatory.
Sirius slapped an innocent smile on his face and doubled down by tightening his grip
around his boyfriend’s waist. “Yes, Moony?” he chirped innocently, batting his own
eyelashes.

He saw the emotions flicker through his face -- fear (fortunately brief),
embarrassment, anger, and then...shyness? Remus’s cheeks colored further to a deep scarlet
and he looked straight upwards at the cobwebbed ceiling. He swallowed nervously, his
adam’s apple bobbing in the most delicious way and Sirius just wanted to --

“Padfoot.” Mildly admonishing. On a scale of One to Moony’s Gonna Kill Me, it

ranked about a 4. Sirius could live with a 4. He was still looking at the ceiling, giving Sirius
full access to his beautiful-lovely-perfect throat, the line of his jaw that curved nicely into it,
the fluttering of his pulse just underneath the skin, the -- oh. There were chapped lips on his
suddenly in a shy, gentle kiss, and Sirius melted. Was it cold out? Surely not, he was perfectly
warm now.

“Padfoot.” Breathier, softer, less mad. Almost a zero. Murmured against his mouth
before another soft, more assured kiss.
“You were having a nightmare,” he explained finally, the potential bomb defused. “I
wanted to help you sleep like when we were kids.” Their eyes met and Sirius didn’t think it
was all that healthy for his ticker to be ticking the way it was, skipping beats and trying to
climb up his throat.
A shy smile unfurled on Remus’s mouth and he reached out to bury his hand in
Sirius’s hair, nails scraping his scalp just a little in a pleasant gesture. “But I’m uh… I’m
naked, Padfoot.”

“Yep.”
“Okay then.”

“... Do I need to… apologize?” Valid question. Sirius had learned early on it was best
to ask if he was unsure. Moony liked that.
A moment, an unfamiliar look in Remus’s eyes, darker and harder than Sirius had
seen before. “What time is it?” Completely ignored his question, what a prat. Unless...

“Um… I think maybe… 7? I-- do I need to apologize, Moony, I don’t underst--”

 Hands were on the button and zip of his jeans and realization broke on him like the
best wave.

Oh. Oh! Oh.

“Apologize however you feel is… appropriate,” was the still-shy but heated,
emboldened murmur against his throat. Too-hot hands found their way under the waistband
of his briefs and his brain short-circuited.

Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t be down for another forty-five minutes at least. She liked
to wait until the sun actually started to rise, not just the moonfall. One could never be too
careful.

The bitter coldness of the room forgotten in the circle of Remus's heat, Sirius freed
himself of his shirt and dove under the blankets. He could apologize a couple of times in
forty-five minutes.
 The Scars

They laid tangled up together, pale limbs looped around tan ones, raven’s wing black
hair blended with tawny brown, strewn across a scarlet-cased pillow. They were lit only by
the pale light of the waxing gibbous moon streaming through the window in their dormitory
(Moony always needed to see it for himself, this close to a full moon and who was Sirius to
deny him?), and the only sound was their shared breathing. It was perfect.
Feeling terribly like a lovestruck girl , Sirius buried his nose into Remus’s neck with
a happy sigh, and held his boyfriend a little tighter. This was still new, lying together skin-
to-skin. The stuff they’d just done was new, too, and fresh memories of how Moony looked
with his back arching had Sirius’s body going down (or up ) a different train of thought. He
pushed it aside, for now, (he’d circle back) and contented himself to be in the moment.
They didn’t usually get time like this together, but it was the Christmas holidays and
James and Peter had gone to their respective homes. Sirius’s parents just flat-out
didn’t want him home and Moony’s had gone to France or something for what Moony
described as “what old people do when they want to feel connected again”. Without his
parents, Moony had definitely not been allowed to return to his seaside home in Dover, so
Sirius begged off accompanying the Potters to Australia under the very convincing argument
that he couldn’t very well leave their sweet Moony alone at Christmas and the full moon,
now could he?
The past week found Sirius happier than he’d ever been in his entire life. More than
when he’d gotten his first broomstick. More than when he’d “accidentally” jinxed Regulus’s
hair clean off with a sneeze when he was eight. More than when he’d had his first kiss. It all
paled in comparison to the joy he felt with Moony. They’d finally “done it”, which was a
very sixteen-year-old way to refer to “ IT”, and Sirius was seventeen now so he supposed he
should start calling it by its proper name. But ‘shagging’ seemed to cheapen their relationship
and ‘love making’ made Sirius want to hurl.
But they’d had one week so far to perfect their technique, and a week to go to really
nail it down before they had to be covert about it all. Sirius could live with that -- nothing
was too arduous of a task when it came to Pleasing his Moony. If they had to sneak around
the school like criminals (because okay, it wasn’t technically legal at all, actually since they
were so young still) to be together, they would. It wasn’t all that different from pulling pranks,
except it was just the two of them. ‘About the same amount of stickiness, though,’ Sirius
mused.

He heard Remus’s breathing deepen and looked over to see his eyes closed, his mouth
slightly parted as he slept. A warmth settled in Sirus’s chest -- Moony didn’t just fall
asleep anywhere , not if he wasn’t fresh from a full moon. No matter how knackered he was,
Sirius knew he was much too alert, too aware of his surroundings to just fall asleep. He knew
that when the four of them were together in the dormitory that Moony was the last to drift off
(he’d tried to beat him once in fourth year, but that only resulted in the both of them pulling
all-nighters and being miserable gits for the week without sleep, and Sirius conceded defeat).
So here, now, seeing Moony slide into sleep still encircled by Sirius’s arms and legs made
him feel Very Important indeed.
Sirius, as he always did whenever presented the chance, traced the scarred lines on
Remus’s chest with his fingertips. They didn’t look so macabre in their moonsilver-washed
room, practically invisible, but Sirius knew the pathways of these chest ones by muscle
memory. He followed a jagged one (Moony’d gotten it in the February moon of their fourth
year, Sirius remembered) from Moony’s right collarbone diagonal to his sternum and then
back to his right hip where his fingers curled around and stroked the soft skin covering jutting
bone.
Moony’s Biggest (scar, that was) was on the hip opposite and Sirius had respected his
wishes not to obsess over it like he did the others. He wanted Very Badly to explore it and
learn its textures, but Moony had his reasons. It was his original bitemark, after all, and Sirius
had learned ages ago (after lots of learning hard and painful lessons) that because he wasn’t
a werewolf, he couldn’t understand. And that was just fine.
He pressed tender, gentle kisses to Remus’s slightly salty temple, inhaling his smell.
He’d picked up on the subtle nuances as Padfoot, and while they were not nearly as strong
with his dumb human nose, now that he knew what to “look” for, it was easy enough to find.
If he had to describe it, he would say Moony smelled like crisp new parchment, a not-
unpleasant sweat, and leaves. Outloud, it didn’t sound very appealing, but Sirius was positive
that’s what his Amortentia potion would smell like if he brewed one tomorrow.
Remus was still asleep, and Sirius, emboldened by this, continued his tracing. He
couldn’t reach the end of this one (Moony was ever-so-lanky and, Sirius had said on more
than one occasion, unfairly gifted with the blessing of height), but it started at the peak of his
sartorius muscle and curled around the back of his leg, behind his knee, and down to his calf.
This one was old, perfectly smooth and no longer puffy, a slick pathway down Moony’s leg.
Sirius had just reached the turn from the front of Remus’s thigh that curved to his hamstring
when he found himself fixed by glowing amber eyes.

“Padfoot.”
Sirius mused that he was always getting told off that way, with just his name, and that
it didn’t really work, just served to make him a little hot . Especially as of late, since anything
Moony said that began that way usually ended up in him moaning his name. He wrestled
down the bubbling excitement that threatened to explode in a smirk on his face and instead
crafted his ‘Genuine Innocence, I’ve Not Done Anything Wrong’ grin, the very ends of his
lips quirking up rather becomingly, if he did say so himself (and he did).
 “Oh, did I wake you?” he replied sweetly, voice hushed, fighting back laughter at the
ridiculousness of it all. Why were they whispering? His fingers slid back and forth on the
scar at the knee as if it were a perfectly normal idle habit.

He watched as Moony rolled his eyes, but when they came back to him they were
heated, but in the way Sirius lived for these days. He would move heaven and earth to see
That Look on Moony’s face any day (preferably upwards of five times daily) and he felt
himself getting hard again, despite having just emptied himself into the warm, tan body less
than a half-hour ago.

“It’s a bit… queer , you know,” Moony murmured as he he spun in Sirius’s arms to
face him. Their half-hard cocks brushed as he did so and Sirius hoped Moony’s breathing
hitched like his did.

“Um, Moony,” he began, brows raised. “ This,” he gestured to them, naked as the day
they were born (minus his silver spoon, of course) and burning for each other, “is
a lot queer.”
Moony laughed his breathy, ‘you’re an idiot but you’re not wrong’ laugh that Sirius
loved to hear and Sirius drank it in, music to his ears. “Well yes. I meant what you do when
I’m sleeping,” he corrected, and Sirius scoffed.

“You’re my boyfriend, I’m allowed to look ,” Sirius insisted, and grabbed the other
boy’s knee in an actual grip instead of a breathy glide. He hoisted Remus’s leg up over his
hip so that they fit together better and more important bits of skin touching. He felt no
resistance, rewarded for his boldness with a mind-melting kiss.

“I meant,” Moony continued in his ‘You’re an Idiot and You’re Not Listening to Me’
voice, which Sirius was not as fond of. “Touching me. My scars. It’s weird.”
“Do you want me to stop?” Always best to ask with Moony. Asking was the Way to
Go, especially once he realized that his own Amazing Ideas and Grand Plans (“delusions”,
Moony’d had the nerve to call them) often caused him to misinterpret situations.
Moony draped his arms over his shoulders and pulled him close. “Mm… maybe when
I’m sleeping. I’m ticklish, you know. But you,” he said, kissing Sirius again and doing
that thing with his tongue that made Sirius all-too-aware of his definitely-hard cock that
pressed against Moony’s hip. “Can do whatever you want when I’m awake.” Moony thrust
against him with a pressing, hot need, and Sirius almost forgot how to talk.

“Whatever?” Sirius confirmed, brows nearly shot up into his hairline. My my, his
Moony was getting bold.
“If… if you want.” Ah, there was the shy Moony he’d come to expect. He didn’t pull
away, but his maddening eyes had lost an ounce of their heat, replaced by a fraction of the
guard wall that Sirius had spent six years sledgehammering down.
 Well, that just wouldn’t do.

Sirius enthusiastically wrapped both his arms around Moony’s waist and rolled so
that he was on top of him, a maneuver, he knew, was only possible because Moony wanted it.
This close to the full moon, Moony’s strength was endless and he didn’t do anything he didn’t
want to do. Sirius looked at him, at his slightly-shocked golden eyes, framed by those heavy
lashes, and felt like his heart might burst. His cock definitely would, he reasoned, and
abandoned all thoughts of declarations of love for the matter at hand.

He crashed his lips against Remus’s, plunging his tongue into his waiting, warm
mouth, and almost down his throat. He grabbed his knees and pushed his long legs up, up,
up, until his knees rested at his ears. Moony was making such sweet, soft moans that it almost
didn’t seem fair to indulge one more time, but he’d said he could .

Sirius broke away from Moony’s mouth, a string of saliva connecting them for a half
moment, before he latched onto a smaller bite-shaped scar on his shoulder, right at the
trapezius. He bit down just a little and felt his body hum in anticipation as Moony squirmed
below him, gasping, moaning. Hot hands scrambled at his back and he bit just a little harder,
sucking firmly at the pliant flesh. When he was satisfied his artwork had set, he pulled away
to see the skin turning red, then a bit purple.

He wanted to do more, to replace every scar on Moony’s too-skinny-but-somehow-

just-right body with his own marks. He wanted to remove every memory of pain and
reminder of agony with new ones of rapture and of pleasure and of him. But Moony,
apparently more than just a little turned on by this turn of events, was squirming below him,
his neglected cock bouncing against his stomach.

“Fuck, Moony,” he breathed. He hadn’t seen this side of his Moony before -- he’d
been horny before, sure, and needy in that regard, but this was true desperation, a frantic
demand. It felt good to see him come undone like this and to know he was the cause.
“Padfoot please,” came the plea, the last syllable breaking into a keening whine.

Sirius didn’t even think to reach for his wand for the lubrication spell and when he
felt his cock slide past that first tight ring of muscle, he froze for a moment, worried he would
hurt him. Moony apparently was not having that, and wrapped his legs around Sirius’s waist
and pulled him in.
Remus was so tight, his warmer body like a furnace as it welcomed him in greedily,
inch by inch sinking in. Sirius felt a slickness that, he realized with a red-hot jolt of arousal,
was his come from earlier, still coating Moony’s insides.
It was like a switch was flipped and he was a man possessed with the sole objective
of melting them together. They weren’t very good at this, this whole actual-sex-and-not-just-
wanking thing, but it was very good nonetheless. Sirius was learning rapidly what Moony
liked, how he liked it, and when he liked it, and Moony was a perfect partner, accepting
everything Sirius had to give him and making those noises -- Merlin, the sounds! Sirius knew
they’d have to start using silencing spells when their mates returned to Hogwarts, but for now
he savored every gasp and moan and pleasured sob his boyfriend made as he fucked him into
the mattress for the fourth time that day.
He found that “oh god, yes Sirius, please” spot faster this time, and angled so that he
struck it with each thrust, making sure to keep the pressure and pace consistent. Moony had
melted under him and was a shaking, noisy mess clinging to him for dear life, his cock
weeping precome between them, untouched but on the verge of release nonetheless as each
stroke of Sirius’s cock hit his prostate, unrelenting.
Moony arched his lovely spine off of the bed below him, rutting against Sirius’s
stomach when he could. His eyes were starting to flutter shut and Sirius knew he was close,
could see him losing himself.

“Moony look at me, look at me, look at me,” Sirius said between thrusts, needing to
see those eyes looking at him. His darling, debauched Moony finally opened his eyes and
Sirius came almost immediately, refilling his tight hole with his come. He’d spent months
dreaming of those eyes and even now after having Moony as his , and getting to see them
like this, they still had such a hold on him.

He felt guilty for just a heartbeat, for finishing before him, but two rapid strokes on
Moony’s too-hot, too-hard cock had him tumbling over the edge with him with a, “Sirius!”
that rang in his ears.
Exhausted and shoulders aching from where Remus’s fingers had dug in, Sirius
collapsed against the bony body below him, not minding the soft squelch of Moony’s release
against their stomachs. His nose immediately found the crook of his neck again and he
inhaled deeply, not caring how queer it was.
Moony’s fingers wound their way into his curls and Sirius leaned into the sensation,
feeling ridiculously, stupidly, happy. Moony had settled into his usual quietness, his raucous
alter ego sated again, and again they fell into the easy rhythm of just being together.

It was so easy, with Moony.

 The Locker Room

It was January, and after a Christmas holiday like they’d had, the castle seemed so
dreadfully cold. Sirius hated the cold.

“Think I’ll skive off to Fiji or something, once I graduate. What d’you reckon,
Prongs? Take over the local government, teach them the way of Marauders, live like gods.”
This was proposed during a balls-blistering frozen morning at Herbology, which
found the aforementioned James and Sirius huddled together not unlike penguins. Professor
Sprout had tasked them to put frost-protecting spells on white-flowered Moly plants, which
was actually quite difficult with cold-stiff fingers covered in clumsy gloves or mittens.
Sirius frowned faintly when his best friend had the gall to roll his eyes and scoff at
his perfectly reasonable plan. “Nah, you’d miss London too much. You’re a society snob,
Padfoot, and you know it. Best to just suffer through like the rest of us and embrace the ice
in your bones.” James flashed him a thousand-watt smile and left to return his enchanted
Moly to the cart.
Remus, returning from said cart with a new, shivering Moly, quirked an eyebrow at
Sirius. Moony had the damned nerve to only be wearing a scarf -- no knit hat, no clunky
gloves, no thick woolen socks. In fact, he looked practically cozy, standing there easy-as-
you-please, his fifth plant (Sirius and James were on their fourth, Peter still attempting his
third) clutched protectively against his chest. Sirius watched with interest as the Moly
stopped its weird shivering and relaxed, and his mouth parted in a small, shocked “o”.
That bastard.

“Oh Mooooony~! ” he crooned, dismissing the immediate suspicion that crossed the
other boy’s face like a shadow. Sirius shuffled from behind his workbench and came to the
other side with an, ‘Oi, Wormtail, share with Prongs will you?’ and noted with keen
observation how Peter actually seemed mildly upset to stand with James. When he reached
Remus’s side, the radiating heat he’d hoped would be there permeated through his thick
cloak.

“Padfoot…”
“I am doing nothing wrong, my dear Moony. I merely thought our pal Wormtail could
use a little time with our best mate Prongs and you know, I am nothing if not benevolent.”

“You are nothing if not sly, you mean,” came the rebuttal accompanied by a knowing
look. Moony leaned down to whisper in his ear, which sent not-unpleasant shivers straight
down his spine where they curled deliciously behind his navel. “I know what you’re up to.”
 Sirius affected his famous ‘I’m Innocent’ look and batted his eyelashes up at Remus,
a wolfish grin curling on his lips, ruining his innocent facade immediately. “Nothing.
Wrong,” he insisted and sidled a little closer to him so that their shoulders touched.

Heat, delicious heat, seeped through his sleeve and basked his shoulder and arm in a
loving caress. He felt his knees go weak, thinking about just last week when the rest of him
was buried in that heat, but remained standing. Moony made a little “hmm” noise deep in his
throat and Sirius felt a jolt to his cock. ‘ Opportunistic devil,’ he chided it (having
conversations with your own penis was Totally Normal and Appropriate if Done Internally)
and forced himself back to work. Professor Sprout was making her rounds back down their
way and Sirius figured she wouldn’t quite appreciate his zeal for Herbology in the form of a
hard-on tenting his robes. ‘Or maybe she would…No, no, down boy.’
At the end of class, Remus had managed 10 plants, Sirius and James charmed 8, and
Peter came up front behind with 11, the most of the entire class, which James celebrated and
Sirius found to be rather terrible. Losing to Wormtail at anything was just Not Okay, but he
forced himself to be happy for their friend, who was beaming in pride at having beaten his
friends at something. Even Moony clapped him on the shoulder, he who didn’t do much for
physical displays of affection amongst their friends, so Sirius relented and congratulated
Peter as well.
They had a free block now, and Prongs scampered off predictably to the Quidditch
Pitch, though how he managed to not freeze his dick to his broom flitting about at breakneck
speeds was beyond Sirius’s comprehension. Wormtail stayed behind to discuss something
with Professor Sprout (Sirius could not be arsed to inquire what), and Moony was looking at
him.
“Yes, my dear Lord Moonyshire?” Sirius asked haughtily. Without being prompted,
he followed a hasty Remus up to the viaduct courtyard, dodged the throngs of students
changing classes, and along the outer rim. Bony fingers encircled his wrist and Sirius found
himself pulled ungracefully into the shadows of one of the alcoves. He stumbled into
Moony’s chest and looked up to see that same Look on his face, the one where his eyes did
the Thing that made his mouth go dry and his pants tighten.
A harsh gale nipped his backside and Sirius tucked himself in further to the alcove,
into Moony’s arms. He felt lips, chapped but warm, against his ear and shivered, which only
caused Moony to hold him tighter.
“Are you trying to get us caught?” came the rumbling accusation, a whisper along the
shell of his ear. The warm breath ghosted across his cheek with the pleasant smell of breakfast
tea and the honey Moony dumped into it “for strength”.

Sirius scoffed and tucked his hands into Remus’s back trouser pockets, curling his
fingers against the curve of his ass, appreciating the yelp that he elicited from Moony at the
squeeze and temperature shock. “I’m not the one pulling us into snogging alcoves,” Sirius
bantered with another meaningful grab. He felt Moony’s arms soften against him as he
sagged against the wall, but the hardness pressing into his hipbone was not subtle.

He liked all phases of his Moony, but this one, a few days after the full moon, was
just so soft and pliable. There wasn’t much of that feral hunger he’d played a willing victim
to over the holidays, but that just meant he could be a little more aggressive and turn his
boyfriend into a puddle of mush rather than a ravenous ball of lust.

Sirius removed his hands from Remus’s pockets and slipped his fingers under the
waistband of his trousers instead, taking distinct pleasure in Remus’s discomfort as his icy
digits wormed their way against his too-hot-to-be-fair backside. Sirius let his muscle memory
guide him to a scar that ran across the center of Moony’s left asscheek and grasped both
cheeks firmly. He hoisted him up with little effort because despite Moony’s strength and their
(unfair) height difference, he weighed far less than he looked, than he should.

Sirius pushed him against the cold stone wall and marveled at the actual steam rising
off of him at the contact of ice-cold stone to werewolf-hot flesh. At this angle, Moony boosted
up another few inches, Sirius had perfect access to his chest, which was (of course) missing
its sweater and only clad in robes, which were parted, and his button-up. With practiced skill
(he’d been practicing on his own, but would never admit it), Sirius undid the buttons of the
shirt with his teeth.

“Padfoot, what on earth are you doin--- uhnnn ,” was Remus’s attempt at a protest,
cut short when Sirius licked a path along his sternum and over to his nipple. Sirius latched
on and nipped teasingly at the sensitive, dusky-brown flesh before he pulled back and blew
cold air across it. Moony’s entire body trembled in his shiver, goosebumps erupting along
his arms and chest. Pleased as Mrs. Norris should she ever catch Wormtail, Sirius did it again,
soaking his nipple with saliva and then icing it again. This time, Moony bucked in his arms,
pushing his groin hard against Sirius’s stomach
It had been a week since they had been able to do anything together out of fear of
being caught. Sirius admittedly had been preoccupied with Prongs's retelling of his Christmas
adventures and now, here with Moony in his arms, he felt terribly guilty for his neglect. He
readjusted his grip on Remus’s ass and crawled his fingers towards the center until his
fingertips toyed with the soft flesh hidden in the crease.

Moony’s hands clutched him hard around his shoulders as he gasped, and Sirius
found himself fixed with a warning look. “Padfoot, we will be caught. We will get into so
much trouble-- stop that, oh my god, Padfoot!” The last bits were hastily churned out as Sirius
dared to press past the tight ring of muscles with the knuckle of one finger; not enough to
hurt, just enough to tease and make Moony clench around him.
 Reluctantly, he withdrew his fingers and let Moony down, his hands coming to rest
innocently on the boy’s hips once his feet touched the ground again. Looking at Moony, his
face was flushed scarlet and he looked thoroughly harassed, and his pulse flickered wildly in
his throat. Sirius groaned faintly and dragged him closer by his hips, crashing his lips against
Moony’s with sudden, intense need.
After a moment’s hesitation, Remus’s mouth opened willingly to the intrusion, and
Sirius raked his tongue across his with gusto, savoring the taste of the other boy, desperate to
memorize every ridge of his teeth, every slide of his tongue. Moony’s warmth enveloped him
as he wrapped his arms around Sirius once again. The little noises Moony made against him
drove Sirius wild -- every pant and moan and little whimper as he plundered his mouth made
him harder and more reckless.
The wicked possessive monster that lived in Sirus’s brain wanted to take Moony now,
screw the consequences, pin him against the wall and fuck his brains out, then they’d see
who would get into trouble. After all, what’s a few weeks’ worth of detentions and the whole
school knowing their dirty little secret compared to the blissed-out look that would be on
Moony’s face as he felt Sirius come inside of him.
Moony, terribly responsible at this phase of the moon, pulled away when he felt
Sirius’s hands fumbling with his belt. “Sirius, no,” he warned again, snatching his hands
back.

Sirius pouted and buried his face in Moony’s neck instead, trying to entice him to
just give in as he lapped at the velvety flesh between the scars. He left small nips along his
way, feeling his own hot breath on his face as he worked. A hand in his hair, clearly meant to
deter him, only spurred him on as he wrested his hands free from Moony’s and back to his
belt. Pinpricks of pain lit on his scalp as his hair was pulled and he whined pitifully as Moony
used his new leverage to pull his head back.
Moony was looking at him in an upset-but-not-totally-unpleasant way and Sirius tried
in vain to get back to his work, but his hands were grabbed in Moony’s free one, long fingers
easily encircling both of his dainty (not dainty, delicate, uh… elegant, that’s the word) wrists
and holding them as if iron, firmly away from his groin.

“Sirius Orion Black III, stop. ”

He paused at the use of his Actual and Full name and frowned, the expression creasing
his face and furrowing his brow. Was Moony actually- actually … upset? His face was
flushed, yes, and he looked harried and flustered, and his cock was still at least marginally
hard. What had he misread? Just a week ago, he was all-in any time of the day but now...

Moony released the tight grip he had on his hair, but continued to restrain his wrists.
“I’m a Prefect, Padfoot.” Sirius swallowed past the, he knew, unfounded and ridiculous anger
that rose in him at being told no, and tried not to feel too disappointed. Moony was right, he
was always right, they could-- “Not here.” That was more like it.

Sirius supposed he must’ve visibly perked up because Moony released his wrists and
cupped his face in his warm hands. He kissed him softly, sweetly, on the mouth and then
between his eyebrows with a soft chuckle. Sirius watched him glance at the clocktower and
then back at him. “Prongs’ll be on the Pitch for at least another hour. Locker rooms ought to
be clear until then... “

His heart lept and he immediately buttoned Moony’s shirt back up for him, such a
good friend, and pulled them both out into the frigid fresh air. He only let go of his hand once
they were in clear view of other students, but kept glancing over his shoulder to make sure
Moony was following him (which of course he was). Sirius couldn’t keep the little skip from
his step, but tried to maintain a sense of decorum, lest one of the professors decide a giddy,
happy Sirius could only mean he was up to mischief.

After checking that Prongs was, definitely, still in the air and doing his own set of
ridiculous drills (he was on number 3 of 27, Sirius knew from having sat through hours of
watching him practice), they snuck into the locker rooms. It was significantly warmer in here
than outside, the air slightly humid from a recently-run hot shower. Sirius cast off his scarf
and cloak and zoned in on his Moony, who looked a little nervous still but was also removing
his robes and scarf.

Not wanting to get scolded again, Sirius waited, every muscle poised and coiled to
spring on command, trying to adopt a look of patience while he watched Moony look around
to make sure it was well and truly empty. He found Moony a few minutes later in the back,
behind the showers, leaning against the lockers. His belt was unbuckled and his fly undone
and his cock, half-hard-but-not-for-long was in his hand. When he saw Sirius, he licked his
lower lip and turned his left leg out and gave him that Look, the Look Sirius lived and
breathed for.
He pounced.
Sirius batted Moony’s hand aside and took his cock in his own hand, drinking in his
pleased hiss that fell from his mouth as he gave fast, full strokes. His free hand tangled in
Moony’s hair and pulled, perhaps as payback for earlier, perhaps just because, Sirius was
petulant like that. He attacked the exposed neck in front of him, nipping and lapping and
placing open-mouthed desperate kisses on the long column. He quickly turned Moony into a
whining whimpering puddle of need and he relished the effect he had on him probably a little
more than was healthy.

“What do you want, Moony?” he grumbled against his now-exposed collarbone.

When he didn’t get an immediate response, Sirius changed his strokes from hard-and-fast to
feather-light and shallow, teasing just the head of his cock, which drew a deep-seated whine.
 “What. Do. You. Want, ” he repeated, each stroke getting lighter and lighter as he
silently threatened to stop altogether.

“Sirius, you know what I want.”

He snorted humorlessly and removed his hand, leaving Moony bucking into the air,
sweating, frantic. “I almost never know what you want. Spit it out. I want to hear you say it.”

The distress on Moony’s face was practically edible. Sirius reigned in his instinct to
give in, give him whatever he so clearly needed, and held fast. He could wait this out. He
knew Moony hated saying the words, hated how they felt on his lips, so dirty and crass.
“...fuckmeplease,” he whispered hastily, face bright red as he stared up at the ceiling.

Sirius resisted the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet, victorious, and only raised
one eyebrow as he tilted his head to the side. “What was that, sorry? I didn’t catch that.”

Moony met his gaze and licked his lips hurriedly. “F-fuck me, please.” Louder, bolder,
more assured.
“Why Moony, I thought you’d never ask.”

Moony looked proper mortified, which only served to harden Sirius’s cock further.
His goal in life was to corrupt Remus Lupin as much as possible, but in the best ways
possible.
Holding true to his promise, Sirius took hold of Remus’s cock again and resumed
stroking, noting with pleasure how his eyes rolled back a little behind fluttering eyelashes
and how he had to use his hands to support his suddenly weak-kneed body against the lockers.

"N-nooo. Fuck. Me." It was less of a whine and more of a demand as Moony batted
his hand away so that he could shuck off his trousers and briefs and remove his shirt. Blushing
a shocking maroon, he turned around so that he was facing the lockers and shoved his ass out
a little in a way so wanton, Sirius's mouth ran dry.

Sirius quickly gathered hold of himself and surged forward to close the distance,
expertly removing his own uniform in the process. He ran his hands greedily down Moony’s
silver-lined back to cup his ass, small but perfect to him. He tried rutting against him,
intending to slide his cock along the crease of his ass, but found that he could only manage
to reach the gap in his thighs, his cockhead brushing Moony’s balls as he thrust, desperate
for friction.

Sirius groaned into Moony’s shoulder, frustrated.

"What's wrong?" came the ever-concerned query. Remus's back tensed against
Sirius’s chest, anxious.
 "You're too bloody tall," Sirius blurted, unable to stop the laugh from tumbling out
into Moony’s hair. Fortunately, Moony seemed to find this as funny as he did and joined him
with a gentle chuckle.

Remus turned slowly so that he faced Sirius, his cock no softer for the sudden levity.
He fixed Sirius with a sincere look as he moved his hands along his ass to where they'd been
earlier in the alcove. "Like this, then," he whispered.

It was certainly more than what they'd done before, but they’d only been properly
shagging for a few weeks. Sirius was always up for a challenge.
"Want me to--?"

"No. Inside. Now." Moony demanded, but the renewed blush made Sirius raise his
eyebrows. "... I've… beenfingeringmyself... whenIwank," Moony rambled out, much to
Sirius’s disbelief and excitement, clear as day on his face.
"Oh, Moony, you are naughty, aren't you," he teased as he lubed his cock with the
familiar spell. Remus's cock twitched and Sirius smirked. "Touching yourself thinking of me,
and here I thought the silencing spell was to keep noise out. Merlin, Moony… you're going
to be the death of me."
Sirius kissed him heatedly and lifted him, sucking hard on his bottom lip before
relinquishing it with a wet "pop". Remus wrapped his long, lean legs around his waist with
his knees hiked a little higher to accommodate Sirius’s thighs as he pressed in.

An acceptable amount of fumbling and hoisting later, and Sirius felt the now-familiar
heat against the head of his cock. He bounced Remus carefully and felt the heat open up and
swallow him inch by blessed inch. He was tight, his walls casually stretched over the course
of a few days of self-manipulation but still a vice around Sirius’s shaft. It seemed an eternity
before Remus was fully seated, but when he was it felt like home.

Sirius moaned against his chest as Remus relaxed around him and then tightened his
muscles experimentally, making both of their cocks jump. He felt sweat beading on the back
of his neck and the valley between his shoulder blades from the effort of holding Moony up,
holding still while he adjusted, and from being so close to the werewolf inferno he held in
his arms. There wasn’t an ‘off switch’ for it, he’d learned, but it made even rushed encounters
that much more exciting when there was real, salty sweat involved.

He tried to meet Moony’s eyes to see if he was ready, but found them shut tight behind
feathery lashes as the other boy tried to control his breathing. “Should’ve… let me, ah,
prepare you,” Sirius chided with another moan, feeling Moony’s inner workings pulse around
him again. “I can pull out,” he offered with some reluctance but full sincerity, brushing his
lips along Moony’s jawline in whispers of a kiss.
 Remus clamped down hard around him and shook his head vehemently. “Don’t
you dare, Sirius,” was his sharp warning, and Sirius trembled at the force of his conviction
and from the increased pressure around his shaft.

They stayed together like that for a few more seconds before Remus readjusted. He
looped his arms under Sirius’s armpits and curled his hands on his shoulders for stability and
used his leverage to bounce. Sirius understood the intent of the maneuver, but they just
weren’t skilled enough at That Sort of Thing, and the sudden movement sent them wobbling.
Sirius stumbled forward with a grunt and accidentally slammed Remus into the locker behind
them. The metal clanged in protest, but Moony’s face was contorted in pure rapture, his
mouth slightly open, his cock painfully hard between them.
Deciding this would have to do, Sirius gave deliberate, measured thrusts up into the
eager hole above him, burying himself to the hilt each time. “Moonymoonymoony,” he
groaned against the dip between his collarbones. His whole body was tense with the effort of
fucking like this, having to drive his cock up and into something not exceptionally pliable.
But the look on Moony’s face, the noises he was making, the sound of the locker behind them
clattering along, and the sheer feeling of being trapped in the white-hot heat of his ass was
well worth the herculean effort.
Remus started to dig in his nails, but hastily smoothed his hands over Sirius’s
shoulders (they had not yet discussed potential repercussions of off-phase werewolf contact)
and instead grabbed him so hard Sirius thought he might break.

Up and up and up he continued until Moony started making that noise, the one that
started deep in his belly and vibrated up and out of his mouth; a whine, a keen, whatever you
wanted to call it -- Moony was close. “Sirius, gonna, oh god, I can’t-- hold back, please,
ah, fucking hell, Sirius!!”

His body convulsed almost violently around him, his walls clamping even further
than before as if begging Sirius to come inside him. The warm splash of come splashed Sirius
on the neck and Sirius lost it. With a primal hunger, Sirius pinned Remus to the locker anew
and gave him everything he had, pistoning his hips into the still-spasming depths. He came
with a low moan, filling the overheating body above him.

Sirius couldn’t bring himself to withdraw, just leaned his sweat-soaked forehead
against Moony’s shoulder, panting. His thighs were screaming in agony, his abdomen in sheer
outrage at the unprecedented workout it had just been put through. He remained buried in
Remus until he felt a slight trickle of wetness leaking around his now-soft cock. Smiling
softly, he pulled out nice and slow, Moony’s soft hiss of pain tickling the hairs on the back
of his neck.

He set Remus down and kissed him sweetly, no nipping or ravaging, just a gentle
press of their lips together. He looked at him and felt his chest tighten with an overwhelming
need to profess his eternal love and devotion. Sirius stomped it down -- post-illicit-locker
room fucking was not the time or the place, and contented himself with following Remus to
the showers.

They washed together quickly, delayed only for a quick “okay yes let’s” of a shared
handjob as Remus pushed him into the wall. The spelled clock on the wall was a depressing
reminder that they did not live in a bubble, and they had classes to attend and a facade to
maintain.

They re-dressed in comfortable silence and left the locker room separately so as to
not raise suspicion.
Later that night, as the four of them sat around the fire in the Gryffindor Common
Room, Prongs suddenly said, “It’s the oddest thing -- someone must’ve snuck into the locker
room because it definitely smelled like, y'know…” he made a crude gesture with his hands.
Sirius laughed immediately and made an offhand comment about randy fourth years who
were getting a head’s start on Valentine’s Day, and no one noticed the flash on his Moony’s
face as he buried himself further into his book.
 The Shirt

“Moony.”

“Padfoot, no.”
“Please, Moony?”

“I said ‘no’.”
“But Mooooooony.”
“There are people, Padfoot.”

“Mooooooonyyyyyyy.”
“...”

“Mooonyyyy. It’s so hot -- aren’t you hot? It’s like a desert out here or one of those
um, ovens Muggles use for making food. About a million degrees, I’d reckon, and all you
have to do is just --”
“I’m quite fine.” A lie. He was sweating profusely. His armpits felt like saunas.
It was hot, dreadfully hot, out by the lake at Hogwarts on this lazy April day,
uncharacteristically warm for what was definitely still spring in Scotland. The heat made
Remus’s skin itch, he who already motored along at a point or two higher than a typical
human, but he wasn’t going to do that.
“Moony!”

“Padfoot.”
“Moony.”

“Sirius.”
“Well, that’s just cruel.” He never called him Sirius, not unless they were doing
something different altogether.

“The people, Padfoot.” There, better. Padfoot was better. Preferred.

“'The people', Moony. What of ‘em?” Sirius looked around wildly; other than the two
of them, maybe three other students were daft enough to go out in the heatwave, evidently.
James and Peter had toffed off to do Sirius-didn’t-care-what-he-had-Moony-to-himself, and
their only company was the Giant Squid. “Gertrude doesn’t care,” he insisted, gesturing
broadly to the tentacle that idly skimmed the surface of the lake. Gertrude was a real pal like
that.
 “In case you haven’t noticed, my dense companion, I am a veritable tan-and-silver
zebra. I don’t look like you -- or Prongs, or Wormtail! People would stare.” Remus plowed
right past the Giant Squid comment -- he refused to entertain Sirius's and James’s notions
that the squid was sentient, female, and named Gertrude, of all things.
Sirius sighed and flopped over so he was belly-down next to him instead of flat on
his back. “Well, I mean, no one looks like me,” he said smirking, his lips curling deliciously
at the corners. He studied Remus’s face and considered for the briefest of moments -- which
he would deny -- giving up on his quest, but saw a chip in his resolve. He could win this.
He would win this.

He suffered through the cuff to his poor, abused skull, keeping his smirk plastered on.
After a furtive glance around to check for spies -- or looky-loos, as it were -- Sirius peeled
off his shorts -- no small feat, as they were practically glued to his muscular thighs with
sweat-- which left him in tight red cotton briefs and leather sandals. “Now look what you’ve
gone and made me do!” he chastised his modest boyfriend, gesturing at himself, as if
he needed to give Remus reason to ogle.
Sirius took succinct pleasure in the strangled yelp and in the blush that started in his
Moony’s cheeks and crept down his neck and presumably to his chest which was still
frustratingly covered in a button-down. “Oi, Moony,” he whispered, leaning in so that an
errant lock of his black hair grazed Remus’s burning-hot cheek. “What’s tan and silver and
red all over?”

Remus, who had been expecting something much more explicit than a modified
children’s joke, found himself sputtering in laughter, clenching his sides. He shoved Sirius
away from him and back down onto his back, where he propped his head on Sirius’s bare
chest. He liked listening to his heartbeat.

“Moony.”
“Yeah?”

“You’re melting my chest, mate.”

Remus snorted and gave Sirius another thump as he sat up. “Hard to please, you are,”
Remus admonished, wishing for all the world he’d brought his wand or even a hairband.
Long, flowing hair was nice and all for living up to your idols and for trying to blend in,
but Merlin if it wasn’t sweltering.

“Oh I’m very easy to please, ta very much. You just have to--”
“I’m not taking off my shirt!”

Sirius pouted, a ridiculous gesture for a seventeen-year-old-Of-Age-wizard, but there

it was. “You’ll feel loads better.”
 “I will not. I will feel self-conscious.”

“I’m in my skivvies!” Sirius protested, gesturing again to the ridiculous amount of

flesh he was displaying, already pinking in the hot sun overhead.
“That’s hardly my fault, don’t you think?” Remus had one of his Looks on, the ones
where he was clearly trying to teach Sirius a Lesson. Annoying.

“Well, yes actually, but I’m not explaining how. You just-- just take off the damn
shirt!” With that, Sirius lunged.
Remus was prepared for this, of course. It was only a matter of time before Sirius
would resort to physicality to get his way, which never really worked out for him. Remus
was easily three inches taller than him still (‘How and why do you keep growing?!’ Sirius
had complained when Remus hit 6’1” and Sirius remained steadfast at 5’10”) and not
entirely human, so Remus always won when wrestling was concerned, but Sirius still tried.
As such, it was no surprise that when Sirius launched himself off of the grass and onto
Remus’s stomach, Remus caught his wrists easily in his hands and held fast, his turn to smirk.

“Aw, c’mon Moooooonyyyy,” Sirius howled, throwing his head back dramatically.
Doing so caused his weight to shift and he knew what he was doing, showing off all of his
own skin to the boy below him who was obviously, clearly, suddenly ravenous, if the,
ah, texture of Sirius’s new seat was any implication.
Remus always had a weakness for Sirius’s jawline and neck -- it was rather
embarrassing, really. Now exposed to him, glistening with light perspiration from the horrible
heat, he groaned as Sirius rocked back on his lap, his body growing even hotter as a familiar
sensation curled behind his navel. He found himself staring at Sirius’s neck, at his bare chest,
at the hair tumbling over his shoulders down his back. “Dirty trick,” he mumbled, but the
heat in his eyes was not from anger.
Sirius cocked his head to the side with one of his patented grins, batting his long
eyelashes innocently. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, Mr. Moony. If
you’re uncomfortable all of a sudden, why, I could help you with that.” He worked his hands
free of Remus’s grip and ran his fingers along the buttons of Remus’s shirt, plucking each
pearly fastening one-by-one with his fingertips.
He felt Remus’s resolve cracking as he had the desired effect on his body -- he was
proudly perched on Remus’s hips and, naturally, felt everything that was happening to his
clothed cock as he rocked “subtly” back and forth. The moan that tumbled from the other
boy’s lips was practically pornographic, and Sirius suddenly found himself scrambling for
his wand, previously abandoned in his shorts pockets.
“Pratexo,” he murmured hastily, drawing a haphazard circle in the air above them. A
shimmery veil closed around them from all sides and Sirius looked haughtily down at Remus,
or as haughtily as one could look at their werewolf boyfriend when sitting three-quarters
naked on their lap with a matching hard-on. “Shirt. Now.”

For someone who hated it when Sirius tried to boss him around normally, Remus was
awfully keen on it when they were together like this. He couldn’t help but give a little thrust
upwards with his hips, drinking in the way Sirius’s body jerked at the unexpected movement.
With the concealment charm in place, he cupped Sirius’s face in his hands and drew his head
down so their lips were a breath apart. “Why? You’ve seen it before.” He was suddenly shy
in their little bubble, cloistered off from the rest of the world.

“Yes, yes and I want to see it again and again until I can’t see anymore, you idiot,”
Sirius chastised, punctuating his proclamation with a soul-searing kiss. Their tongues slid
together and he heard Moony gasp just so and he smiled inwardly -- he had him!

Quickly, before Remus got his damn sensibilities back, Sirius unfastened each and
every stupid button on his stupid, pointless shirt. The white cotton parted and Sirius hummed
appreciatively at the sight, tan skin crosshatched with a netting of silvery scars. He ran his
hands, hot and sweaty which wasn’t very sexy but still okay, he hoped, down Remus’s chest,
admiring the faint chisel of muscle that covered what would otherwise be a scrawny torso.
Remus was lost in their kiss, easily overwhelmed in this field of physicality, and
couldn’t even begin to stop Sirius from disrobing him. “You haven’t cooled me down in the
slightest,” Remus accused, truly feeling much warmer than when they’d started. He had his
large hands on Sirius’s waist though, long fingers curling over his hip bones and holding him
steady.
Wickedness flashed in Sirius’s gray eyes which made Remus feel very much like a
rabbit under the gaze of the big bad wolf. “What are you talking about? I never said it would
cool you down.” Warm hands were trying to undo the fastening of his jeans, obscenely deft
in this practiced technique.
“For the love of--- ahhh, Sirius!”

Sirius, who allowed the use of his given name in these very special circumstances,
had now rescued (he was a saint, truly) Remus’s cock from the confines of his jeans and was
practically salivating at seeing it out in the virtual open, lit by the light of day and not by
whatever his own stupid human eyes could see in dark broom closets and empty classrooms
in the dead of night.

Remus watched him lick his lips, slow and distinctly predatory, his pink tongue
running across his smooth perfect mouth. He suddenly wanted very badly to fill that mouth
with his cock and thrust again, upwards, hissing as his cockhead slid against the washboard
that was Sirius’s stomach.
 Fortunately for Remus, Sirius was a benevolent god. Full of himself and high on his
success, he shimmied down the taller boy’s legs until his head was between his thighs, gray
eyes locked on his target. With sinful fluidity, he took all of his cock into his mouth in one
go, living for the sudden shocked stilling and then frantic micro-thrusts as Remus acclimated.
“Sirius!” Remus gasped, feeling very very faint. He didn’t have time to worry
about where Sirius had perfected this skill or with whom, he was too busy having his very
life sucked out through his dick by the former heir to the largest pureblood family in England.
Blood purity never meant anything to Remus, obviously, but there was something extra dirty
about it all nonetheless. He dug his fingers into Sirius’s hair, sweaty but not overly damp,
squirming with every salacious slurp and hot-too-hot glide of his tongue along the underside
of his cock.
Sirius opened his eyes and studied Remus’s chest obsessively, watching how some of
the more raised scars pulled with each twitch of his abdomen, how it was like watching
ripples on the surface of a still lake. ‘Don’t wax poetic now, Black, you’ve got a job to do,’
he corrected himself internally and swallowed around the cock in his throat.
The sounds coming out of Remus’s mouth weren’t even remotely English, but they
satisfied Sirius all the same, perhaps more, knowing he’d rendered the usually eloquent
werewolf dumb. He flicked his tongue across the frenulum and then along the slit of Remus’s
cock, using his hands to work his shaft so it wouldn’t be neglected. The pinpricks of pain in
his scalp as Remus’s fingers dug their way in deeper told him everything he needed to know
and he hollowed his cheeks with a throaty moan, spurring him on.
It didn’t take long -- it never did, with Sirius going full-tilt like this -- before Remus
came, panting like a bitch in heat, thick ropes shooting down his throat and his hands shoving
Sirius down on his cock in a last desperate effort to never forget this feeling, to burn it into
his mind.
Sirius pulled off of his cock as it began to soften with a lewd slurp, licking his lips
like a cat who’d happily gotten a different kind of cream. “Mm, Moony,” he whispered,
admiring his handiwork. Merlin, he loved seeing Moony blissed out like that, pupils blown
wide and face flushed, his sandy curls every which way and his cock spent. He could get
used to this.

It took Remus several seconds to come down from his euphoric high, but Sirius’s
persistent erection against his thigh threatened to harden his own cock again. He reached
hungrily for Sirius, but the other boy leaned back until he was sitting with his ass on the
grass, knees spread apart.

“Take. Off. Your. Shirt.” Sirius instructed, growing desperate.

Remus, who had literally no reason to not do so now, not after all that, obliged, albeit
a little slowly, his extremities feeling less-than cooperative in his post-orgasmic bliss.
“Padfoot, wha-” He slid the shirt from his shoulders and let it hit the ground with a soft
whisper.

“Look at me,” came the next command, and Remus complied, locking his amber eyes
with Sirius’s gray.
Sirius could look at those eyes forever. He palmed himself through his briefs before
taking out his cock. He raked over Remus’s body hungrily, stroking himself with a fervor
that matched the temperature outside. He took in everything, from the crookedness of his
nose to the mouth that he knew hid the world’s filthiest tongue, to the surprisingly delicate
collar bones almost camouflaged by scars. He was so beautiful, his Moony, and all his.
He thought about what he wanted to do to his beautiful Moony, how he longed to
bury his cock in him and forget about all the shit going on in the world, make him really his,
and his strokes grew more frantic. He snapped his eyes up to look at Remus’s again and they
were like they were in his dreams, always, glinting gold in the sunlight set on a golden face
framed by golden brown hair. “Ah Moony, fuck,” he hissed as he came hard in his hand,
splashing himself in the face with the force of it and his angle.
Remus watched him in awe, hardly believing what they’d just done on the Hogwarts
Grounds -- in broad daylight, at that. Sirius had a way of getting his way and getting away
with it, too, it was uncanny. He leaned over and cheekily licked Sirius’s chin clean with a
single swathe of his tongue.
“Godric, Moony, trying to have another go?” Sirius breathed, smiling broadly at him.

“Maybe if it wasn’t so hot,” Remus conceded and stretched out beside him, brazenly
showing off his long, lean torso now that he knew his only audience was Sirius.
“I think I know a charm for that.”
 Aureate

He grew up surrounded by silver, green, and black. Silver flatware, silver brooches,
silver eyes staring back at him in the mirror, in the faces of his brother and his parents. Green
velvet brocade curtains, green dragonhide boots—only the best, for the scion of the House
of Black—green emerald serpent’s eyes adorning every cloak clasp. Black, handsome owls,
black hair like ink on parchment, Black in his very name.
Gold wasn’t despised—it was the color of Galleons, after all, and valuable—but
Sirius had never given it a second thought until he met him.

Eleven years old, and completely taken by surprise when he met a scrawny, bony
scrap of a thing who, by all accounts, shouldn’t have even warranted a second glance. He
was obviously Muggleborn, or close enough to it, and therefore not worth his time. But from
the moment Sirius met his wary, self-conscious gaze—gold-amber-honeycomb—he'd been
hooked.

Icterine irises, incandescent.

It was no small matter that Sirius was Sorted into Gryffindor, the first in recent
memory from the Noble House of Black. He cast off the green and silver to take on the scarlet
and gold colors of his new House to the chagrin of his old. That boy—Remus Lupin, he
learned—was claimed by Gryffindor, too, and Sirius was at once both relieved and annoyed
by the coincidence. How darehe follow him? How dare Remus, a half-blood with nothing to
his name, bring this… whatever it was...out in him! Didn’t he know who Sirius was?!

Oriole feathers, ornate filaments, and Or flecks, open, objecting, and obstinate.
Those eyesfollowed him. At first, from a distance—Remus was horrendously shy and
quiet, that first year—defensive and guarded, with fleeting shadows and great, dark bags
under them that reminded Sirius uncomfortably of his Uncle Alphard, fallen ill. He could’ve
dismissed him if that’s how they remained, distant and unapproachable. They were nothing
like the twinkling glass-shielded hazel of his new friend James, or the eager, limpid blue of
Peter’s. Remus's eyes held him—and everyone, really, except that annoying Evans girl—at
an arm’s length. It would've been easier, if they'd only stayed.

Amber, animalistic, and aureate, affronted, appraising.

But they hadn’t. Within two years, the four of them were fast friends: inseparable,
brothers by choice, kept secrets, and by oaths whispered under the darkness of the new moon.
Those eyes became backlit by mischief and the barely-bridled chaos of a newly-teenaged boy
spinning tales to their professors, assurances that no, of course not, Professor, we didn’t
enchant the toilets to flush like geysers, we don't even know the Latin for 'geyser', do
we? They drew Sirius in, and the color of them haunted his every waking moment.

Gilt, like glittering Grecian gold-leaved laurels, laughing.

Gold rope-ties on his scarlet bed hangings. Gold trophies polished to mirrored
perfection by hand. Gold galleons thrown into the pot for a game of strip poker on his
sixteenth birthday. Gold skin, colored by a summer spent swimming and stretched taut over
a bony body. Gold hair, sun-bleached from tawny brown. Gold eyes, watching, waiting,
wanting. Wanting... him?

Goldenrod gaze gratuitously glancing his way, wide and wondering.

It terrified Sirius. Not for any reason he could explain, not properly, anyway. He was
used to being watched—he was Sirius Black, for the Founders’ sake—but there was
a hunger there, lurking below the surface of those amber-resin pools that made something in
him squirm and come to life.
When he learned how to become Padfoot, Sirius thought he finally had a way to hide
from those wriggling, climbing, heart-fluttering feelings. Dogs were colorblind—everyone
knew that—and he looked forward to a break from all the noise of color around him. The
first time he shifted properly, though, he nearly threw his head back and wailed.
Almost everything looked gold—or some frustrating shade of it that wasn’t quite perfect—
from the red jumper peeking rebelliously from his trunk to those stupid green curtains that
still hung on the wall in his bedroom.

Nothing compared to the real deal, wide and...unbelieving, awe-struck, as Remus

took them all in: the stag, the dog, the rat. As Padfoot, all he felt was the tail-
wagging delight as he took in Remus’s amazement, saw his eyes glisten with hot, diamond
tears unshed.
Sirius quickly learned that the wolf’s eyes were very different; they were hard and
distrusting of him and their friends. Cold, liked two chunks of crystallized honey, and wary
in a way he hadn't seen since their first year, a lifetime ago. The wolf was unafraid of
meeting his eyes in a direct challenge, an unmistakable vie for dominance, and Sirius-as-
Padfoot instinctively submitted, rolled onto his back to show off his soft belly.

Honeyed and hungry, hurrying him, heedless, home.

But in them, behind the guard walls, was Remus, his Moony. They were faint and
fleeting, but glimpses of him peeked through in the way Moony laughed at him open-mawed,
in the bruising shoulder-shoves and playful nips of his hocks, and in the distinct,
poignant sorrow as the moon started to set because their fun night was coming to an end.

Marigolds in mydriasis matching the moonlit maw mouthing his moniker.

 *~*~*

Sorrow like he feels now. They're going to be apart for two entire months, and Sirius
isn't quite sure he can manage. He's spent the last 438,000 minutes—give or take a few—in
the company of Remus, as the sole subject of those perfect, piercing, pensive
peepers. Sighing dejectedly, Sirius strikes a line through that last entry on his parchment and
casts aside his quill.

He's been trying to write Remus a note—no, a letter—for the past half hour,
something he will ideally hold dear while he thinks fondly of Sirius late at night, alone in his
room that smells of salt and the sea and not like him at all!

Lamps like liquid luck, lowering languid and lustful.

"Oh, that's proper poetry, that is, Pads." A laugh, poorly stifled, a presence behind
him. Warm. Familiar. Ill-timed!
"I don't want to hear it, Prongs!" James doesn't understand. How could he, when
Evans and her self-righteousness and garden-variety green eyes still won't give him the time
of day? No, James has no idea what Sirius is going through.
He and Remus said their actual goodbyes last night under the cover of a well-
placed muffliato and sealed-shut bed hangings. They whispered about how two months
would pass in no time, a blink of an eye, like the summer holidays always did. It hadn't made
Sirius feel any better. In the end, he knew his bed at the Potters' would feel too cold, too big,
too empty without Remus sleeping next to him.

When the prickly feeling of someone at his shoulder does not fade, Sirius huffs and
covers the rest of the parchment with his sprawled hand. "Something I can help you with,
Prongs?"

James laughs, long and loud and full of promise for future ribbing. "Mate, it's only
two months and he said his dad might let us come round again after the August moon!"
Sirius knows he's pouting and knows he's being ridiculous but... still. Logic and
Reason were his eternal foes, lifelong rivals to be fenced with and held at wandpoint, never
given quarter! 'Two months' was an eternity—over five million seconds!—to spend away
from Remus.
"Where is Moony anyway?" he asks, suddenly filled with dread. What if—oh no—
what if his dad had done something completely out of character and come to pick up Moony
from school!? Then he'd have to owl this letter and the owl could get lost and then-

"He's waiting for us on the train. It leaves in twenty minutes, you knob. Wormtail's
on his way there and you know how I get if I don't have the window seat!" He already looks
a little green around the gills, as it were. "Mum will flat kill us, also, if we miss the train,
so please, can we go?"

Sirius looks around, startled by the emptiness of the Common Room. Surely, it had
been packed with students saying tearful goodbyes not five minutes ago, right?
"Padfoot!" James interrupts his third scan of the room and gives him a shake. "What's
gotten into you?"

Sirius sweeps his half-written, half-crossed-out letter off of the table and into the
rubbish bin with his arm, sets the whole thing ablaze with a snap of his fingers, and jumps to
his feet. James was right. He was being maudlin. He'd see Moony in two months! "Right,
then, Prongs! Let's go, hurry up now!" he announces, and takes off at a run with his brother
hot on his heels.

They clatter into the compartment with a victorious whoop, James throwing himself
against the window seat just as Wormtail, face blotched dusky pink by a peppering of kisses,
shuffles in, looking dazed but altogether pleased. Sirius wiggles in next to Remus, who peers
at him from over the top of his book—it was just like him to get a headstart on the summer
reading, the swot! They had two whole months to get it done—an eternity!

An eternity.
Remus doesn't comment on his uncharacteristic silence, merely drapes his arm around
Sirius's shoulders while he reads, an anchor holding him steadfast.

Two months of Moony transforming without them. How was the boy to manage?!
Sirius knows what kind of set-up Remus has at home, and while not archaic and actually
quite humane, it's nothing like the Forbidden Forest where they can run the entire night and
never reach the other side. He'd be alone, lonely, aching.

Sirius stares at the long stretch of Remus's thigh—corduroy-clad even in the brutal
late June heat—and dimly registers his name being said in James's retelling of their grand
summer plans: quidditch, camping, more quidditch. No one says anything as Sirius closes
his eyes and turns his face against Remus's neck, half-hidden by long, sandy curls he knows
will be nearly platinum by the time he sees him next.

Two months.
It's a lifetime.
Anything could happen. Sirius feels safe with the Potters, away from the coldness of
12 Grimmauld Place, but the Lupins' was remote, the wards held together by one tired,
exhausted wizard. There's a war brewing, Moony could get hurt, or kidnapped, or killed! He
could die without knowing.
 Without knowing what? his traitorous brain supplies. He's not even really admitted it
in so many words to himself, what he wants to say. What he needs to say. How when he looks
at Remus, he feels like he may burst from the excitement of it all. How when Remus looks
at him, happiness burns every last shadow and doubt out of his veins.
The train stops. There's a gentle press of lips to his hair, and Sirius wakes with a jolt,
twisting in his seat to stare wide-eyed up at Remus. His neck protests the odd angle he's kept
for—Merlin's dick!—over six hours, stiff and aching.

"You must've been tired," Remus says, soft and vaguely teasing. They were both up
until the sun rose, curled together, talking about nothing that really mattered. Remus looks
tired, too, but the bookmark in his tome implies he didn't take a nap on the train like Sirius
had.

There's a shuffling and James and Wormtail make a hasty retreat with their trunks in
tow. They've said their goodbyes already, as well, and it's not like James will leave without
him. "Alright, Padfoot?" Remus asks when the compartment door slides shut, smoothing the
sleep-tousled hair from Sirius's brow.
"I…" The words stick in his throat, die on his tongue. Something shifts on Remus's
face, turning it sad and bittersweet, but he doesn't say anything, either. Where is his
Gryffindor courage? The recklessness that guides the other 90% of his life? Gone, lost to the
ether, squandered under the force of that aureate gaze.
I love you.

Three words.
Two months.

He can do this!
He opens his mouth to speak, but two scarred fingers come to rest against his lips.
"Pads, don't, we're about to…" Remus trails off, voice tight. A piece of Sirius breaks off and
he wraps his fingers around Remus's bony wrist, pries it away with the gentlest touch, and
slides their hands together, fingers entwined.

Two hands. Two months. Two moons.

"Moony, if I don't say it… I'm saying it." Go on. Remus gives his hand a squeeze,
looking half like he's about to run and half like he wants to laugh. It's so split, so dissonant,
that Sirius breaks out of his anxious freeze. "I love you." It's out. He can't take it back. Doesn't
want to take it back, even if Remus looks even more like he wants to run, a caginess rising
in his eyes as the whites stretch around the irises, stark and stunned.
But then his face softens, the hand in his loosens, slips away, and finds a new home
against the sharp curve of his jaw, into his hair. Chapped lips rasp against his, slow but sure,
and Sirius loses himself in the embrace, in the rightness of it. They've had tens of dozens of
kisses, but none quite like this. This steady, even slide of Remus's mouth against his, like he's
known all along but was just waiting to hear it for himself.

"You knew?" Sirius asks when they break.

Remus's smile sprawls, luxurious in its purity, stretching out like a languid housecat
over his face, lightening it and chasing away the shadows that still lurk around every sharp
angle's corner. "Of course. I could see it in your eyes," Remus answers. It should sound trite,
like something he's read in one of Remus's mum's romance novels, but coming from Remus
here, now, with the threat of two months of distance looming between them, it's the most
beautiful thing he's ever heard.
And Remus doesn't say it back, not today. He doesn't need to—Sirius does enough
jabbering for the both of them, and he's never been one for pretty, flowery words. No, because
when he looks away from Remus's bee-stung kiss-slick mouth, he sees it reflected deep in
his eyes: love, lasting and lingering, leonine-lusern-lupine.

New Heights

Chapter 1: Hemlines

"Circe’s tits!” Remus’s frustrated snarl sent Sirius shooting upright in his bed,
suddenly awake. From the sliver of space between his bed curtains, Sirius watched as a shirt
flew across the Gryffindor dormitory to land in an undignified heap that appeared to consist
of a pair of trousers and black student robes.

Puzzled, Sirius blinked sleep from his eyes and swished the curtains fully open.
Remus stood, in his hunched-shoulder way, next to his dresser and looked positively livid.
Sirius’s mind raced -- what had he done? They hadn’t pulled any pranks on Moony or anyone
yet this year -- it was only the first day of term, after all, and Snivellus had been suspiciously
mute thus far. He searched the room for the cause of Remus’s anger but only saw ripped-
open dresser drawers, a hairbrush filled with tawny strands, and a faultless pair of rolled-up
socks.
James poked his head out of the bathroom, untidy hair dripping wet from his shower.
He looked at Sirius, his bronze shoulders heaving and falling in a clear ‘i’unno, mate’ gesture.
Peter didn’t stir from his duvet, ever the heavy sleeper, so naturally the task of Sorting Moony
fell to Sirius. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous-- not, he told himself, because Remus was
standing about in just a pair of gray briefs-- and pushed his covers back as he stood.
 “What’s all this about Circe’s bountiful beautiful breasts of legend?” he asked lightly,
approaching Remus from the side-- they all knew it was dumb to try to sneak up on Moony
this close to the full moon. He watched Remus’s spine straighten, accompanied by audible
clicks, and allowed himself to savor the way his lean muscles rippled under the patchworked
skin before he raked his eyes to the safety of Remus’s face.
When Remus turned to face him, his golden eyes were strained and he’d caught his
bottom lip between his teeth in a familiar, worrying habit. Sirius pushed down the urge to
pluck the poor abused flesh from his mouth and show Remus how it really ought to be
treated, and refocused again on his lovely, lovely eyes. Remus grunted and gestured sharply
to the pile of clothing in the corner. “Nothing fits,” he muttered sourly.
Sirius felt helpless in the face of the image before him -- Remus was even tanner than
when they’d hung out over the summer and his hair had been bleached nearly blonde by the
hours spent in the sunshine. He’d started to grow a tuft of chest hair around the mangled scars
on his torso, a dark contrast to the golden hair that tumbled to Remus’s shoulders. A few
freckles had popped up on the bridge of his nose, peeking around the smooth slickness of the
scar, and only when Sirius realized he was staring again did he clear his throat to speak. He
didn't know how he was supposed to endure an entire year of this.
“Didn’t you just get fitted when we met in Diagon?” Sirius asked, eyebrows raised
high. He’d been there three weeks ago; he’d watched the seamstress -- not Malkin, she was
far too pricey for the Lupins -- tut over Remus and adjust the hem on every item he owned,
had heard her scold him for not eating enough as she had to take in his waistline again. It was
an uncomfortable affair for everyone and had cost Remus’s dad a decent sum to have it all
altered.
A blush colored the sharp planes of Remus’s cheeks and he looked away sharply.
“Yeah, s’pose I grew… again.” The last bit came out as a labored sigh and he leaned his
whole wiry frame on the dresser. The edge bit into his hip, and Sirius watched, captivated as
he crossed his long legs at the ankle. He reprimanded himself roundly -- he could not be so
obvious, could not be caught doing something so creepy, so he padded over to the pile of
discarded clothing to increase the distance between them. He could breathe better, felt his
heart rate slow down, now that he wasn’t adjacent to Moony, and felt the fog in his mind
clear.

James emerged, hair dried and fully dressed except for his tie -- he’d proclaimed last
night that he was going to see how long McGonagall would let him go without the
"oppressive" item on -- from the bathroom and joined Sirius at the pile. “Not to worry! I’m
sure Pads and I can fix you up, Moons,” James, ever the fixer, assured with a toothy smile.
Remus looked like he wasn’t quite sure at all, but to his credit remained silent while
James and Sirius conferred over the best course of action in a series of hand gestures and
eyebrow waggles.
 After a few minutes, James snatched the abandoned shirt and bounced to Remus’s
side. “C’mon, let’s see the damage, then!” he insisted, shoving the shirt at his chest.

Remus sighed and peeled himself away from the dresser languidly. Sirius kept his eye
glued to the back of James’s head, unable to trust himself to watch Moony dress. When the
rustling of clothing stopped, he saw the issue. An entire two inches of Remus’s flat stomach
peeked out from the hem of the shirt, a sharp contrast to the crisp white. His wrists stuck out
well beyond his cuffs, as well, and the shirt hugged his bony shoulders a little too tightly.
“I knew we should’ve stuck with Madame Malkin’s,” Remus said bitterly.

Sirius tutted and grabbed his wand from his bedside table. He stood shoulder-to-
shoulder with James and flipped a coin to see who would go first. James won, the prat, and
Sirius scowled in his defeat.

James, victorious and full of the vim and vigor that comes with being a morning
person, tapped his wand at the hem of Remus’s shirt and exclaimed, “Crescere!” The shirt
grew ten sizes at once and enveloped Moony in white cotton that dragged nearly to the floor.
“Oops…” James spluttered before they all doubled over in laughter at the ridiculous
sight.

Remus humored them for a little while longer and let James and Sirius try three more
made-up spells, none of which had the desired effect on his clothing. Turns out, there’s
a reason seamstresses were paid good money-- tailoring clothing and fibre magic required a
finesse that three teenage boys could not possibly hope to possess.

“Okay, okay, one more try,” Sirius said between a fit of giggles. The last effort had
Remus’s shirt flashing green-and-blue for some reason, and he was still seeing the assaulting
colors when he closed his eyes.
“Sirius, it’s fine, I’ll just--”

“Nonsense!” Sirius interrupted, pointing his wand threateningly at Remus, who

merely rolled his eyes. Sirius summoned his Charms textbook and thumbed through a few
pages, making convincing hems and haws until he felt he had a little more of Remus’s
confidence.

Tossing the book to his bed carelessly, Sirius took a few steps back and waved his
wand in a complicated set of swishes and flicks. Latin flowed from his mouth mixed with a
little French and, if asked explicitly what they meant, he wouldn’t really be able to say, but
miraculously, Remus’s shirt adjusted to fit him perfectly and, if Sirius said so himself (and
he did), it fit better than anything ever had. Excitedly, and before Remus could protest, Sirius
copied the spell on his robes and trousers, and practically glowed under the shocked look
Remus gave him.
 Sirius remained very proud of himself the entire morning and well into the afternoon
until a flash of tan skin distracted him in Herbology. Remus was deep in concentration at his
workstation, but his ankles were exposed and, Sirius realized with a horror, so was the skin
above his belt, and his wrists, and--
“What the fuck, Sirius!”
“Mr. Black!” Professor Sprout’s voice cut through the dull chatter in unison with
Remus’s growl as the overwhelming smell of dragon dung filled the small greenhouse. Sirius
had accidentally-on-purpose split the three bags he was hauling over, and the foul stuff coated
both him and Moony.
Remus’s face was dark with anger and embarrassment and probably the effort it took
to not vomit at the odor, but Sirius merely plastered a sheepish smile on his face under the
heat of it. “Oops, sorry, Moony, Professor -- butterfingers.” From the corner of his eye, he
saw Remus’s shirt ride up above his hip bone, the puckered pinkness of his original bite
peeking from just below it. Remus seemed to acknowledge it then and went white under the
smear of dragon dung on his face.
Professor Sprout sighed and gestured at the door to the greenhouse, excusing them
wearily to go change out of their ruined clothing. As soon as they were clear of the
greenhouses, Sirius ripped off his robes and gave them to Remus, who awkwardly threaded
his arms through to cover his mostly-bare torso.
By the time they reached Gryffindor Tower, Remus's trousers were basically long
shorts and his shirt was at his breastbone.

"What the hell, Sirius?" he accused as they stumbled into their dorm, bringing the
rank stench with them. "What was that spell?"
Sirius, already midway through peeling off his shirt and tie to toss them down the
laundry chute, stilled. "Uh…" he stalled, tearing the button-up the rest of the way off. "See,
Moonbeam, that's a great question."
Remus's jaw dropped open and while Sirius would've liked it to be in reaction to
seeing him in all of his bare-chested glory, he knew better. "You… you cast a mystery spell
on me?? But you consulted the textbook! Sirius." His tone was severe and he'd narrowed his
eyes to slits. It sent a not-unpleasant shiver down Sirius's spine.

"I mean, it worked… for a bit."

Remus's now-scrap of a shirt hit him in the face with a disgustingly damp thud and
Sirius retched. When he pulled it off, Remus had the audacity to smirk at him. Remus never
smirked. Well, almost never. Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but was cut short by
Remus's trousers landing on his head.
 Something lighter hit his face and with a jolt of awareness, Sirius realized it had to
be Remus's briefs. His body flushed with heat and he was thankful for the trouser legs
covering his face.

"You need a shower." Remus's voice made him jump and provoked a not-manly-at-
all yelp from his throat. He was much closer than Sirius anticipated, the heat of his breath on
the shell of his ear, but then it was gone, replaced by the sound of the shower starting in the
bathroom.

When he finally pulled the clothing off of his face, he saw a glimpse of Remus's
rather-pale backside before it disappeared behind the closed door.
This year was going to be hard.
 Chapter 2: Mistletoe

"Sirius, love, stop lazing about and help your mum with these cakes!" Euphemia
Potter's gentle tones snapped Sirius from his doubtlessly cow-eyed gazing at one Remus John
Lupin and he jerked his head up from the velvet wing of the armchair he'd sprawled out in.
Remus was helping Lily decorate the Potters' enormous Christmas tree, but had gotten a bit
of very distracting golden tinsel stuck in his sandy curls. Sirius smiled, though, and cheerfully
obliged his adopted mother.
He rose from the chair to dutifully join Euphemia in the vast kitchen. She'd set aside
a small fairy cake for him already, which quickly found itself eaten and sent down the hatch.
Sirius bent to kiss Effie on her copper cheek and snickered when she scolded him for leaving
behind a dollop of icing. "You're nothing but trouble," she teased, though the caress to his
overgrown hair was nothing short of affectionate.
Half an hour later, the cakes were iced and artfully arranged and the tree was mostly
decorated. James and Fleamont appeared through the front door, red-cheeked and bringing
the icy wind with them, with paper sacks filled to bursting with all manner of produce, and
the house felt full again, the family complete.

From the top of one of the sacks, James produced a sprig of mistletoe. Grinning ear-
to-ear, he held it above Lily's head, his smile only broadening when she obliged him with a
firm-but-chaste kiss.

Sirius locked eyes with Remus from across the room and couldn't keep the sappy
smile from his face. Memories of the last Christmas he spent with Remus filled his mind, last
year when they'd had the whole dorm to themselves and spent it tangled up together, but
while the memory sent a heated blaze down his spine, this year was different.
He crossed the room in four long strides to join Remus in front of the tree. He reached
out, intending to hold his hand, but instead had a glittering glass ornament pressed into his
palm. "It's not done," Remus explained blithely, his lips twitching in the barest of smiles. The
last full moon had done a number on his mouth, and Remus still nursed an uncomfortable
split lip that rejected Pomfrey's healing spells.
"Can't we just…" Sirius started, plucking his wand from his hair with a flourish.

Remus's fingers wrapped entirely around his wrist and Sirius stilled, mouth dry and
heart pounding. Remus slowly pried the wand from his hand and tucked it into his back
pocket with a disapproving stare. "Padfoot, it's Christmas. It's magical enough as-is. Adding
more is, well… it's impersonal," he chided, voice low. Normally, Sirius would've had a pre-
loaded retort, but his snarky comebacks couldn't even make it out the gate with Remus's hand
on his wrist, holding him firm.
 So instead, Sirius found himself nodding in mute, uncharacteristically obedient,
agreement, and picked out a special place for the ornament in the evergreen branches. The
glass orb left behind gold glitter on his fingertips and he glanced sidelong at Remus, who had
busied himself with adding more ornaments. With a flick of his wrist, Sirius dragged his
fingers across Remus's nose, leaving the glitter behind.
"Oi!" Remus laughed and grabbed Sirius's wrists again, both of them this time, and
held them tight to his chest. Sirius willingly let himself be dragged forward and stared at…
Remus's adam's apple. He swallowed thickly, heart thundering again.

Remus didn't always stand up straight. In fact, his posture was downright terrible,
and Sirius often forgot just how tall his boyfriend was. But here, in a place Remus was
completely at ease, he'd uncurled his spine and had even drawn his shoulders back a little.
He was magnificent, Sirius concluded, entirely too handsome for his own good in his too-
baggy maroon jumper and too-short jeans with the hole in the knee.

Sirius licked his lips when Remus's adam's apple bobbed in the tan column of his
throat. Above the blood roaring in his ears, he dimly heard the back garden door close and
realized that they were suddenly, wonderfully alone. The Potters really were the best parents
he could ask for. He studied Remus's throat for a few more seconds, counting the scattering
of shy freckles -- there were 12 -- before he leaned back to properly look at him.

The glitter on Remus's face sparkled in the Christmas lights on the tree, catching bits
of what Remus had called Christmas magic and throwing it back into the golden pools of his
eyes. "You're beautiful, Moony," he breathed, completely captivated by the otherworldly
figure before him.

Remus's harsh laugh was not unexpected, but Sirius frowned nonetheless. He
wrenched his wrists free and dug his hands into the tumble of tawny hair that fell around
Remus's face, wrapping the thick curls around his fingers to hold him tight. "I mean it. You're
the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Come down here so I can kiss you," he demanded,
refusing to break eye contact. Merlin, he could stare at his Moony's eyes forever.
James picked just that moment to burst back inside, squawking about how he never
got this kind of respect or privacy and how it was far too cold to force him to stay outside,
adding that if his parents ever wanted grandchildren, he needed to be somewhere less balls-
blistering frigid. His cheek got him wallops from his mother and Lily, but the interruption
made Remus withdraw back into his shy shell. Sirius's hands fell uselessly out of his hair and
he scowled at his so-called brother.
Their friends knew about him and Moony, of course. They'd only been able to keep it
secret for a couple of weeks. Between spending literally every waking moment with them
and Sirius's unbreakable bond with James, it hadn't felt right to keep him in the dark. Remus
was still gun-shy about a lot of things, and had told Sirius as much when they were on the
train back to London for the holidays. He'd said while he knew the Potters were okay with it,
he just didn't feel comfortable flaunting it, giving them one more secret to be forced to keep
for him.

It was complete and utter horsecock, really. Euphemia was more than understanding
of Sirius when, sobbing and dry-heaving one summer in her arms, he'd told her he might
fancy blokes. She'd been supportive and loving and everything wonderful he'd never
dreamed of having. They didn't just put up with their queer adopted son and his queer
werewolf boyfriend, no. Sirius knew they happily embraced them. The Potters were never
forced to do anything. Everything they did, they did with their whole chest, and from the very
goodness of their hearts.
Sirius tried to keep chipper afterward, but took a few more opportunities than he
normally would to help out around the house, leaving Remus to play games of chess with
Lily or help wrap presents. A few hours after lunch, James all but forced Sirius to go on a
midday run with him. As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Sirius shifted seamlessly
into Padfoot; dog emotions were a lot easier to manage.
"Oh, that's how it's going to be?" James grumbled down at him, his breath fogging
the air. Padfoot looked up at him and barked petulantly before peeling off for the woods.
James gave chase but within seconds, the heavy footfalls of a clumsy human turned into the
graceful hoofbeats of a stag. From over his shoulder, he saw James-as-Prongs sprinting after
him and couldn't help the joyful yips that fell from his gaping maw.

Dog and stag ran until they reached a familiar clearing with a small, frozen lake and
Padfoot skidded to a stop... or tried to. Braking was never his strong suit. He tumbled ass-
over-teakettle onto the ice and when the world stopped spinning, he saw the stag stomping
in place with his head thrown back, clearly laughing at him. The nobility of the eight tines
on his brow was counteracted by the jolly flicking of his tail. After a failed attempt to walk
back normally, Padfoot got low and belly-crawled across the ice to the safety of the shore,
growling and grumbling the whole way.
They both returned to their human selves, panting from the sprint, but smiling stupidly
at each other. "So. Moony. Earlier," James said between breaths, looking a bit sheepish.
"Sorry bout that… I was a bit of a prick." He ran his hand through his messier-than-usual
hair. It always stuck up more after he came back from being the stag, like his hair wasn't quite
done with the antlers just yet.
Sirius knocked their shoulders together casually, staring out at the lake. "S'alright,
mate. Moony's just… y'know. Shy." A lump formed in his throat and it hurt to swallow it
down. "I just… okay don't fucking laugh. I just want him to kiss me like you kiss Evans,
y'know? In front of everyone. Maybe not at school but here, with our family." He hated how
sad and pathetic he sounded and thought about switching back into Padfoot.
 James's arm wrapped tight around his shoulder and held firm as the other boy knocked
his head against his. "He'll get there, Pads. You know what he's like. Can't get out of his own
head half the time. Reckon it's awful in there. He's had to keep secrets his whole life, big
ones. Just be patient."
James always had a way of being wise beyond his years when it really mattered, and
Sirius nodded silently, knowing in his heart that James was right. They walked back to the
house in companionable silence and got a good telling-off by Euphemia for taking so long.

Christmas Eve dinner was a festive affair, filled with enough food to fill even Moony
up, and they all crowed their praises for Euphemia's faultless cooking. Lily and James helped
James's parents tidy things away and Sirius found himself being pulled out into the back
garden.

The hedges in every yard were covered in twinkling fairy lights, casting warm
shadows on Remus's face as he looked down at him. Remus's arms draped around his waist
and he rested his cheek atop Sirius's head. From the deep inhale, Sirius knew he was taking
in his scent in that odd Moony way, knew he'd smell Prongs and Padfoot lingering in his hair.
"I'm sorry," Remus breathed on the baby hairs on his forehead, soft as a whisper.
Sirius hooked his fingers through his belt loops and tucked his nose into the dip
between Remus's collarbones, a wonderfully convenient and ever-so-warm resting spot. He
smelled of wassail and rosemary and pumpkin spice cake, and Sirius's heart did the funny
little dance it liked to do when he was close to Remus. "Nothing to be sorry for," Sirius
murmured against his chest, lips grazing the edge of his jumper.
They stood there for several long minutes, Sirius warmed completely by Remus's
natural body heat, the steam rising in faint waves around them in sharp contrast to the night's
frost. Eventually, Remus pulled away, a look of determination on his face. He tugged Sirius
back inside and parked him in front of the glamorously decorated Christmas tree. James's
greeting was quickly shushed by Lily, and Sirius barely had time to register it before one of
Remus's hands wrapped around the back of his neck.
He looked up, guided by the gentle press on his jaw, and saw Remus's other hand
holding mistletoe above them, dangling by two scarred fingers. A shy smile curled across his
lips, which suddenly looked much better off than they did that afternoon, courtesy no doubt
of Fleamont's stash of potions, and the next thing Sirius knew, Remus was leaning down and
--ohh.
He didn't know how many times he'd kissed Remus, but each and every time sent
butterflies fluttering in his stomach. His mouth was warm and soft, if a little chapped, and
his nose bumped his cheekbone but that was alright, it was Moony and he was kissing him in
front of the most important people in Sirius's life.
 Sirius again dug his hands in Remus's hair and kissed sweetly back, gliding his tongue
along his bottom lip until he obliged, chasing it in a mockery of chasteness back into Remus's
mouth. He tasted like the wassail, too, cinnamon and apple and clove, and it was all so
wonderful Sirius thought he might combust.
Sirius pulled away first, grateful beyond reason that James kept his big mouth shut,
and lowered his hands to Remus's chest. Remus pressed their foreheads together and Sirius's
vision swam in gold monochrome.

"Smoke?" Remus whispered against his cheek, and Sirius smiled into his neck.
"Yeah, 'course."

They went back out into the garden and sat on the long bench swing near the property
line. The waning moon cast its light on the smoke they exhaled, and they made ridiculous
shapes out of the tendrils, sending a smoky wolf chasing after a dog along the hedges, a
dragon catching a grasshopper on the grass.
James and Lily joined them after a few minutes, curled on a thick quilt in the grass,
and Fleamont and Euphemia followed soon after. Fleamont passed around piping mugs of
hot toddies and lit a fire for those of them not fortunate enough to have free use of a portable
werewolf heater, and they spent the evening telling ghost stories and fables and other tall
tales.
With Remus tucked under his arm, cramped though it was, Sirius concluded that this
really was the best Christmas he'd ever had.
 Chapter 3: Tiptoes

"He's definitely taller, right?"

"I'unno, mate, you're the one stickin' it to him on the reg, you tell me-- ow! Fuck was
that for?" James rubbed the ribs Sirius had just jammed his elbow into and had the audacity
to try to retaliate. Sirius was quicker, though, and ducked easily away from the swung fist.
Remus and Peter, several strides ahead on the corridor outside of the Gryffindor
Common Room, both turned to look at them, Pete with something akin to wistful longing on
his face and Remus with undisguised suspicion. Sirius and James merely smiled under the
force of the glare, throwing arms over each other's shoulders in a display of 'doing nothing
wrong' brotherly affection.
Once Remus turned back around, Sirius pulled his wand from his hair, letting the long
black waves tumble to his shoulders. "There's a spell for this," he mused thoughtfully,
wracking his brain. It was early -- James was a real prat about waking up before anyone else,
and his brain was slow to respond. But Remus was absolutely taller-- Sirius noticed that he
couldn’t quite reach him with ease for kisses and that he took up more of whichever bed they
ended up on lately, all long, golden-haired legs and lean torso.
"Mate, I’ve not even eaten breakfast yet. Okay, okay,” he relented in the face of
Sirius’s Clear and Totally Warranted Distress. “Yeah, uh… it's called stop being so obsessed
or just talk to him," James prattled at his side. He hopped nimbly over Sirius's outstuck ankle,
avoiding the underhanded attempt to trip him up.
"I'm a wizard, Prongs. A damn good one. Formerly rich beyond imagination.
Handsome. Graceful. Gifted ."

"What's that have to do with--"

"It means I don't have to use my words, c'mon Prongs, do keep up!" Sirius spun his
wand around between his fingers for extra effect, but as he opened his mouth to speak a
Completely Accurate and Definitely Tested spell, Remus spun on his heel and stared him
down. He’d closed the distance between them in a matter of moments,
lending further evidence to Sirius’s Great Suspicion.
"Padfoot."
"Why, yes, my Moonage Daydream?" Sirius batted his eyelashes innocently, wearing
what he hoped was his best 'i'm innocent of all crimes until proven guilty' smile. From the
downturn of Remus's scarred lip, he didn't seem to buy it.
 Remus looked pointedly at his still-raised wand, arching one scar-split brow.
"What did we say about made-up spells?"

"This one's not made-up!" A bald-faced lie.

The brow's twin joined it on Remus's forehead and he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Honestly, Prongs, you’re Head Boy. You should stop him from using untested magic.”

James looked flustered at being called out and took a generous side-step away from
Sirius, his hands held in front of him defensively. “This is all him, Moony. I’ve learned the
error of my ways-- right, Evans?” He perked up visibly as Lily appeared in the corridor,
practically melting under her smile.

“What am I agreeing to?” Lily asked, voice laced with well-founded suspicion.
“Just say yes.”

“I’ll do no such thing, Potter. Especially not before breakfast.”

James sighed dramatically and draped his arm around her narrow shoulders, his
fingers curled gently around her upper arm. “Lily, light of my world--”

“Oi, I thought that was me,” Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, objected, to which he
was ignored.
“You just have to trust me .” James was already turning Lily back towards the Great
Hall, but he shot Sirius a mischievous look over his shoulder. Sirius smirked back and started
twirling his wand again as he sized Remus up.

“I’m not sure I like that look,” Remus warned lowly, though it was clear he was
fighting a losing battle in keeping the grin off his face. Sirius stepped in closer and closer
until he’d backed Remus into an alcove, enjoying the range of emotions flicking across his
face.
“Stand up straight,” he commanded, pushing Remus’s shoulders back on the brick.
When Remus obliged, Sirius swore. “Godric’s gonads,” he grumbled at Remus sourly -- or,
rather grumbled at Remus’s jugular notch, the beautiful dip between his collarbones.
Remus’s chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest and his breath skated over Sirius’s
head with ease. “Think about those often, do you?”

“I don’t get it,” Sirius complained, though didn’t back away from Remus. If anything,
he pressed in closer so their chests touched and was rewarded for his boldness by Remus’s
chin resting on his head.

“Well, I imagine they’re like any other go--”

 “ Not that, Moony!” Sirius shoved the tip of his finger between two of his bony ribs,
eliciting a sharp hiss. “How do you keep growing?” He knew he was pouting, knew his voice
sounded petulant and childish and small, but it just wasn’t fair. His father was six feet at
least, he remembered that much, and he’d always considered his mother tall-- but maybe that
was just her domineering presence, yet Sirius hadn’t had a growth spurt since before
Christmas, and they were about to sit for their N.E.W.T.s!
Remus sighed in his long-suffering way that clearly indicated ‘this again?’ and cupped
Sirius’s face in his big hands. He rubbed soft, tender circles on his cheekbones that turned
Sirius’s knees into jelly. “To thwart your ego, obviously. Someone has to keep you in check,”
Remus teased, and the mischief twinkling in his large amber eyes made Sirius’s heart flutter.
“Maybe I like you having to stand on tiptoe to kiss me,” he added, dropping his voice further
and looking at Sirius through his lowered lashes.
Sirius’s eyes went wide at the implication -- Moony never wanted to snog in the
corridors. Said it ‘set a bad precedent' and that they ‘got detention enough as it was’. “Go on
then,” Remus encouraged, dropping his hands from Sirius’s face to his waist and
straightening back up to his full height.
It felt a little foolish, to rise up on the balls of his feet, teetering as his center of gravity
shifted. Ridiculously, he still couldn’t reach the parted lips above him and he scowled, brows
furrowed tightly. He’d been pretty sure he could reach him… “What th-- Moony! ” Sirius
grabbed Remus’s tie and yanked hard, bringing Remus, laughing, back down onto his flat
feet. “Dirty trick,” Sirius grumbled against his open mouth. He crashed their lips together,
his heart racing at the surprised yelp that Remus drowned in the embrace. He nipped at the
abused lips above him and clung tight to Remus’s tie for stability.
When they parted, a glistening line of saliva joined their lips still and Sirius could’ve
died a happy man at the pupils-blown-wide look Remus gave him. He made a deliberate
show of wiping his bottom lip with his index finger and brushed the spit off on Remus’s lapel
daintily. “Satisfied?”
Remus curled his fingers around his belt loops and pulled Sirius toward his hip,
his lack of satisfaction clear as day, pressed into Sirius’s torso. “Breakfast… breakfast
isn’t that important, is it?” Sirius asked with feigned innocence, pressing hot, open-mouthed
kisses on Remus’s neck, which had turned a very lovely shade of crimson.

“Fuck breakfast,” Remus growled in agreement and leaned down to catch Sirius’s
mouth in another soul-searing kiss. The weight of his words was not lost on Sirius --
Moony never missed breakfast, or any meal, and Sirius stamped on the urge to jump him then
and there. A new wave of Gryffindors, awake at a normal-they-don’t-have-James-Potter-as-
a-friend hour, swarmed from the Common Room, and he and Remus sprung apart, blushing
like schoolgirls but smiling at each other through the chaos. When the wave passed, Sirius
tugged Remus back through the portrait hole. Fuck breakfast indeed.
 Chapter 4: Showerhead

If you change your mind, I'm the first in line. Honey, I'm still free, take a chance on
me.

"ABBA, really, Padfoot?" Remus asked ruefully as he elbowed his way through the
front door. He carried the last of their moving boxes in his arms, massive brown cardboard
cubes labeled "BOOKS" in his neat, no-nonsense script. He sat the box down in a corner with
a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall, fanning himself with his hand.

Sirius looked up at him from his place at the record player -- the second thing they’d
brought in after their bed, of course -- fully taken aback by the glisten of sweat on his neck
and the flush of heat on his face. "It's a good song , Moony," he retorted, his distraction clear
by the way his eyes raked over his boyfriend's body.
Remus, who knew him all too well, shook his head. A droplet of sweat flung off his
sopping curls and onto the forest green carpet at their feet. "Uh-uh, absolutely not. I'm
disgusting, I'm hot , I need to shower." He dug around in his back pocket for a moment before
retrieving a damp strip of paper. With an ill-concealed smirk, he extended it to Sirius. "Girl
on 2 wants you to get drinks with her tomorrow, by the way."
Sirius looked at the paper where the name 'Celine' was written in pink ballpoint. He
pretended to consider the offer, running his fingertips over the name pensively. '''Celine
Black' has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" he deadpanned, tucking the strip into the front
pocket of his thigh-length denim cut-offs.
Remus canted forward and shoved his hand down Sirius's pocket with a firm grunt.
"Tease," he seethed, snatching the paper and Vanishing it with a flick of his wand. Sirius
laughed and pressed a firm, reassuring kiss to Remus's mouth, teetering on his tiptoes.

"No addresses for you, then?" Sirius asked, trying to maintain an air of unaffected
nonchalance.
Remus snorted and rolled his eyes. " Please . They all think I'm your hired mover. I
don't hold a candle to the beautiful boy moving into 4B. You're welcome, by the way, for
getting the last of the boxes." Remus started to unbutton the thick denim button-up he wore,
revealing inch by inch of silvered scar tissue and exposing his sweat-matted chest hair to the
relatively cooler air of their flat.
It wasn't cool at all, really. They'd been spoiled rotten by the flawless climate control
spells at Hogwarts and now, out on their own in a tiny flat in Muggle London without central
air, the July heat was all-consuming. Or, Sirius mused, maybe it was just the shirtless
werewolf in his living room shining like oiled Quidditch leathers with sweat.
 He was startled from his leering when Remus's sweat-soaked shirt hit him in the face,
a by-now well-known favorite move of his. "Go take your shower, Mr. Lupin, before you
tempt me into queerness," Sirius barked. He adopted his old way of speaking, posh and
terribly pureblooded of him, and didn't miss the way Remus's eyes darkened, sending a shiver
down his spine.
"Pot, kettle, Black," came the heated reply before Remus brushed past him, his
shoulder like electric heat on his. Sirius stood in place for several moments to get a hold of
himself -- they had work to do today -- his head spinning with how readily his body
responded to the other man.

With Remus the Distracting out of the room, he occupied himself with a bit of simple
levitation magic, putting away the third-most important item in their flat: the tea set. Sirius
sang along in off-key perfection with the ABBA record, pausing only to verbally convince
an unnecessarily stubborn teacup that it really did need to join its pals in the cupboard. It kept
leaping out of the cupboard and toward the cracked linoleum, saved thrice from certain death
only by the grace of Sirius's reflexes.
“Mungo’s moldering mittens and for the love of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in the
manger -- why! ”

Sirius jerked his head up so fast he banged it on the cupboard door in a burst of white-
hot pain. Cursing roundly under his breath and rubbing his poor abused skull, he followed
the sound of Remus’s voice into the postage-stamp bathroom. He approached cautiously --
Remus had used a vitriolic combination of Muggle and wizarding swears, which was rare.
“Alright, Moony?”

Remus stood in the tub of the shower naked as the day he was born, which Sirius
thought was actually quite nice , and that maybe the teacup could wait after all, but Remus
wasn’t paying him any attention. Sirius followed the line of his furious glare to the nickel-
brushed taps against the wall, up the pipe and to the rather dainty showerhead that only
reached the top of his scarred sternum. “It’s just cruel, is what it is,” Remus muttered. He
slumped forward next to the plumbing pipe with a solid thud as his forehead hit the tile and
sighed.
Sirius, still holding his wand from his teacup parade, gestured at the taps. “Not to fret,
pet, we can just--”

“And how would we explain that to Mr. Lawson when he drops by for a ‘casual
visit’?” Remus interrupted, voice stern.
Their landlord was a real twat, if Sirius said so himself -- and he did, and had, behind
his back. He’d given them a difficult time when they’d applied to rent the flat: two
dangerously handsome blokes renting a shoebox of a flat with only one bedroom? Obviously
trouble, meaning 'queer'. Sirius paid up-front for a whole year’s worth of rent to get him to
agree to renting to them, but he’d warned that he’d be making ‘casual visits’ every so often,
to make sure they were settling in okay. Utter hippogriff shit, really. Mr. Lawson wasn’t the
only landlord they’d encountered like that, either, and they’d had to pretend to be just good
mates from school who couldn’t afford anything bigger. While it wasn’t a crime to be gay,
necessarily, he and Remus were still underaged as far as Muggle law was concerned.
The uncomfortable truth was that it was dangerous to live among wizards right now,
especially given their own high-profile statuses (a werewolf and a disgraced member of the
most Noble House of Black) so they’d agreed ages ago that it was best if they tried to blend
in with Muggles as much as possible to keep a low profile. Sirius supposed it would’ve been
easier if they’d invited Peter to live with them, or if they’d at least sprung for a two-bedroom
flat, but after spending years sharing Moony’s company with other people, Sirius selfishly
wanted him all to himself.
Sirius lowered his wand with a disgruntled sigh. When he looked up again, Remus’s
face had softened and he looked apologetic, his arms wrapped around his middle in a display
of sudden self-consciousness. Well that wouldn’t do. Sirius reached out and tugged gently at
the silver-streaked limbs, pulling them out until he could slide his hands against Remus's
protruding ribs. He took a shuffling step forward and pressed his nose into its normal spot,
right at the base of Remus’s neck, but withdrew sharply with an unexpected cough.
Remus smelled, frankly, like sweaty, dusty, unwashed man, and not in the way Sirius
normally liked. “Moony, Moonbeam, the one I hang the stars for, ah… you reek .”
A sharp exhale sparked from Remus’s mouth and became a throaty laugh as he
trapped Sirius against him with deceptively strong arms, cackling when Sirius couldn’t
squirm his way out of the embrace. His face slipped down into Remus’s thick forest of chest
hair, still covered in sweat, and he loudly bemoaned the ruining of his own hair when Remus
caught his head under his armpit.
Floundering, Sirius groped the air until his fingers found purchase on one of the taps
and he wrenched it all the way on. Remus squawked as ice water plummeted from the
showerhead onto his overheated side, but he held on to Sirius until they both slipped and fell
into the tub.

Sirius, not to be done over by this act of treachery, shifted into Padfoot before they
hit the bottom and stood, tail wagging, over Remus’s prone body. Remus took a swipe at
him, but he sprung out of the lemon-yellow tub nimble-as-you-please and bolted through the
open door into their bedroom. He was a soaking-wet dog in a small space, which really left
him only one option.

“Padfoot, don’t. You. Dare. I just made the bed.” Remus loomed in the doorway, half-
soaked and clutching his side where maybe an overly-large paw had been squishing him.
 Padfoot hunkered down, head low but rump in the air, and backed slowly towards the
bed. He growled a challenge, high-pitched and playful, all-too-aware of the puddles he was
leaving in his wake. Each time Remus took a stalking step forward, Padfoot jumped a little
and ‘woofed’ softly, in full play mode.
“ Padfoot ,” Remus warned again as they faced off three feet from the bed. Remus
looked away suddenly and Padfoot followed his line of sight, saw Remus’s wand on the
nightstand. They both lunged for it, but his paws slipped on the wooden floor and he
misjudged the trajectory of his attack. Remus pitched forward and shot blue light from his
wand just as they both collided on the bed. Padfoot made to lick his face, but froze when his
definitely-human tongue hit Remus’s cheek.
“Dirty trick,” Sirius growled against his face, already shaking with laughter. The blue
light had been a homorphus charm, forcing him out of his Animagus form and into a human
once again.

“The charm or me?” Remus asked slyly, clearly full of himself after such a smooth
bit of spellwork. Sirius couldn’t remember when Remus taught himself that charm, but he
had a knack for employing it at pivotal moments that made Sirius wonder if Remus didn’t
have a Third Eye or something.

“Both.” For emphasis, Sirius deliberately licked Remus’s other cheek, delighting in
the “Augh!” that tumbled out of his mouth. Sirius squirmed and wedged a hand between
them, cupping Remus's half-hard cock in his hand. The man twitched below him and tilted
his head back, leaving the long column of his neck open for Sirius to pepper with sloppy
kisses.

All too soon, firm hands pushed Sirius aside, though they lingered along the strong
curve of his bicep for just a little too long to be convincing. "Padfoot, I really am quite
disgusting," Remus protested, lifting his arms for emphasis, which Sirius recoiled
dramatically at.
"Alright, fine . If you won't let me magic away all of our problems, let me at least
help you," Sirius relented, dragging a confused but compliant Remus off of the bed and back
into the bathroom. Remus watched him, grinning softly, as Sirius adjusted the taps to gush
appropriately-warm water. Sirius curved his spine a little to stick his ass out, shorts riding
high on his thighs, and grinned coyly over his shoulder. "Like what you see, Mr. Moony?"
Remus swatted his ass firmly. "I'll like it better when I'm not coated in sweat and
dust," he reprimanded, ever the logical one. Well, Sirius remembered, that wasn't always the
case. Smiling at that particular memory, he stood up and gestured to the tub.

"Go on, hop in."

 With a skeptical eyebrow raised, Remus stepped over the ledge into the tub, where
warm water splashed uselessly onto his chest, leaving his shoulders and head perfectly dry.
He looked at Sirius, unimpressed.

"Sit."
The other brow raised in defiance of the order and Remus scowled. "I beg your
pardon?"

Sirius groaned and pushed on Remus's shoulders uselessly. Remus didn't ever do what
he didn't want to do. " Sit ...I'm going to wash your hair, you berk." He picked up his
abandoned wand from the sink counter and gestured again for Remus to sit.

Fortunately, Remus complied and lowered down onto the floor of the tub. After a
second or two of awkward shifting, Remus settled for sitting sideways and cross-legged,
facing Sirius with a tiny laugh. Water was dripping down his face unhindered now, mashing
his curls to his scalp. With droplets streaming into his eyes, Remus laughed and tilted his
head up at Sirius. "Okay, Mr. Black, make me beautiful."

Sirius grinned and, with his wand, guided the water into a more agreeable stream to
properly coat Remus's hair. He coaxed the man's head upwards with a gentle press on his jaw,
kissing him sweetly while the water coursed away from his eyes. A flick of his hand brought
the shampoo bottle into Sirius's waiting palm and he poured a generous amount directly on
Remus's hair, snickering at the protest of "Cold, Padfoot!!"
He worked the shampoo in slowly, scraping his nails along Remus's scalp in languid
circles, eliciting guttural moans from his lips as he massaged the back of his neck. Remus's
eyelids slid closed and he relaxed into the tender ministrations in a way Sirius didn't get to
see often. Remus normally was always tense about something , his overactive brain
constantly spinning with anxious thoughts and fears, thoughts that reflected themselves in
his body language. His shoulders were always tight or his brow always furrowed but now,
awkwardly hunched in their shower, he looked totally at-ease.

Sirius rinsed the water-darkened curls with another redirected water spout, watching
the thick suds slide down Remus's back covetously. Remus's eyes fluttered open and Sirius's
breath caught in his throat, as it always did, with the full force of the amber gaze on him.
Remus caught Sirius's hands in his and kissed his fingertips tenderly, one at a time, before
drawing them into his mouth.

Perched on the closed lid of the toilet, Sirius squirmed as a jolt of arousal shot down
his spine. Remus's mouth was hot, wet heat and his tongue swirled his fingers with tantalizing
laziness. "Moony…" Sirius panted once his fingers were released, a breathy warning.
Remus pushed Sirius's hands to his trousers with a meaningful look at the bulge there
and Sirius all-too-eagerly obliged. He stood on shaky legs and hastily unbuttoned his cut-off
denims, casting them off to the side. As soon as his prick was free from its confinement --
Sirius never wore pants when it was this hot out --, Remus's hands were on him, stroking and
pulling ever-so-gently until Sirius's shins bumped against the edge of the tub.

Remus rose up onto his knees and ghosted his breath on the head of Sirius's cock, hot
and humid, before he inched his lips over the tip. Sirius steadied himself by digging his hands
back into Remus's hair, not trusting his treacherous legs to keep him upright as inch-by-inch
he slid in Remus's mouth and throat. Hot hands wrapped around his thighs and held him
close, effectively keeping Sirius from doing what he really wanted, which was to bury his
cock deep in his throat and have his way with him.

"F-fu- uck , Moony," Sirius moaned when he hollowed his cheeks while still
managing to tease the underside of his cockhead with his tongue. Water was splashing off
Remus and onto Sirius, soaking his white muscle tee into transparency and soaking their
bathroom floor, but he didn't care. All that mattered was the warm inferno of Remus's mouth
and the hot slick of his tongue against his cock.

Remus bobbed his head, pulling back to circle only the flared head of his cock with
his lips. He waited until he got a strained, "Fuck, Moony!" -- Sirius's blowjob vocabulary
was terribly limited-- before he slurped back down. His nose was buried in the coarse black
hairs and Sirius trembled with the knowledge that Remus liked how strongly he smelled after
a day's hard labor, confirmed by the hard cock curving out from between his legs.

Sirius tried desperately to thrust, accomplishing the most microscopic movement at

the cost of bruising fingertips in his hamstrings, but when golden eyes flicked up sharply to
meet his own gray, Sirius stilled with a pitiful whimper. "Moony," he pleaded, twisting fistfuls
of wet hair in his hands. "Moony, fuck, please, need you." He had an embarrassing habit of
falling apart under that scrutinizing gaze, words tumbling from his mouth like water.

Remus released his cock with a lewd pop, and Sirius dragged him upright by his hair
to meet him in a soul-searing kiss. He bit and nipped at Remus's mouth in a desperation he
knew all too well, feeling like if he didn't have him right now , he would combust from the
need. They stumbled together and collided backwards against the bathroom wall, Remus
dripping wet and Sirius's soaked shirt sticking between them. Remus pitched his hips
forward, dragging his cock across Sirius's stomach with a ragged groan.

Sirius looked around wildly, trying to find his wand and somewhere to bend Remus
over. His wand sat uselessly out of reach and the sink (and Moony) was far too tall for him
to manage properly. Desperation climbed and he rutted frantically into the ring of Remus's
fist. "Moony, Moony no-- ah fuck yes -- no! Wanna, augh, hnnngh , inside you," Sirius
keened, trying to squirm out from under the lanky werewolf pinning him to the wall.

"C'mon then, come get me," Remus taunted, his voice low and gravelly with want.
He peeled away from Sirius and how he managed to look so composed, standing tall and
crooking his finger, while Sirius stood flushed and panting and so hard it hurt, Sirius didn't
know. It was maddening. It was unfair .

Sirius surged forward and pushed Remus through the open door, which was probably
a bad idea because the bed was still several feet away, and definitely a bad idea because they
fell with a heavy thump to the floor -- heedless to any neighbors below them. Remus's bony
everything bit into Sirius's everything but he didn't allow himself to be deterred or allow
Remus to try to gain the upper hand. With a frustrated growl, Sirius shoved Remus's long
legs back, pushing until his knees were practically at his ears. He was, admittedly, more-than-
momentarily distracted by the sheer sight of him, bent in half, dripping cock, his tan face
flushed with arousal. Remus seemed done with fighting for dominance, though, and reached
backwards to grab his wand, which had earlier fallen from the bed.
A whispered Latin phrase later and Sirius slid his index finger into Remus's slicked
entrance. He didn't need to be gentle -- they were long past that -- and soon added another,
coaxing him open with practiced ease. Within seconds, Remus was a mess under him, kiss-
bruised lips caught between his teeth as he tried to stifle his moans. How Sirius wished he'd
be as loud as he wanted, for once. He longed to know what his Moony sounded like when he
came undone without worry for anyone or anything overhearing, but he'd work with what
they had for now.
He pulled his fingers out, savoring the needy gasp and grasp of his biceps that Remus
made as he lined himself against his waiting hole. Sirius thought about teasing him, making
him beg, but Remus had other plans, apparently. Remus wrapped his legs around his waist
and dragged him, muffling his spine-melting moan in Sirius's shoulder as Sirius's cock
breached him, pushing past tight muscle and into familiar heat.
"Bit of a bossy bottom, you know that?" Sirius wheezed, physically trembling with
the effort of staving off his release. He'd been half-hard all day, watching Remus carry box
after box of their belongings into the flat, sweating in his modest clothing, and swearing and
blushing under the open stares of their neighbors. It wasn't every day a 6'5" tan, golden-haired
god graced the West End, after all, and Sirius knew Muggle men and women alike
were intrigued by the nearly-white scars on Remus's face, knew they wanted to know more.
It was too bad, Moony was his and his alone to know, and Sirius intended on making
that quite clear.

In a spur of possessiveness, Sirius leaned forward to clamp his teeth on the delicate
curve of Remus's neck, nearly falling to pieces at the hiss of pain in his ear and the vice grip
around his cock as Remus tensed his entire body around him. His heels dug into the dip of
his spine, the only thing keeping him grounded. Sirius lapped over the already-darkening
flesh lovingly only to deliver a matching bite to the opposite side. They made a beautiful
contrast to the old scars there, angry red and slick with spit against the tan skin.
 " More ," Remus rasped, his voice thick with arousal.

Who was Sirius to ever deny his Moony anything? He timed his bites with his thrusts,
sending Remus into a seemingly endless spiral of pain and pleasure. Remus clung to him like
a lifeline, panting praises and encouragement into his ear. He slipped occasionally into French
when English just couldn't quite do it, and Sirius buckled under the shift in tone.
" Sirius ," Remus hissed, and Sirius felt his body begin to tighten again, this time in
familiar warning of his impending orgasm. Encouraged, Sirius bit down again on Remus's
neck, right in the center where he was often at eye-level, and he felt Remus's moan vibrating
on his lips as Remus came, come splashing in hot spurts between them.
Remus, still shaking from the force of his release, slid his hands into Sirius's hair,
egging him on. "C'mon, Sirius, make me yours."

Sirius came with a too-loud shout, snapping his hips against Remus's body in several
sharp thrusts, emptying himself into the over-stimulated body below. Only when he stilled
completely did Remus unwrap his legs and remove his hands, leaving Sirius free to roll off
of him onto the unforgiving floor.

Once he could see straight again, he turned his head to look at Remus, naked and
sweaty again with new bruises on his body. Satisfaction curled like a warm house cat in his
chest at the image, and he trailed his hand lazily across Remus's hairy torso. Remus hummed
happily in the back of his throat but pushed Sirius's hand down meaningfully to a puddle of
wetness by his navel.

"I need another shower," he rumbled, chuckling as Sirius yanked his hand away from
the streak of come.
Sirius, groaning with the effort, hauled himself to his feet, bringing a still-wobbly
Remus with him. When they both staggered a little, he laughed, "Maybe a bath. You can
wash my hair this time."
 Chapter 5: Cigarettes

Sirius was usually reluctant to peel himself off of his bike, to the point where he would
spend a half-hour or more lingering in the car park of their flat complex smoking a cigarette
or listening to the music playing through the enchanted speakers. Anything to hold onto the
tethers of teenage freedom and rebellion before he had to face the realities of the world -- his
best friend was having a baby, Remus had been a bit cross with him that morning, there was
a bloody war on -- that sort of thing. But today, the sleet pouring down in sheets from the
traitorous sky had him off the motorbike in a flash. He took the stairs two at a time, nearly
brained himself on the broken railing at each turn, and reached the fourth floor gasping from
the cold.
His frozen fingers fumbled with the key and he cursed Remus’s name, the prat, who
had to have known he’d pulled in by the roar of the motorbike, had to have heard him
clambering up the steps, and was where? Not unlocking the bloody door, that’s what. A week
away and this was the reception he got? He dropped the key and swore, startling the
tortoiseshell cat curled on the doormat two units down, and resisted the very strong urge to
turn into Padfoot and chase it. He hated that cat.

Finally, he got the key to turn the lock and he stumbled inside, soaked to his very core
with the icy downpour he’d driven through. Lily’s voice telling him to ‘just Apparate’ rang
clear as a bell in the back of his mind, and he hated his past self for his mule-headedness.
Sirius flung his leather jacket off with a grunt, guided by magic to rest gently on their coat
rack, and braced himself on the wall while he tried to kick off his sodden boots.

Unlacing them would have been the easiest method, but Sirius Black never took the
easy way out, no siree. He pulled on the heels and wiggled and shook his legs vigorously
until they finally came loose. The heavy black boots landed unceremoniously and cock-eyed
next to Remus’s plain, dry, white trainers, which only served to darken his mood. Sirius took
a step forward and tripped over one of the boots, barely catching himself before he ate it on
the forest-green carpet below.

“Son of a crup, fucking fuck, arg!” he shouted, though, as he stumbled further into
their living room. His black jeans stuck to him like glue and his legs felt like solid ice, numb
but somehow still painfully cold.
“Remus, where the f-- oh, that’s rich,” he started to yell, madder than the cat outside
that he’d been in their flat for over a minute, suffering greatly, without so much as a ‘hello’
from his boyfriend.
But there Remus was, sitting cozy and dry and warm at their dinette, an entirely-too-
large mug of steaming tea cupped in his hands. He had on thick, woolen socks that Sirius
would trade his left testicle for -- maybe even his right -- and looked so damn amused at the
whole situation Sirius could throttle him. He didn’t even flinch at the use of his actual name,
which Sirius took Very Seriously. Remus took a meaningful sip from the mug and let out a
satisfied “ahh” that prickled Sirius to his very bones.
“You, ah, didn’t hear me at the door, then?” Sirius hissed in a piss-poor attempt at
civility, gesturing abruptly to the door.

Remus grinned, his amber eyes bright with self-satisfaction and mischief. “No, I did,”
he drawled, and Sirius watched him stretch his stupidly long legs out in definitely-not-soaked
stupid flannel pajama bottoms.
“And… you were just content with letting me suffer, were you?”

“I do remember warning you about the forecast this morning.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped before he could fully register it. Remus’s owled warning
replayed dimly in his brain, telling him it was going to be a miserable rainy day and he really
should just Apparate back from Godric’s Hollow, it would be safer. He snapped his mouth
shut with an audible click and stared Remus down. “Weird, I don’t recall,” he lied, scowling.
“You always were so pretty,” Remus mused distantly, flicking his eyes meaningfully
from Sirius’s wind-chapped face to his quaking thighs before he took another long, noisy ,
sip of his tea. The implied insult was not lost on Sirius, who advanced on him in frustrated
anger, ready to really have it out with Remus. He’d been like this in school, too, with a little
air of insufferable superiority whenever he’d managed to out-talk Sirius, like Sirius was a
stray dog who’d done a particularly amusing trick for scraps.
He stopped short of the small, mustard-yellow table and glared at his boyfriend, fully
expecting to start actually steaming at any moment. Sirius had lined up a vicious round of
insults ranging from Remus’s stupid, warm socks to his lack of taste in music, but all that
came out was a pitiful, petulant, “I got more N.E.W.T.s than you, Lupin, that I do recall.”
Technically, they’d tied, but Sirius would go to his grave insisting that an O in Astronomy
could not even begin to compare to the O he’d gotten in Transfiguration.
Remus made an amused sound in the back of his throat and scanned him again, his
brows raised ever-so-slightly. “Still not smoking ciggies, are you, then, love?” As if for
emphasis, he sat his tea down, plucked a cigarette from behind his ear, and lit it with a nearly
silent snap of his tan fingers.

Sirius really could throttle him. He’d boastfully and loudly declared that, if James
was going to forego smoking in solidarity with his pregnant wife, Sirius would as well. After
all, it’s what brothers did, he’d foolishly added. One week later, he was regretting his decision
massively. The first day without cigarettes had him practically climbing the walls with
anxious energy. He spent days two and three largely as Padfoot, much to Lily’s annoyance,
hoping that the withdrawal wouldn’t affect him in dog form, but had chewed so many sticks
his gums bled. He didn’t even like chewing sticks. Day seven, so far, was not any easier.

“ No ,” he ground out between gritted teeth, watching enviously as Remus’s eyes

fluttered closed in a languid inhale. The smoke curled between them and Sirius swore it
turned into a hand with beckoning fingers, drawing him closer and closer to Remus until he
was practically in his lap.

“Well,” Remus said, taking another drag, “that’s too bad.” The fingers of his left hand
hooked through Sirius’s belt loop but hung there, idle, as more smoke ghosted over Sirius’s
face.
He tried to remain strong, drawing on his well of righteous indignation and anger at
having driven two hours in a winter storm to ground him. “That stuff’ll kill you, y’know,” he
snipped, intentionally keeping his eyes on the space next to Remus’s head. If he looked at
Remus, or any part of him, he knew the jig would be up and he’d be ruined.
Remus barked a laugh, sharp, short, and full of self-deprecating amusement. “Here
for a good time, Black, not for a long time. I’ll add it to the list.” The hand on his belt loop
slid up to his waist and under his water-logged jumper and Sirius inhaled sharply. Remus’s
hand was like a brand, hot and heavy on his clammy belly, but not unwelcome after a week
apart.
Sirius had never been a fan of this particular stretch of Remus’s dark humor and
narrowed his eyes at him. “Not funny, Moony.” He curled his hand around the back of his
neck possessively, pleased when goosebumps erupted along Remus’s arms from the
temperature difference. Remus was always so warm, practically a space heater in his own
right, and Sirius had been openly jealous of this trait for as long as he’d known him.
The golden eyes assessing him critically lost a little of their fire at the admonishment,
but Remus didn’t pull away. His thumb stroked little circles across Sirius’s hip, the subtle
movement already causing his heart to race. “Sure I can’t tempt you?” Remus whispered,
breathing a cloud of smoke so that it caressed Sirius’s face.

It was like a dam breaking. Sirius plucked the cigarette from his lips and replaced it
with his own, freezing though they were, plunging his tongue into Remus’s shocked mouth.
He tasted like tea with honey under the cigarettes and the noise he made sent fire straight to
Sirius’s groin. Remus’s palm slid across his hip and pulled him into his lap, heedless of
Sirius’s wet clothes. Sirius settled in rapidly, his legs on either side on the back of the chair,
grinding against Remus in a fervent need. What was he thinking, leaving for a whole week?

“Missed you,” Remus murmured between kisses, and there was such deep sadness in
his voice, it gave Sirius pause. He pulled back and stroked his cheek with his thumbs, sliding
along familiar scars before scratching his nails in the curling tawny sideburns in front of his
ears. Remus made a pleased sound and tilted his head into his hands, though his brows were
knitted together in betrayal of his actual feelings.

Sirius Banished the still-lit cigarette with a wave of his hand and peppered Remus’s
scarred brow with feather-light kisses, all the anger and urgency gone. “Alright, Moony?” he
breathed against his temple, almost afraid of the answer.
Remus nodded faintly and ran his hands around and up Sirius’s back to rest on his
shoulder blades. He turned his head to tuck his nose into the crook of Sirius’s neck and
inhaled deeply. Sirius knew he was smelling him , that this was something Moony had to do
every time they were apart, a routine. He knew he was smelling Sirius, and the Potters’ home,
Lily and James and the Kneazle they swore wasn’t theirs but that they fed anyway, the rain
and the road grime. “Better now,” Remus responded finally, the furrow easing from his
forehead.

Sirius kissed him sweetly, almost as if he’d break if he did anything else, and stroked
the soft curls under his hands. “Tea?” It seemed like the most appropriate thing to say -- tea
fixed everything .
Remus’s shoulders shook in a soft laugh, but he nodded. “All right, then.”

Sirius climbed off of him and padded into their kitchen, not missing the copious
number of teabags in their rubbish bin atop that morning’s Prophet , or the number of
cigarette butts. Although he hated when Remus suffered, he knew he suffered because he
missed him, medicating his stress with smoking and caffeine, and that knowledge made his
heart skip. As he reached for the kettle to add the water, a warming charm settled over him
like a cloak and he sighed in relief. Remus was always the best at those.

Remus stood at the table with his wand in-hand, guiding the hot airstreams over
Sirius’s body until even his socks were dry. He disappeared into the bedroom for a moment
while the tea brewed, and when he returned, Remus held out a pair of his own flannel bottoms
and a well-loved t-shirt from several summers ago. “I’ll finish up, make some dinner. You
get washed and warm,” he directed, his tone brooking no room for argument.

The shower was blissfully hot and the clothes heavenly soft on his skin. The flannels
were way too long, being Remus’s, the cuffs bunched at his ankles, and the shirt stretched
over his broader shoulders treacherously, but Sirius wouldn’t have it any other way. A cup of
tea and a heaping bowl of curry awaited him and he tucked in with exuberant thanks. Remus
watched him eat in companionable silence, drinking his own tea and running his fingertips
along the rim of his mug pensively.

Later, on their squeak of a balcony, Remus leaned on the railing, smoking into the
still-pouring sleet. He’d said it was far too hot to smoke inside, which was silly -- their climate
charms weren’t that good, but he was always too warm, Sirius supposed. He stood in his bare
feet and had cast off his jumper to stand in pajama bottoms and one of Sirius’s too-short t-
shirts, steaming a little in the icy night.

Sirius observed him like one would a unicorn in the forest, stunned into
speechlessness at the beauty of the man before him. He could never say as much to Remus -
- not without immediate rejection and disbelief -- but Sirius truly thought Remus was the
most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life -- himself included, which really was high
praise. He was obnoxiously tall and looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over, but Sirius
knew the steel that lurked below his tan skin, capable of such violence but tempered by
Remus’s obscene willpower.

Remus tilted his head at the sound of the door opening, amber eyes flicking briefly at
Sirius before returning to their never-ending study of the moon. It was nearly full, heavy in
the sky, and though it cast its silver light on most of their apartment complex, Remus had
subtly extended the balcony’s roof to shield him from it. “Okay, Moony, you win,” Sirius
relented, and held out his hand.

“I’m pleased to hear that, but what have I won, exactly, Padfoot?” He appraised him
with a bemused grin, turning to brace his hip on the railing instead as he faced him.
“I can’t give up smoking just because Prongs’s gone all soft for his little sprog.” Sirius
hoped Remus wouldn’t point out that he had already gone soft, too, for the littlest Marauder.
He’d known he was doomed from the start -- a tiny James? Sirius had been thrilled. Remus…
well, Remus was happy for them, but Sirius suspected he was a little afraid, too.
Remus snorted in laughter, the sound like the crack of a whip in the silence of the
courtyard. “What about solidarity? Brotherly bond, all that?” he quipped, throwing Sirius’s
claims back in his face.
"That's just something you say when your best friend's girl is pregnant, c’mon .”
Sirius knew he was whining, could hear the nasally pitch, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Fuck, it was cold out.

Remus fished the crumpled pack out of his pocket and held it up. “Come on, then.”
His tone was light, airy… suspicious.
Sirius reached for the box, but before he made contact, Remus jerked his hand up and
held them high above his head. “Oi!” Sirius snapped, grinning in spite of his flash of
irritation. He jumped, uselessly, for the cigarettes, which hung nearly three feet above his
head, and he once again cursed his ancestors and their inbreeding for allowing a frustrating
man like Remus Lupin to get the jump on him.
“What’s the matter, Padfoot?” Remus teased, all traces of his previous somberness
gone.
 “Moony! Give them to me!” Sirius tried again, leaping into the air and reaching as
far as he could. He grabbed Remus’s elbow and tried desperately to pull his arm down, but
he was so much stronger than he was at this phase of the moon, it was really a pathetic
attempt. He scrambled backward and sized Remus up, purposefully taking as long as possible
so that doubt could begin to form in Remus’s mind. He saw it, too, the narrowing of his eyes,
the furtive glance around the courtyard to see if any Muggles were around.
Sirius sprung, this time not for the cigarettes, but directly for Remus. He latched on,
feeling terribly like a Clabbert on a tree with his legs wrapped around Remus’s narrow waist
and his hands clutching his shoulders. It was typical of Sirius, really, to not think these things
all the way through, and it was by the grace of Remus’s strength and reflexes that they didn’t
pitch over the railing and to the unforgiving pavement four stories below. Remus’s muscles
bunched under his clutching hands and he groaned at the effort, at the feeling of the metal
railing biting into his spine, but he held them both upright. The cigarettes, however, tumbled
to the courtyard.

Heat bit Sirius’s cheek and he yelped, turning his head away sharply as the lit end of
Remus’s cigarette, still clamped between his lips, bumped his face. Remus had the nerve
to laugh , sputtering around his cigarette, spraying Sirius’s face with flecks of ash and spit.
Sirius squawked and in the distance, a neighbor shrieked at them to keep it down, it was
bloody well one in the morning, wasn’t it?
It only made Remus laugh harder, and the only thing keeping Sirius attached to him
was Sirius’s own legs and arms -- Remus hadn’t made any attempt to support him, the
arsehole. “That’s your plan then, was it?” Remus snickered, using his definitely free right
hand to hold the cigarette away from Sirius’s face, at least.
“It was flawless ,” Sirius defended adamantly, trying to affect an air of casual posh
indifference with his chin lifted. It was a ridiculous sight, he was sure, but he’d gotten this
far. “I just didn’t anticipate failure on your end, Mr. Moony. I mean, dropping the entire
packet , that’s… unforgivable.” He leaned back and regarded him with hooded eyes.
“ Oh ,” Remus rumbled, the sound coming from deep in his chest. It did things to
Sirius, squirmy, heat-coiling, blood-racing things, hearing it. He felt his face color. “So I
shouldn’t… let you blow me, right here?” He strung his words out slow and low and Sirius
reckoned his heart was going to climb right out of its new home in his throat.

Eyes wide, he regarded Remus in shock. “ Here ?” Their flat faced the courtyard as
well as other units, each with their own windows and balconies.
Remus’s left hand dragged along Sirius’s spine before resting on the back of his neck.
“Here.” He pulled Sirius’s wand from his pocket and turned so that his body blocked any
view of them. A quick whirl of the wand tip and a hushed, “ Pratexo, ” later, a shimmering
veil closed around them. When had his wand decided to listen to Moony? Betrayal. His cock,
behind only thin layers of flannel, pressed impatiently against Sirius’s inner thigh. “Well?”

Sirius really did try not to be so desperate all of the time, but when Remus was in one
of his moods like this, his aggression building with the fullness of the moon, he really felt
helpless to his responding arousal. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his Moony the rest of the
month -- because he did , the softer, more compliant, gasping man he could turn into a puddle
of mush, but there was something about being bossed around by him for a few days out of
the month that really got Sirius going.

He shimmied down Remus’s body until his feet hit the icy concrete of the balcony
and he licked his suddenly dry lips. Why was he nervous ? He was Sirius Black , Sucker-of-
Moony’s-Cock Extraordinaire , though that title had only been written down one time and
then promptly burned by a tomato-faced Remus in seventh year. Remus watched him with
unguarded heat. He took a draw from the nearly-finished cigarette before taking Sirius’s face
in his massive hands. He kissed him, firmly, pushing the smoke through their connected lips
with a deep exhale. Sirius breathed it in and, as the smoke filtered out through his nose, his
confidence was back in spades.
“Alright, Moony?” he taunted, emboldened. He pushed Remus against the railing and
pulled his plaid bottoms and briefs down in one quick motion. The soft, golden hairs on
Remus’s legs stood on end at the sudden exposure to the frigid air, and Remus hissed his
displeasure at the shock. Sirius knelt at his feet, ignored the biting cold on his knees, and
stroked the cock in front of him reverently.
After several seconds of languid-but-firm strokes, hard knuckles rapped on his skull.
“ Sirius ,” Remus reprimanded.

He’d always been told there was a bit of the devil in him, whatever that meant, and
Sirius couldn’t help but peer up at Remus through his long lashes, smiling innocently. “Yes,
Moony?” It was a risk, but one he’d hoped would pay off.
And it did -- Remus dug his hands into his hair and yanked , dragging Sirius’s face
forward by the roots and slamming his cock into the back of his throat without pause or grace
or apology. “Brat,” Remus snarled, his eyes like crystallized honey before his head tilted
back. Sirius relaxed his throat around the intrusion and hummed his content, swallowing
strategically around Remus’s cock. His own erection pushed angrily at his trousers and he
bucked futilely in the air, desperate for friction.
Remus gave him the courtesy of a few seconds to adjust before he pistoned his hips
against Sirius’s eager mouth, driving his cock in and out without pause. Sirius was unmoored,
delightedly so, in the crashing waves of Remus’s thrusts, and the sounds he heard himself
making only made him harder -- gagging gasps and ragged breaths when he could catch them,
the slick shlick of a hard cock delving into a warm, wet place.
 He sunk his fingers into Remus’s knee, his nails scraping along a particularly
sensitive scar that had Remus pulling on his hair again, though to egg him on. Sirius held
tight with one hand but shoved the other down his trousers to grasp his own cock, pumping
furiously in time with Remus’s thrusts.
Hot come hit the back of his throat as Remus groaned, long and low, above him. The
pressure let up on his scalp and the torn, hitching breaths that followed in the wake of his
orgasm had Sirius spilling into his hand with a soft whimper.

Remus’s hands, so much more gentle than they’d been before, helped Sirius to his
feet and strong, slender arms held him in a vice grip. Tender, loving kisses lapped up the cold
sweat on his hairline and Sirius leaned his entire weight against Remus, suddenly grateful for
the railing holding up through all this.

When they finally parted, Sirius pulled Remus’s pajama bottoms up for him and
tucked his cock back into his briefs with a grin and a soft pat. A flash of white on the pavement
below caught his eye and he groaned, burying his nose into Remus’s chest. “The ciggies,” he
sighed wistfully, knowing they were well and truly crushed from the fall. Some things even
magic couldn’t fix.
Remus chuckled and fumbled between them for a second before producing another
pack, yet unopened, from his other pocket. “Y’mean these?” Remus teased, but let Sirius take
them without contest from his hand this time.
“You’re a bad man, Remus Lupin,” Sirius scolded, though he knew his smile split his
face. “Can we please smoke inside? It’s bloody rotten out here and someone’s gotten spunk
on the balcony, can you believe ?”

“Degenerates,” Remus agreed with a sagely nod and followed Sirius into the living
room once again.
They splayed out on the couch, Sirius between Remus’s long legs with his back
against his chest, the television playing soundlessly in the background. Warmth settled into
his bones, making them heavy and pliant, though that could be the post-orgasmic bliss, Sirius
supposed, and the Firewhiskey Remus pressed into his hand, but he found it didn’t really
matter. He was home , he had his cigarettes, which he was never giving up again, and he had
his Moony.
 Chapter 6: Towering

“Would you stop mucking with your hair? I’ve only just fixed it!” Sirius swatted
Remus’s hand away from where it was poised, no doubt ready to undo the painstaking styling
he’d poured 20 minutes and countless cosmetic charms into.

Remus frowned and he stepped back several feet to get a good look at himself in their
mirrored closet door. “It’s just so… big ,” he blurted, gesturing to the for-once-in-his-life
blow-dried curls that fell to his collarbone.

“I know, isn’t it marvelous?” Sirius chirped, bursting with pride. His own hair
cascaded in big, loose onyx waves to his shoulder blades and had never looked better, in his
oh-so-humble opinion. Remus’s either, the perfect golden mane for his perfect golden man.
Remus had even let Sirius dress him as a rare treat and looked magnificent in tight, acid-
washed jeans that actually fit, a wide-necked white-and-blue striped rolled-cuff tee, and
denim jacket, which Sirius had only agreed to because Remus was self-conscious about his
scars.

“I really think I should just cu--”

“So help me Merlin, if you talk about cutting your hair one more time, I’ll--”

“You’ll what ,” Remus challenged, catching his eyes in the mirror. “Swat me? Scold
me? Spank me?” He leaned down to invade Sirius’s personal space, his lips pulled into a
taunting smirk.
Though his heart pounded madly in his chest, Sirius had never once shied from a
game of chicken, and delivered a firm, loud ‘crack’ to Remus’s arse with a quick flash of his
hand.
They were very late for meeting their friends at the bar.
So late, in fact, that James and Lily were already on their way out, Lily drunker than
Sirius had seen her in years . First night out after having a kid would do that to you, he
supposed, but she looked happy, at least. James looked knackered and stone-cold sober but
planted a solid kiss to Sirius’s brow when they arrived. They were immediately swarmed by
Dorcas and a very drunk Marlene, who brow-beat the bouncer into taking a group photo with
her camera.
James held Lily steady with his brawny bronze arms snug around her waist, Marlene
somehow managed to hop on Dorcas’s back without killing the both of them, and Remus
tucked his hands into Sirius’s front pockets and propped his chin on top of his head from
behind. The flash was blinding and before Sirius could see again properly, James and Lily
were gone. Ah well, then. This bar wasn’t really their kind of place, anyway.
 “Looking fit as ever, Black -- ooo, Lupin , your hair looks wonderful!” Marlene
cooed, still clinging to Dorcas’s back. Dorcas smiled broadly and brought Marlene closer so
she could kiss Sirius’s cheek with a loud ‘mwah!’

“She’s had a few,” Dorcas, laughing breathlessly, apologized when Marlene tried --
and failed -- to reach Remus’s cheek, her lips landing on his sloping jawline. Dorcas accepted
the camera back from the bouncer and tucked it responsibly into her purse, which was
logically far too small to accommodate such a large device, but Muggles didn’t like to think
too hard about that kind of thing, Sirius had learned.

The bar was dimly lit and loud. Sirius glanced at Remus over his shoulder, worried
the noise level would be too much, but Remus merely squeezed his hand in a reassuring
gesture before they followed the girls inside. Sirius could feel the music rattling his ribcage
and immediately felt his blood come alive. Magic and spells were all well and good, but there
was something about Muggle music that made him feel like something else entirely.

“First round, will ya, Moony?” Sirius shouted over the din, already being tugged into
the tide of dancers by Marlene. He saw Remus’s teeth flash in a smile but soon lost him in
the flashing lights and the blonde whirlwind that was Marlene McKinnon.
He didn’t know how long he danced with her, Marlene's cool hands on the back of
his neck, Dorcas's hands around Marlene's hips, the beat of the drums their only guide. Time
had a funny way of ceasing to really exist in the ocean of noise, but Remus appeared behind
him and pressed a plastic cup into his hands. Sirius tossed the drink back, barely tasting the
sting of orange and whiskey before Remus’s tongue followed it, scouring his mouth of
anything that wasn’t him.

Dorcas tapped Sirius’s shoulder and gave him two neon yellow shot glasses. She
mouthed something Sirius couldn’t hear over the music, but Remus seemed to, and the four
of them raised their glasses together in a mute toast before those contents, too, were drunk
down.
He pressed himself against Remus as they danced, feeling more like himself than he
had in months. This was familiar, in an unfamiliar way, the music at an eleven and the drinks
flowing -- like their parties back in Gryffindor tower. Only this time, he could openly kiss
the exposed collarbones at his eye level and hold onto the sturdy shoulders for support
without fear. The music was different -- more modern, and the drinks were definitely of a
higher quality than smuggled Firewhiskey, but the energy was the same. Just a bunch of
young people looking to have a good time, to forget about the troubles of the world at large.
Sirius pulled at the sides of Remus’s jacket after their fourth -- or was it fifth? --
mystery highlighter shot, and stared up into his sweat-beaded face. “Take it off, Moony,” he
commanded, eager to see his Moony in this setting looking as free as the Muggles around
him. He saw Remus’s eyes scan the crowd, knew he saw Marlene and Dorcas off in some
dark corner on the other side of the bar, and when his gaze came back to him, he hoped his
face was convincing. “I wanna show you off,” Sirius added with another tug.

“Yeah alright…” Remus looked around again before he nodded slightly, shyly. He
removed the denim jacket with a hitch of hesitation and to any Muggle looking on, it simply
disappeared into the crowd, though Sirius knew he’d Banished it back to their flat. Sirius
rubbed his palms across the newly-exposed flesh and smiled broadly up at his boyfriend,
bouncing on his toes in excitement. Remus looked self-conscious, but soon lost the
uncomfortable furrow of his brow when Sirius craned upwards to kiss him again. Nothing
like a mind-numbing kiss and hands down the back of the trousers to perk a Moony up, Sirius
knew.
The songs blended together over the next hour, each one sounding like the last, which
could’ve been a commentary on the new decade’s influence or it could be the sixth, possibly
seventh, drink that Sirius tipped down his throat. He was having a grand time, though, his
face buried in Remus’s sweat-soaked back and their hands intertwined at his belt, dancing in
vague time to the music.
Remus pried his hands free and licked a wet stripe under Sirius’s ear, nuzzling into
the crook of his jaw. “Need to use the men’s, meet me outside for a smoke in two?”

Sirius nodded and watched Remus's still-flawless head of hair weave through the
crowd towards the bathrooms. Feeling industrious and enterprising, Sirius cut a path towards
the bar so they’d have something to drink while they smoked -- keep their hands busy, lest
they end up like Dorcas and Marlene, likely already entwined in the darkness of an alleyway.
He caught the bartender’s attention easily -- no surprise there --, knowing he looked
damn good in a sinfully tight black tank top and leather trousers that, while sweltering after
all the dancing, were absolutely worth the trouble, if Remus's constant grabbing earlier was
any indication -- and it usually was.
The beer bottles clinked against his rings as the bartender slid them into his waiting
hands, and Sirius passed him a crumpled bit of Muggle money. As he turned to leave, a hand
on his arse caused him to pause. “Couldn’t wait for me, Moony?” Sirius joked, but when he
turned, he froze. That wasn’t Moony.
It was some guy with short brown hair and a mustache, of all things, only a little taller
than him and looking at Sirius like he was something to eat. Sirius’s insides prickled and he
carefully contorted his expression into one of pureblood disdain -- hooded eyes, his lips
closed but teeth parted so his chin jutted out a little, head up as if suspended by a string.
“Here with someone, mate,” he shouted over the music.

“I’m way more interesting,” the bloke insisted, crowding into Sirius’s space. He
trapped him between the barstool and the counter with his body, his hand trailing up Sirius’s
side to rest on his bicep.
 “Not by half,” Sirius snapped, rolling his eyes. He looked away, desperate to find
Remus in the crowd as a sense of foreboding flashed across his drink-addled mind. “Look,
I’m not interested,” he tried again, keeping his tone level and firm.

“I’ve got a car.” What that was supposed to mean, Sirius had no idea. The man’s other
hand skirted from the beer bottles to cup Sirius’s face and Sirius recoiled immediately, his
anger sparking. “But have a drink with me, beautiful, dance with me a little,” the man
continued as if he hadn’t heard Sirius at all. He pressed his body, sweaty and reeking of cheap
cologne, against Sirius’s side and tried to pull Sirius’s beer towards him.

“Get the fuck away from him.”

The man didn’t turn to look, but he stopped pulling on Sirius’s arm. Instead, he
sneered and rolled his eyes as if he was the inconvenienced one. “Oi, piss off, little busy here.
Find your own.”
A blessedly familiar silver-scarred hand grabbed the man’s shoulder and shoved him
backward. The bloke spun and faced his attacker, and Sirius watched his eyes widen in shock
with a measure of satisfaction. Remus, he supposed, was rather intimidating if you didn’t
know him -- he’d bulked up a little over the years and though he was still a bit slender, 6'5"
was nothing to sneeze at. His scars spoke of a violent past -- or present -- and even in the
dimness of the bar, they lit up like sunstreaks with each passing of the lights overhead.
Remus never did have much control over his temper. He cocked back his fist so fast,
Sirius didn't know the man had been hit until he heard the sickening crunch of breaking bone.
Blood sprayed from the bloke's nose like a burst tap, dark red and thick, soaking his blue silk
shirt.

Someone shouted, maybe it was Sirius, maybe it was the bartender, but the man
swung one of the bottles of beer at Remus's face. It smashed against his defensively raised
arm and shattered in an explosion of glass and amber liquid. Growling in a way Sirius swore
up and down he didn't like, sudden arousal be damned, Remus hit him in the mouth and
again, with his left hand, in his gut. When the man doubled over heaving, Remus grabbed the
man by the throat and pushed him against the suddenly empty bar. Beer bottles crashed
around them and ashtrays tumbled off the slick surface.
Sirius, not quick enough to avoid the spilling beer, saw that the crowd had cleared to
give them a wide berth. Remus's lips were pulled tight to expose his gleaming white teeth
and Sirius was reminded in an uncomfortable, sickening lurch of their fight in fifth year when
it was his blood on Moony's knuckles and streaming down his front.

"Moony." His voice sounded annoyingly broken, cracking between the syllables, and
though Remus's iron-taut back flinched under Sirius's hand, he released the Muggle, who
gasped for air and slid to the floor with a pained groan.
 Remus spun and Sirius saw the caged-animal panic in his eyes, the whites showing
all the way around the gold. The bouncers arrived and picked up the guy from the floor. The
bartender was rattling something that sounded a lot like a defense for Remus, but Sirius didn't
wait to see what would happen. He pushed on Remus until he moved, shoving him into the
men's restroom, and spelled the door locked behind them.
Sirius felt like a man possessed, the alcohol and the events of the last ten minutes
turning his usually cool head into a fuzzy swirl. Remus still had that half-broken look on his
face and his arm was bleeding, but Sirius didn't care. He slammed him against the wall and
crushed their lips together, kissing him like he'd never get another chance. Remus didn't
immediately respond, which made Sirius's gut twist in anger, and he bit ruthlessly at his
mouth, his chin, his neck when his screaming calves couldn't hold himself up anymore. He
pressed himself against Remus, desperate to get some sort of reaction out of him, but when
he remained painfully still, Sirius slumped in the loose circle of his arms.
The door burst open and Sirius, snatching his wand from the holster in his boot,
pivoted on instinct to guard Remus. A familiar head of tight black curls pushed through and
Dorcas's gentle face appeared. She ignored his raised wand and tugged Marlene through the
gap behind her before sealing the door again. If Remus's scars were shocking to them, they
made no mention of it.
"No bobbies coming, no need to worry. The bastard's gone to hospital but no one's
risking the police coming ‘round to a place like this," Marlene assured. "What a total creep!
Cas did a tracing charm -- he put something in your drink, Sirius!" Marlene herself looked
ready to fight, every muscle in her lithe body strung tight.
Dorcas gave Sirius a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder but didn't touch Remus, who
was staring at the blood and beer on Sirius's shirt. "You're in no shape to drive your bike
back, love. Side-Along with us and we'll drop the bike off in the morning, okay?" Her voice
was like cool, calm water over the chaos in Sirius's mind, and he found himself nodding along
mutely. He'd never even let James drive his bike before, but he was in no position to argue.
Sirius wrapped his arm firmly around Remus's waist and the world jerked away in the
uncomfortable pop of Apparating. They landed in the living room of their flat and the girls
stayed long enough to put the kettle on and, out of habit more than necessity, recheck their
wards. "You know where we are if you need us," Dorcas murmured into Sirius's hair when
they kissed him goodbye.
Once they'd left, Remus backed Sirius against the kitchen counter and ran his hands
from the top of his head to the toes of his boots, checking for injuries or anything out of place.
"You're okay?" Remus whispered into his crown before repeating the gesture with his face,
smelling every inch of him that he could, lingering at where the man's hands had been. Sirius
submitted willingly to the inspection, sensing it was something Remus had to do, like he did
whenever they'd been apart, and let Remus push him into the shower so he could wash off
the foreign smells.

He showered quickly, disappointed that Remus hadn't followed him in. He'd had that
distant look on his face, the one Sirius knew well enough to hate. Like he was questioning
his place in their society, in Sirius's life. Sirius tied his dripping hair into a messy bun and
pulled on one of Remus's larger shirts before seeking him out.

Remus was sitting stock-still on the couch, staring at his split knuckles. Sirius pushed
a cup of tea into Remus's hands and sighed in audible relief when he brought it to his lips.
Remus accepted the cigarette as well and inhaled deeply. When the smoke tumbled out, his
shoulders shook with the exhale. "I could have killed him, Sirius. He's just a Muggle."
The pain and self-loathing in his voice broke Sirius's heart. Ignoring the way Remus
stiffened defensively, he drew Remus's head down into his lap. The mug fell with a thud to
the floor, spilling the half-drunk tea, but neither of them moved to clean it. "You're not a
monster, Remus." He couldn't remember the last time he'd called him 'Remus' without being
petulant about it. It felt weird, foreign on his tongue.
"I didn't need to protect you. You're perfectly capable of it yourself," Remus continued
darkly, his eyes fixed on the glowing end of his cigarette. In the unlit gloom of their flat, the
tiny light source cast garish shadows on the sharp angles of his face. It made him look a
decade older and gaunt.
Sirius smoothed the hair away from his brow, wishing his hand would stop shaking.
The cigarette helped, the nicotine dampening his nerves, but there was still a faint tremble at
the tips of his fingers. "No, you didn't need to, but you did what any normal boyfriend would
do when their partner was threatened." He hoped Remus could hear the conviction behind
his wavering words.
He scoffed, exhaling a puff of smoke that stung Sirius's eyes. "But I'm not normal. If
that had been Prongs, it would've been a fair fight."

The use of the nickname gave Sirius a glimmer of hope. "Nah, Prongs is rubbish at
fisticuffs. Even Wormy could get one over on him," he joked. Remus's lips quirked in the
tiniest of grins, though his eyes remained stormy, so Sirius continued. "Besides, I'm glad to
have you in my corner, Moony. You've always got my back. I can't ask for anything more."
Remus fell quiet and Sirius knew this wouldn't be the end of the conversation, knew
Remus would agonize over what transpired for weeks, if not months, but he hoped he'd let it
go for now. He accioed their modified first aid kit from under the bathroom counter and
coaxed Remus into sitting upright. Using tiny tweezers, Sirius carefully plucked bits of brown
glass from Remus's forearm and dabbed away the blood with a damp cloth. His healing spells
were subpar, a personal shortcoming, but Remus sat still as his skin stitched back together
over the punctures. One of his arm freckles didn't line up like it had before, but it would have
to do.

"You're a good man, Remus Lupin." It had to be said. Even in the darkness, Sirius
could see the brooding in his eyes, the closed-off expression on his face. He leaned forward
and kissed him, clenching his hand so tightly his knuckles creaked under the force of it.
His heart soared when Remus kissed back, a tender, timid response that Sirius hadn't
felt since they were sixth years. He kissed like Sirius might disappear if he pushed too hard,
a far cry from the confident man he'd grown into.
Sirius stood suddenly and tugged on his hands until Remus unfurled from the sofa,
reengaging the kiss whenever their lips drifted apart. A gnawing, raw need lapped at Sirius's
mind and he was relieved to see it mirrored on Remus's face when they tumbled to the bed.

" Muffliato, " Remus uttered, and Sirius grimaced slightly at the weird pressure in the
air. Sirius fully expected Remus to ravage him after the emotions of their evening, anticipated
bruises and bite marks for the next day, but Remus's hands were gentle as he pushed Sirius's
shirt up and over his head. Where normally Sirius wasn't allowed to use his hands, he was
given free rein to skirt along Remus's body and rapidly separated him from his shirt.

Remus slid down on top of him, his chest hair tickling his sensitive stomach, and left
feather-light kisses in his wake. His hands massaged the dance-sore muscles of his legs while
his tongue created maddening circles in the 'V' of his hips. Sirius tried to distract himself
from Remus's painfully slow path south by watching his muscles shift under the skin of his
back, the warm glow of the bathroom light warming his complexion.

Sirius gasped when Remus's mouth peppered kisses along the length of his aching
cock. He bucked needily into nothingness as Remus skipped to his thighs, ignoring Sirius's
clear signal. "Moony," Sirius breathed, squirming under the swirl of the tongue on his inner
thigh.

Remus glanced up at him, his amber eyes mostly consumed by the blackness of his
pupils, and Sirius licked his lips. Merlin, he could stare at his eyes all day and never grow
tired. To think, they used to feature heavily in his dreams and now he had them, and their
host. "Need you Moony, please," he gasped when Remus's nose bumped his sack and his
torturous tongue lapped at the underside.
His legs were trapped under Remus's steady hands and he didn't let him pull them
back, but made Sirius lay there, trembling as finally his mouth encased his cock with a
languid glide of his tongue. "Say something, Moony," he pleaded when he got his breath
back.
Remus was quiet except for the illicit slurp or two that escaped with each bob of his
head, and Sirius groaned in frustration. He didn't want a wordless blowjob, he wanted Remus
in him, around him, consuming every bit of him in his wildfire way. Sirius tangled his hand
in Remus's still-perfect hair and yanked hard, pulling his head off his cock with a wet ‘pop’.
Remus's mouth stayed open and the smear of spit on his chin made Sirius's cock jolt in a
painful reminder of the warmth he'd just lost.
Remus looked at him, still silent, though his breath was a little ragged and from the
subtle shifting of his legs, Sirius knew the tight denims had to be constrictive. "Fuck me,
Moony," he pleaded.

He shook his head and surged forward to kiss Sirius, letting him taste himself on his
tongue. Remus pulled back and replaced his tongue with his fingers, which Sirius readily
took into his mouth. They tasted like cigarettes and the spilled builder's tea, like Moony, and
he found himself trying to buck against Remus's hips. He heard the rustle of fabric and the
clatter of a wand, and knew Remus had removed his jeans wordlessly.

Remus withdrew his fingers, but instead of sliding them into Sirius, he reached way
back to insert them into himself. Sirius's brain just about short-circuited as he watched Remus
coax himself open with his own fingers. Remus moved into a crouch above Sirius for a better
angle, the hard lines of his furrowed brow melting into slack-jawed pleasure. He didn't stop
Sirius from putting his hands on his thighs or from guiding him closer until he was hovering
over Sirius's cock.

Sirius shivered in anticipation, feeling the heat of the body above him, and locked
eyes with Remus as he finally removed his fingers. "Yeah?" he heard himself ask, and Remus
nodded, eyes intense and pupils blown wide.
Remus sank down onto him in stages -- saliva didn't make for particularly great lube,
but inch by inch, Sirius's cock buried into the tight heat until Remus was fully seated atop
him. "Fucking hell, Moony," Sirius groaned, impressed at the man's ability to take him so
readily.
A small smile flickered across Remus's face before it fell open into a moan as Remus
lifted himself up and dropped back down, a shallow thrust meant to open him up. Sirius
instinctively reached for the dripping cock between them, but Remus batted his hands away
with a grunt. " No ," he warned. "Wanna come from just you . I need to feel you, Sirius. Need
you--" the word broke into a long moan as Remus pitched his hips forward a little, and Sirius's
heart skipped a thunderous beat at the sound. Moony was loud .
Remus braced his hands on Sirius's chest and rose and fell again at the same angle.
His head flung back and Sirius watched as his skin erupted with goosebumps. Sirius almost
felt like he was drowning in the heat and the closeness and the burning fire that was Remus's
voice with every move he made. Sirius put his hands on Remus's waist and accidentally
brushed the puffy red bite mark on his hip with his fingertips.
 He'd never touched it before. Remus was always guarded against it, and while he
tolerated Sirius's obsession with the rest of his scars, he'd been very clear that he didn't want
Sirius to know that scar, his first bite mark. It felt soft and textured under his hand, not smooth
or slick like the others, but Sirius yanked his hand away like he'd been burned once he
realized what he had done.
His apology froze in his throat, and Remus reached for his hand to put it back. He
fixed Sirius with a long, searching stare, but nodded. "It's okay. ...You can touch it."

Sirius drew his hand across his hip again and pressed a little harder, watching Remus
at war with himself, at war with all the fears he'd kept inside since he was a child. "You're
beautiful, Moony," Sirius said reverently, and maybe Remus believed him this time because
he didn't laugh, didn't make a joke or hide in the fringe of his hair. He covered Sirius's hands
with his own and ground the curve of his ass against his thighs on a downward thrust.

"I need…" Remus began, trailing off again in a keening moan.

Sirius only nodded. He knew what he needed. He'd been reading Remus since they
were eleven years old. He'd always been the first to know when Remus was hurting and now,
at 21, his pain was laid bare. He needed Sirius to show him he wasn't afraid of him or the
beast under his skin. He needed to know that he wasn't a pit stop along the way to
something better . He needed to know Sirius loved him.
He pulled Remus down so their chests touched and pulled out slowly. "Just a
moment," he assured the whining Moony, and rolled them to their sides. Sirius pushed
Remus's leg up towards his chest and scooted down behind him to line back up with his ass.
When he pressed in this time, he wrapped his arms around Remus's chest and held him close.

"Listen to my heartbeat, Moony. I've got you." It took him a few tries to get the angle
right in this new position, but the choking sob he ripped from Remus's chest when he hit the
soft bundle of nerves was worth the effort. Remus gripped the bedsheets desperately as Sirius
drove into him again and again, filling the room with wanton pleas.

When Remus's hand flew to Sirius's hip, Sirius let himself go. He abandoned the slow,
loving pace he'd set and snapped his hips against the pliant body in his arms. "That's right,
Moony," he whispered into his back. He wished he could see his face, begrudging his shorter
height yet again. "Come for me." It wasn't as immediate as that, but after five more hard
thrusts, Remus's body convulsed around him as he came, Sirius's release hot on his heels.

Remus didn't make any attempt to move, so Sirius stayed nestled inside as he
softened, content to just be . He stroked Remus's side lovingly and murmured sweet nothings
against the scars on his back. Finally, Remus shifted and Sirius slid out as the man turned in
his arms to face him. "I'd be lost without you," Remus whispered, his voice hoarse from
earlier.
 "I need you, too, Moony. You're it for me. Don't forget that."

Remus nodded, tucking his face into Sirius's neck and inhaling deeply. "How did I
get so lucky?"
Sirius snorted without meaning to, laughing into his hair. " So lucky. You've got an
unemployed, disowned pureblood boyfriend who smokes too much and can't be left alone
for longer than 8 hours without causing chaos. Real catch, me."

"You're right," Remus agreed, and Sirius felt his smile on his skin. "But
you're so pretty."
Remus yelped at the swat to his ass and clung to Sirius, laughing. Sirius swatted him
again until they rolled off the edge of the bed giggling and chased him into the bathroom
where he put Remus's smart mouth to better use.
 To Love a Girl

Chapter 1: Fish & Chips

1979

“Remus, are you decent? I’m coming in!”

Remus jerked his head up from his pillow and groaned. ‘ Oww…’ He'd peeled his
face from the pillowcase, which was never a good sign. He looked down. There was a line of
blood there from a scabbing wound on his cheek. Hastily, he turned the pillow over and
tucked it behind him, out of sight, out of mind.
Before he could do anything else, the lock turned on his front door and it swung open,
squeaking at the very end like it always did. A humming Lily Potter stepped into the midday
darkness of the flat and brought with her the smell of fish and chips (no malt, blessed girl)
and a bag of lemons.
Seeing Remus on the sofa, she threw a brilliant smile his way as she kicked off her
shoes to join the pile of much larger pairs at the door. She was dressed for the terrible heat in
a short hunter green jumpsuit, the top two buttons undone. Her hair was pulled up in a high
ponytail but despite all that, the fine hairs on her forehead and at the nape of her neck were
dark with sweat and beads gathered at her temples. “Christ it’s hot out, isn’t it?” Remus felt
a pang of guilt for living on the fourth floor.
Remus, wearing a pair of Sirius’s athletic shorts (that were far too short and far too
baggy in the waist) and one of Sirius’s red-and-white striped tank tops, had to agree. He was
always hot-natured, but this was ridiculous. They didn’t have central air in their tiny flat and
cooling charms only went so far. His tank stuck to his chest and his curly hair hung limp
around his face.
Had she been anyone else, excluding the Marauders of course, Remus would have
been mortified about showing off so much of his skin, and he was displaying quite a lot. He
put a significant effort into covering himself up in public, but Lily knew everything
about that. Actually, she practically knew everything about him. It wasn’t as terrifying of a
reality as Remus once thought it would be. He felt fortunate to have Lily in his life.
Lily sat next to him with kind delicacy, careful not to jostle him. “Poor little lamb,”
she whispered, brushing back a damp curl from his brow. “James said you were in a right
state when he came home this morning.” Remus felt her eyes wash over him, taking in the
damage.

Sirius and Peter had been called away for a mission for the Order and so he'd only
had James for companionship for his transformation. Prongs was all well and good and they
had a fine and uneventful time, but the wolf missed its canine friend. Its displeasure was
apparent in the open gash on his cheek and the sluggishly-bleeding claw marks across his
chest covered in an ace bandage.

“I’ve had far worse, Lily, it’s alright,” he tried to assure her, leaning into her touch.
Her hands were blissfully cool on his forehead. His wounds were almost healed anyway
thanks to James’s basic healing spells and his own natural ability to heal quickly.
“Well the fact remains. Hungry?” She offered him a greasy packet of the fish and
grinned when she heard his stomach growl. “Stupid question,” Lily laughed at herself.
Remus sat up gingerly and stretched his legs way out with a satisfied groan, joints
popping loudly. He'd been curled up on the couch since moonset and had only budged when
James threw clothes at him to "hide his shame when my wife comes by later". It felt good to
move again even if his muscles were still sore from going from man to wolf to man again in
a handful of hours.

“Have you grown again? Remus, I just saw you two weeks ago!” Lily asked,
shocked, looking at the sheer amount of tan leg that revealed itself. Her hand rested on his
bony shoulder and she frowned slightly, feeling only jutting bone beneath his skin. Remus
watched her eyes slide across his thin chest and her other hand felt his spine, prominent.

She stood up suddenly and strode into the kitchenette with her bag of lemons. “That’s
it, I’m making this lemonade now because you need calories. Have my fish, too. Does Sirius
feed you? What’s in your refrigerator?”
Remus watched Hurricane Lily tear through his kitchen, touched by her tutting and
scoffing when she saw four open bags of digestives in the cupboard but only three eggs, a
mostly-empty carton of milk, and a six-pack of beer in the ice box. “This is it ? Remus!” she
admonished. A piece of paper appeared in front of her, magical script jotting down items
autonomously.
“Lily, you don’t--”

“Absolutely not, Remus Lupin. Sirius won’t be back for three days and this isn’t
going to last you. You’re in no shape to go to the store, and if you try to stop me, well…
there’s not much I can do about that but you won’t stop me.” Her green eyes flashed
dangerously at him and he withdrew into the couch, subdued by the might of the 5’4” witch
in his kitchen.
 “Yes, ma'am,” Remus responded, resigned. He’d meant to do the shopping before the
full moon, but the heat wave kept him tied to his flat. His body temperature was already
naturally a few degrees higher than your average human’s and heat made him irritable. The
few days before the full moon made him even more irritable. He would’ve had to wear long
sleeves and long pants to hide his telling scars and it was all just too much. Things were so
much harder when Sirius wasn’t around.

Satisfied, Lily tucked the list in her pocket and started chopping lemons. “I’m not trying to
be a pest, Remus,” she apologized softly, barely audible over the sound of the knife on the
cutting board. She was acting a little more mother-hen than Remus was used to, but Lily
hadn’t been in this role very often. Most of their interactions were on a more level playing
field, not her taking care of him.
“You aren’t a pest, Lily, don’t fret.” Remus stood with care and joined her in the
kitchen, leaning his lanky frame on the counter across from Lily. This close, he really did
tower over her, Lily’s red ponytail barely reaching the top of his sternum. He knew he’d
grown by the way his jeans only reached the tops of his ankles, and by the way Sirius had to
reach a little further to kiss him goodbye. He was tired of it, really, the growing pains blending
into full moon pains. He was nineteen. It had to end sometime, right?
“Eat your fish,” Lily instructed, grabbing more lemons.
He saluted her playfully and retrieved the fish with a flick of his wand. He broke open
one of the filets and took a grateful bite, moaning softly around the beer-battered goodness.
Lily’s tinkling laughter made him smile, but he made quick work of the three pieces in his
basket.
“I do eat, you know,” Remus murmured as he polished off the french fries with ease,
licking his fingers shamelessly.
Lily’s frown seemed more to do with the effort of squeezing the lemons into the
pitcher rather than discontent at his words. “I know, Remus, I know. I just wish we could put
a little bulk on you. I’d worry less.” She paused in her squeezing to meet his eyes, hers a little
over-bright.

Remus wiped his hands on the scant fabric of the shorts and put his hands on her
shoulders to turn her. Lily put her last lemon down and looked up at him, surprised. He pulled
her into a gentle hug, minding the tears in his chest, and held her close for several seconds.
She was so good to him. She always smelled so nice, like… fresh tea and rosehips and…
something else? Something… new…

He knew it was weird, but he turned his head to press his nose against her temple,
inhaling again. Something was different. Lily laughed at him and pushed him away, glancing
up with a questioning look. “Okay, Padfoot ,” she joked at the veritable snuffling, returning
to her squeezing. Over her shoulder, she asked, “Where’s your sugar?”

Remus fetched it for her dutifully from the top cupboard (Sirius put it there for no
other reason other than to see Remus reach for it every morning for his tea), puzzled by what
he’d just smelled. It wasn’t bad or worrisome, it was just… different.
Lily poured in one cup of sugar, took a look at Remus’s hip bones jutting through the
polyester shorts, and added a second cup for good measure. “You could come stay with us,
you know,” she said while adding warm water from the tap. “Just until Sirius gets back…
Must be awfully quiet here without his racket.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s just three more days -- maybe less, and we’ll
see you next week for your cookout! As much as I love the pair of you, Lily, I cannot be in
the same house as newlyweds.” He gave her a knowing look and she pinked up prettily in
embarrassment.
“Remus Lupin! If you weren’t so beat up I’d swat you!” she scolded, flicking her tea
towel at him anyway, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Eat the other packet of fish. I had a
big breakfast."

He complied and tucked into the other basket happily as Lily stirred the water into
the pitcher vigorously. She poured two glasses over ice and handed him one, which he
accepted with thanks. It was a little warm still, but the sugar felt wonderfully restorative,
even if the citric acid did burn his snarled-raw throat on the way down.

The second serving of fish and chips lasted no longer than the first, and he tossed the
newspaper into the trash bin and washed his hands in the sink. He splashed a little water on
his face and smoothed back his curls from his forehead. When he straightened up, Lily was
on the couch and had cleaned his stuffed-away pillow with a tap of her wand. She was too
good to him.

But Lily didn't mention it, she was a good friend like that. When Remus sat beside
her, she maneuvered so that his legs draped across her lap, his back against the arm of the
sofa. It really wasn't big enough for two (unless they wanted to be intimately close), but
despite that and the heat, Remus liked the closeness.
He'd spent the last eight years, or the most of them, in elbows-jabbing contact with
three other boys. The past three years saw him connected at the hip to Sirius, and he'd grown
accustomed to all that entailed. The constant contact at night (Sirius had to touch him in some
way, usually a leg thrown over his thigh or his fingers curled around his bicep), the
comfortable companionship of sharing a small space with someone you loved. It was nice.
Four days (and three to go) had been difficult , and he was going a little stir crazy.
 Lily snatched the television remote from a bin near the sofa and clicked on the TV
with a happy noise. "James wants a telly soo badly! I just don't know how it would work in
Godric's Hollow, you know? Nothing’s electric, but-- oh! The University Challenge! I haven't
seen this since I was a kid!"
She turned the volume up a little and watched in rapt attention as she drank her
lemonade.

They spent the entire afternoon watching assorted Muggle programs on television and
demolished the entire pitcher of lemonade. When the sun began to set, James appeared in his
living room with his arms full of Chinese takeaway. "Hungry?" He asked, smiling from ear-
to-ear.
His friends were too good to him, Remus mused again, diving into a white box of
noodles. When James came close enough to hand him a beer from the fridge, Remus inhaled
deeply, subtly. Hmm. He smelled fine. So it wasn't something new in their home that made
Lily's smell change.
He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, interrupted by the sudden arrival of Sirius
Black in their living room, looking tired but whole. ‘Thank god.’

Sirius's lips were warm and his arms, like iron around his body as he held him a little
too tight, banished all thoughts of Lily or James or anyone else in the world from his mind
and he melted into the embrace.
James and Lily laughed and quietly excused themselves from the flat, leaving the two
men intertwined.
"Hungry?" Sirius asked when they finally broke for air, seeing the stacks of half-
empty cartons on their coffee table.

"Ravenous," Remus replied and savored the predatory way Sirius looked at him in
his obviously-borrowed clothing. Sirius picked him up and carried him to their bedroom, the
Chinese food forgotten.
 Chapter 2: Cider and Burgers

Remus spent the week between the full moon and the Potters’ party wrapped up in
Sirius. They hadn’t been apart since they graduated, and the four days Sirius was away had
felt like a lifetime. Sirius utilized every waking moment making up for missing the full moon,
and Remus was amazed at how much he could love the man.
They Apparated to Godric’s Hollow laden with a blueberry pie and case of cider. Lily
had told them not to bring anything, but they weren’t animals. Sirius strode through the door
without knocking, easily bypassing the locking charms and Remus followed him into the
house.

He loved the Potters’ home; it smelled lived-in but clean with a perfect combination
of James’s and Lily’s scent in every corner. It felt comfortable to Remus, their decor practical
but beautiful, Lily’s touch clear in the lack of Quidditch memorabilia on every wall as James
would’ve no doubt preferred. Remus sat the pie on the counter next to a cooling tin of fairy
cakes, which he eyed with interest.

“Lily will kill you~,” came a sing-song voice to his left and Remus jumped a little in
his skin. He turned to look at Marlene, all tan skin and blonde hair, and smiled wanly.
“She might forgive me, you never know,” he replied, hovering his hand over the small
cakes.

Marlene laughed and gave him a little shove. The smell of Muggle sunscreen radiated
off her, a little coconut-y, familiar and pungent.
"No Dorcas today, Mar?" Remus asked, surprised to see Marlene without Dorcas
close behind.
She rolled her eyes and muttered something off-color about a mission for the Order.
She looked wholly discomforted by the idea of being away from Dorcas, so Remus let her
change the subject without comment. “James has turned their little paddle puddle into a full-
on pool, you comin' in?” she asked as she strode past him. She tugged off her floral cover-up
to reveal a barely-there red bikini and winked broadly at Remus before disappearing outside.

Smiling to himself at Marlene’s boldness, Remus abandoned the baked goods and
followed her out.
Remus knew James was amazingly talented at Transfiguration, but this was next
level. The last time he was at their house, they’d had a small inflatable lounging pool in their
pocket of a yard. Now, he looked at a vast swimming pool complete with a diving board and
floaties. The pool seemed to be bigger than the actual yard and yet there was still room for a
charcoal grill and patio furniture.
 “Moony!!” James, in red swimming trunks and brilliantly golden-bronzed in the
sunshine, was on him in a second. He’d left Sirius standing at the Muggle grill, looking both
confused and enthralled by the contraption. Remus met James in a hug that made his back
pop and they parted, laughing. “Padfoot was saying you’d made a pie?”
“Yeah, yeah, I did. It’s inside,” Remus answered, a little distracted when he saw Sirius
pull his shirt over his head and kick off his shorts to stand there, unbothered, in his black
speedo. Three years together and Sirius in the sunlight still took his breath away. Remus
whispered a sunblock charm and Sirius looked over at him sharply, grinning, as the spell
settled over his bare shoulders.

“Get a room,” James teased good-naturedly, gave Remus another squeeze, and went
to relieve Sirius from his duty.

Mary and Peter greeted him cheerfully from where they lounged on striped pool
floaties, beers in hand, and Remus waved back. Sirius was at his side, then, offering Remus
an ice-cold cider. “Take your shirt off, Moony,” he whispered and Remus shivered at the
memories of the same command given years ago at school.
Before they’d left their little flat, Sirius spent nearly two hours covering Remus in a
web of complex glamor charms to hide his scars. When he'd finished, Remus stared at himself
in the mirror for a long time, not recognizing the markless body in front of him. Even his first
bite had been concealed, but if he pressed his fingertips to his hip, he could still feel it, raised
and brutal.
Frozen by his reflection, Remus didn’t move for nearly five minutes, and Sirius had
to break him out of his trance. “I prefer you au naturale,” he had murmured, lips on his
shoulder blades, “don’t work yourself up.” Remus looked at Sirius then and knew he meant
every word, which gave him the courage to go on.
Now at the Potters, Remus was still a little nervous. Lily knew he was a werewolf,
but Mary and Marlene were outside of their immediate circle. He took a sip from his cider
and decided to trust in Sirius’s handiwork. With Sirius’s entirely unnecessary help, Remus’s
shirt came off, touseling his long sandy curls into something wilder.

Peter and James wolf-whistled at him and Remus made a rude gesture in return,
shaking his head. Marlene’s mouth dropped open a little and she shot Mary a look that clearly
read, ‘I see why you fancied him!’ before giving Remus a thumb’s up. “Who knew you were
so… mmm, under there, Remus,” Marlene shouted, laughing at Sirius’s proud smirk.

“Me, I knew,” Sirius retorted, his hand on the small of Remus’s back before it
vanished, like Sirius, who catapulted himself into the pool with a whoop.
Remus and James were splashed with droplets of cool water, and James shouted, “Oi!
The food!!”-- not that it made any difference.
 The back door opened and Remus turned to watch as Lily, wearing a high-cut two-
piece in a banana leaf print, green and white, came out to join them. Her hair was in a loose
braid around his shoulder and she, too, smelled like Coppertone sunscreen. She smiled first
at James, who looked dumbstruck as always (they’d been married almost two years and he
was still hopeless) but her face lit up when she saw Remus.
She hugged him and through the layers of sunblock, that smell, the one he couldn’t
place, hit him. Remus drew back and fixed Lily with a confused stare, searching her face.
Lily misread his expression and tugged a lock of his hair playfully. “You look fine, jump in,
c’mon,” she insisted. Her fingers wrapped around his bony wrist and she pulled him towards
the pool.
“Oh no no no,” Remus protested, half-heartedly-but-successfully resisting her man-
handling, but then Peter was there and had his other wrist and together they tossed him in.

The water was cold and a little jarring. It made his chest ache with the suddenness of
it, but he adapted quickly. Remus had basically been raised in the water, a seaside child, and
surfaced with a grin. Lily followed him a moment afterward with a squeal as James and Sirius
tossed her in, “And that’s for Moony!”, and she joined Remus on the ledge after they pulled
themselves up.

There was still something different about her, not washed away by the water, and
Remus found himself staring at her as she walked over to James.
“Oi! Lupin! Eyes off my smokin’ hot wife,” James admonished from the other side
of the pool, brandishing a metal spatula.

“Oi! Potter!” Sirius, pulling his hair into a low ponytail, “Don’t harass
my boyfriend .” He glared at James from over the top of his mirrored black aviators, his eyes
silver in the sunlight.
“He was-- he was--” James sputtered, gesturing vaguely with the spatula. Lily rolled
her eyes and took over the grilling; some of the burgers were beginning to smell burnt. James
and Sirius faced off for a few moments and Remus knew if it had just been the five of them,
Sirius would’ve probably turned into Padfoot just to cover James in wet dog smell.
Deflated, James hovered near Lily, and Remus and Sirius swam around for a little.
On the far edge of the pool, Sirius pulled Remus close and cocked his head. “You keep staring
at Lily, what’s going on?”

Remus considered for the briefest of moments asking Sirius to turn into Padfoot to
see if he smelled anything weird, but banished the absurd thought. “It’s really weird,” he
muttered, keeping his voice low.

“What, that she agreed to marry Prongs? I agree,” Sirius joked, but kept his volume
down also, conspiratorial.
 “She just… it’s hard to explain. Something seems different. I don’t know. It’s
probably nothing.”

“If anyone would know, it’d be Prongs, I guess. Ask him,” Sirius suggested helpfully.
He stretched out languidly on the hot bricks and folded his arms behind his head. “Mmm,”
he all but purred, “wake me when Lily’s rescued lunch.”
Remus flicked him with a bit of water, which earned him a swat on his ass, and he
rose chuckling to approach James, who had been banished to setting plastic plates on the
table.
“James, can I have a word?” Remus asked as nonchalantly as he could, watching Lily
from the corner of his eye.

“Sure, mate.”
Remus pulled him off to the side a little and turned so their backs were to Lily. “Is…
Lily okay?”

James’s face paled and he grabbed Remus’s arm. “What? What do you mean ‘is she
okay’? Did she say something? Does, oh no, does she want a divorce ?” His hazel eyes were
wide behind his glasses and he kept sneaking glances over his shoulder at Lily.
Of course that was James’s response. Remus groaned and shook his head. “No-- god,
no. Just… never mind. She loves you.” He gave James a reassuring pat and polished off the
cider he’d abandoned earlier.
Hmm.

Mary, in a red high-cut one-piece, helped Lily dish out the burgers and hotdogs.
Remus piled his bun high with three patties (Lily certainly knew how to feed him), cheese,
and every topping imaginable, and Peter laughed when he saw the teetering mess.
“You’ll need to unhinge your jaw to fit that in,” Peter joked.

Remus immediately elbowed Sirius, who had his mouth open to say something wildly
inappropriate, in the ribs, cutting him short.
The seven of them fell into an easy cadence, laughing and reminiscing about this and
that from Hogwarts. Marlene felt it necessary to ask why Remus was so against taking off
his clothes that one time they played strip poker for Sirius’s birthday, if he looked the way
he did, and seemed to take satisfaction in how Remus blushed. Sirius threw his arm around
his shoulder protectively. “He was saving himself for me, you daft bird,” he proclaimed and
kissed him soundly on the mouth. The burger slipped from Remus's hands and he squeaked
at the force of Sirius's kiss.
 Lily stood up suddenly and ran inside, looking a little green. James was after her in a
flash, Remus hot on his heels. James hovered outside of their bedroom, looking worried.
“She won’t let me in,” he pouted when he saw Remus. Through the thick door, Remus heard
Lily vomiting, and realization dawned like daybreak.
“I’ll check on her, go… go back to the others. I think she’s okay,” Remus assured,
and after a few moments of hesitation, James complied.

“Lils?” Remus called, rapping on the door. He heard the latch unlock and went
through to find Lily sitting on the bathroom tile, pink knees drawn up to her chest.
He approached slowly and sat next to her, the cool tile like fire to his sun-warmed
skin. He watched her carefully, seeing the cogs spinning behind her eyes. “Are you…” he
faltered for the words he’d never asked before. “Is there…”

Lily met his eyes and hers widened a fraction. “I mean,” she began, but trailed off.
“You mean…”

“We haven’t not been, y’know, because it’s stupid and reckless with the war but we
got to thinking about legacy and all sorts of mad things and…” Her breath caught in her
throat and her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Remus. It’s only been a few weeks… Do you
really think?”

Remus’s chest felt tight and fluttery and he swallowed hard. “Yeah… um, yeah I do.”
Lily sniffled and was silent for a while, the two of them sitting there on the bathroom
floor in dripping swimsuits and damp hair. “Is it insane to be… a little happy?” she asked
quietly, wiping a tear from her cheek with her thumb.

Remus laughed, surprising himself and Lily with the force behind it, and put a
comforting hand on her knee. “I actually think it’s some kind of wonderful, Lily.” She smiled
then, a wonderful, heart-breaking smile, and they both got to their feet. “Prongs is going to
lose his mind. He’s going to tell everyone he knows. Strangers on the street. The milkman.”

Lily laughed and wiped her face with her arm. “Yeah, yeah he is.” There was nothing
but love in her voice, her eyes soft with it, about thinking about her future with her husband.
“How long have you known?” she asked him abruptly.
Remus blushed and fidgeted with the drawstring of his trunks. “I… I
haven’t known- known, but y’know… I noticed something was off.” He tapped his nose
briefly and Lily’s jaw opened in an ‘oh’. “I would say it’s not as weird as it sounds but it
is so so weird.” They both chuckled, feeling a little light-headed with emotion.
“I’ll let James in, okay?” Remus offered and gave her a little squeeze. James had been
waiting at the end of the hallway and blew past Remus as soon as he left the room.
 Remus walked quickly, not wanting to accidentally eavesdrop, and went back outside.
Sirius was smoking with Peter and Marlene; he lit a cigarette for Remus when he saw him,
eyebrows raised in a question. “She’s okay,” was all Remus could say. He couldn’t just tell
him with everyone there, even though his heart raced and he felt giddy with excitement for
their friends.
They hung out for a while, swimming a little. Mary hopped on Marlene’s shoulders
to go against Peter on Sirius’s in a game of chicken, and Remus smoked his second cigarette
at the edge of the pool, refereeing the game.

James Apparated suddenly on the patio, wild-eyed and flushed. “I’m having a
BABY!”
 Chapter 3: Wards & Paint Spells

“Thanks again for helping out, guys.”

“Of course, Lily. If my good-for-nothing brother has the audacity to knock you up
and then abandon you for something as petty as an Order mission, well then,
your actual favorites are going to take care of you.” Sirius, standing in bare feet in the Potters’
living room, looked brilliant in his righteous indignation.
Lily tutted and fixed him with a half-hearted glare. “He didn’t abandon me , Sirius,”
she scolded mildly. Worry flashed across her face and she placed a protective hand on her
abdomen, practically teeming with new life. “You think he’s--”
Sirius pitched forward and placed his hands, large and pale, over Lily’s. “He’s just
fine, pet. And we are safe here as we ever were, right, Moons?”

Remus, finishing up the third layer of protection charms around the house, smiled as
he wiped his forehead with a crimson dishtowel. Wards were hard, hot work. “Right, Padfoot.
Charms are in place and now,” he said, beaming at their friend, “Padfoot and I are going to
make a mess of painting your nursery.”
Sirius scowled and flipped his hair over his shoulder. “A mess? We’re going to paint
a masterpiece , you mean. I’m thinking… a self-portrait of the little nibbler’s godfather, hm?
Front and center, maybe in Renaissance style so he has an actual man to look up to instead
of Pr--”
Remus swatted his chest with a couch pillow, causing Sirius to deflate into soft,
breathy giggles.

Lily watched them with over-bright eyes, her hands still curled protectively atop her
belly. “It’s meant to be blue , Sirius. Just. Blue.”
Sirius flapped a hand at her, flippant. “Pish posh, blue is boring. This is way better!”

“Blue, or I’ll have your guts for garters, Black.”

Sirius withered under the impact of her glare and sighed in full dramatics, flailing his
hands about. They landed on Remus’s shoulders and Sirius pulled him close, his chest against
his back, hiding his face in his hair. Remus twitched, terribly ticklish, at the brush of his nose
against his neck.
Remus looked solemnly at Lily and held up his hand in an oath. “I solemnly swear…
we will paint the room blue.”
 Their wildly-pregnant friend appeased, Remus and Sirius retreated to the nursery. The
crib still needed to be assembled and there was a mound of boxes in one corner, neatly labeled
in Lily's beautiful looping script, marking them as baby shower presents and boxes of
nappies. Remus had almost expected to see shiny paint cans and brushes lined up ready-to-
go, but remembered, of course, they were wizards . It could never be as simple as that.
Not having Muggle paints added another layer of complication, though -- Remus had
never learned any spells for painting. He’d crammed his school schedule with things he
thought mattered -- Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, that sort of thing, for what good they’d done
him post-graduation. He was an unemployed member of an underground resistance group…
his 6 NEWTs were just markings on parchment at this point.
He looked sidelong at Sirius, hoping that he’d faffed about with painting with magic
before, but saw him looking just as hopeless. “Hmm,” Sirius mused, twirling his wand
between his fingers like he did when he was stalling to buy time.
“Uh… Pingere...caeruleum? ” He slashed his wand at the wall and a cyan light flashed quite
impressively, but the wall remained white. Scowling, he tried again. “ Hyacinthum pingere! ”
This time, hyacinth flower petals materialized and then poofed into thin air, leaving behind a
stale perfume and disappointment.
Bubbling laughter erupted from Remus before he had the chance to stop it, frothing
out from his chest and out his mouth like a stream, all-encompassing, and he had to brace
himself against the wall for support. Sirius looked quite cross, his hands on his hips and his
wand tucked irritably behind his ear. “Let’s see you do it better, then, Lupin!” he shouted, his
chin held at an imperious angle.
For all Remus loved their soft moments, he thoroughly enjoyed bickering with Sirius.
It reminded him of simpler times at Hogwarts when their rows were legendary in the
Gryffindor Common Room only now they made up with hot hands and bitten lips instead of
scrawled apologies on scraps of parchment. “Well, I won’t be throwing random Latin at the
wall, that’s for sure,” Remus barbed back with a self-congratulatory smirk at how Sirius’s
cheeks reddened.
“Lily?” he called, ignoring the indignant roll of Sirius's eyes as he padded back into
the living room. Lily was curled up on the sofa under a mustard-and-orange crocheted
blanket, fast asleep and snoring gently. Remus shushed himself and crept back to the nursery
on his tip toes.
“Well?”
Remus sighed. “She’s asleep." He paused, his mind racing. "Okay, I’m going to pop
out to a Muggle store and get some paint. We can do it the old-fashioned-- the Muggle way.”
Sirius looked him up and down pointedly and Remus blanched. “Dressed… like
that?” Sirius asked, softly.
 Remus was wearing rather short linen shorts in burgundy and a loose, threadbare
black tank top, having fully been expecting to actually paint . While he was finally
comfortable being around his family -- because that’s what Sirius and the Potters were , more
than friends -- like this, his silvered network of scars open and on display, Muggles were a
whole different story. Remus blushed and wrapped his arms around his midriff protectively,
not realizing how tense he was until Sirius’s warm hand on his shoulder caused him to relax.
“Not to worry,” Sirius whispered comfortingly. “ I’ll go. Write down what we need,
remind me how Muggle money works, and I’ll be back before you can say ‘How much is that
black doggie in the window, Merlin would I love to take him home’ .”

Remus, who thought that was quite a mouthful anyway, could only smile and nod. He
jotted down a few items on a notepad, gave Sirius a crash-course in Muggle currency, and
sent him on his merry way.

“Remus?”
Lily’s voice from the living room had Remus sprinting back in, his heart in his throat.
She was close to full-term and Remus was on full alert for anything amiss. But Lily was just
sitting there, looking right as rain if a little confused when Remus sat next to her. “Sirius’s
gone to fetch paint we… don’t know the spell and you were napping,” he admitted, quickly,
feeling rather foolish.
Her laughter warmed him from the inside out and he accepted the elbow to his ribs
good-naturedly. “I don’t know it either,” Lily breathed between giggles, her cheeks flushed
pink. “Oh! He’s kicking,” she whispered, green eyes blown wide. Lily pulled Remus down
by one of his shirt straps and Remus found himself half-broken at the side with his ear pressed
against her belly.
Instinctively, Remus grasped Lily’s hand in his own and held tight. He could hear,
below Lily’s steady heartbeat, a faster one, like a horse galloping down the track. His breath
caught in his throat and he felt tears pricking his eyes. It was the most beautiful sound he’d
ever heard in his life -- well, perhaps on par with Sirius’s heartbeat that had been his lullaby
more times than he could count--, strong, sure, healthy. He started to tap the rhythm of it on
the back of Lily’s hand with his fingers, drumming it out in perfect time to the guiding beat.
“Is that--?” Lily asked, voice full of wonder. Remus nodded and felt a drop of water
hit his temple. It slid down his face and when he sat back up, Lily was crying.

“I’m sorry, it’s pregnancy hormones, I don’t mean to blubber,” blubbered Lily, her
face red and splotchy, nose running as she sobbed. “I really am happy, I swear, I’m just…”
The missing word, the heart-breaking sentiment, hung between them like an omen.
“We’ll protect him, Lily. No matter what,” he whispered fiercely, gripping her hand
perhaps a little too tightly. “Sirius and I will do anything to keep him safe. He’s family, just
like you and James. I love you. We love you.” The conviction in his voice surprised even
himself, but Remus knew it was true.

Lily was his first friend. James had been the second. Sirius… had taken a while longer
to warm up to the scrap of a boy from Dover, half-blood and snappish as he was. He wrapped
his long arms around her body and held her tight, carding his fingers through her scarlet hair
soothingly as she cried. She clung to him with a fierceness Remus didn’t know she had, even
when her tears subsided.

“I’d be lost without you,” she mumbled into his chest, her nose in the dip between his
collarbones.
His heart bloomed with compassion and ached with the tenderness of her admission,
and though Sirius’s smell flooded his nose, signifying his return, Remus couldn’t pull away
from the young woman in his arms. He felt Sirius’s warmth next to him, felt his arms try to
encapsulate them both, and relaxed into it readily. This was his family -- some pieces were
missing, but it was a puzzle that could always be put back together again. He was sure of it.
 Twenty-Two

“Moony, psst.”

“Padfoot, please.”
“Mooooony!”

A sigh. Rustling of sheets. “...yes, Padfoot?”

“Happy twenty-second birthday.” A kiss, warm and sweet.
“Thank you. It’s midnight, though.”

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Padfoot, midnight.”

“Moony, a surprise!”
Another sigh. Further rustling of sheets. “Unless the surprise is a sleeping draught, I
am sure it can wait until morning.”

Sirius flopped dramatically back down onto his pillow, one arm thrown over his eyes
and the other across the tan back next to him. “Could it be both?” he tried again, trying to
remember how to make a sleeping potion.
Hard knuckles rapped his hip bone and he hissed at the sharp pain. “Fine, fine,” Sirius
conceded. He rolled over to his side and pulled himself closer to Remus’s warm body until
he could wrap his leg around one of his. Remus made a sleepy noise, grumbling something
into his pillow, but let Sirius draw him into his arms. Nestled there, with his nose in the sandy
curls, Sirius easily fell back asleep. It could wait until morning.
Sunlight streamed through the slatted wooden blinds in their room and Sirius woke
at the gentle caress, delighted to see Remus still asleep in the circle of his arms. He pressed
a tender kiss to the scar-crossed shoulder and carefully extracted himself using a time-
perfected technique. After checking Remus was snoozing away, he pulled on his long-
forgotten plaid pajama bottoms and padded as quietly as he could into their tiny kitchen.
Sirius didn’t cook often -- that was more Remus’s forte -- but he’d picked up some
kitchen helper spells from Mrs. Potter over the many meals shared in their dining room. He
prepared a simple but hearty breakfast, transfigured a platter into a tray, and carried it back
to their bedroom, the only one in their flat.
He’d hoped to wake Remus up gently with a few soft words, but Remus was awake
already and sitting upright against the headboard. “Smelled the bacon,” Remus rasped, his
voice rough from a deep sleep. Sirius looked at him, basked in the light from the window, all
golden and warm. His hair was a mess, his curls tangled around his shoulders and a little
frizzy, but Sirius thought he was absolutely perfect.

Remus caught him staring and cleared his throat, one eyebrow arched -- how could
he do that, Sirius wondered -- sardonically. “Are you going to ogle me all morning, or may I
eat my breakfast?” Remus teased, amber eyes glinting with mischief.

Sirius chuckled and closed the distance between them, setting the breakfast tray
across Remus’s lap. “It’s our breakfast,” he corrected as he crawled back onto the bed,
second fork in hand. “And you need to eat quickly.” At Remus’s double-brow raise of shock,
Sirius stabbed a tomato slice with his fork and popped it into his mouth. “You have a surprise,
remember? Hurry up, get to it!”

Remus laughed at him but tucked into the breakfast quickly nevertheless. He was
always a quick eater, and the heavily-laden tray of eggs, pancakes, sausages, bacon, and
tomatoes was polished off with ease. “Is there tea?” Remus asked as he wiped his mouth
neatly on the napkin.
“'Is there tea', pah,” Sirius scoffed. “Yes, of course, you daft boy,” he chided, kissing
the tip of Remus’s long nose as he hopped to his feet. “You can have it after you shower and
get ready to go.”
“Go? Go where? It’s my birthday.”
“Right, so hurry up!” Sirius was practically bursting at the seams with energy as he
dove into their closet to look for a suitable outfit. He heard the shower running but didn’t
hear Remus behind him until hot hands wrapped around his naked waist.
“Not going to join me?” Remus asked lowly, his lips moving against his neck before
latching on in a playful bite. “It’s my birthday,” he stressed, as if Sirius needed any more
motivation. He shucked his drawstring bottoms to the floor and stepped out of them just as
Remus bit him again, harder.
They stumbled into the bathroom, giggling like teenagers, and Sirius let Remus pull
him into the tub. The hot spray of the water stung his cool skin for a few seconds, but Remus’s
hands roaming his back warmed him up quickly enough. Remus pushed him against the cold
tile wall and Sirius gasped, the sound lost in Remus’s mouth. “Bossing me around on my
birthday,” Remus grumbled against his lips, teeth nipping at him impatiently. “Of all days.”

All Sirius could do was nod, because Remus’s hand had slipped down to grab his
cock, steady and sure, and he was stroking him without pause. He bucked his hips into the
hand, matching the strokes, and groaned his pleasure when Remus didn’t stop him. He felt
Remus’s length against his hip and buried his hands in his sopping hair. “So fuck me,” he
panted out, knowing he had no leverage, no leg to stand on.
 “You are a brat,” Remus admonished, but turned Sirius around anyway so that he was
facing the tile. “I haven’t even had my tea,” he continued even as his hands trailed away from
his cock and across the smooth planes of his back, down the curve of his ass. His fingers
teased his entrance and Sirius whined, impatient.
“C’mon, Moony,” he breathed, pressing his luck. “Hurry up and fuck me-- we’ve got
to go.” He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Remus’s eyes harden and gasped at
the swat to his ass.

“You,” Remus growled, shoving two magically-lubed fingers into him,

“are insufferable.” He worked him quickly, powering through Sirius’s small grunts of pain
as his body adjusted. Sirius didn’t mind -- this was how he liked it, raw passion in
uncomfortable positions, a reminder of the effect he had on his boyfriend. He felt it evened
the playing field since he was constantly in a state of preloaded arousal where Remus was
concerned.

Remus thrust into him without warning, pausing halfway in to let Sirius catch the
breath he’d sucked in forcefully. Sirius didn’t take Remus like this often, maybe once every
few weeks and almost exclusively this time of the month with the full moon on the horizon.
But he caught his breath and relaxed to accommodate the fullness. The moment Remus felt
him loosen, he thrust forward again and bottomed out, groaning into Sirius’s hair. “Sirius,”
he breathed, a moment of tenderness between the rough-handling.

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” Sirius found himself saying between labored
pants when Remus hadn’t moved. He clenched around him and felt the dam break in Remus’s
resolve. He knew how to bait his Moony, had perfected his technique over years of being
with him and the years before -- only now, instead of getting into verbal arguments and
fistfights, they did this.

Remus grabbed his hips roughly and set a mind-numbing pace, sparing no effort to
take things slow or gentle. Sirius’s hands scrambled for purchase on the slippery shower wall
but found none, so he reached back to cradle Remus’s head in his hands, urging him on.
“That’s it, Moony,” he panted, starting to come undone in the frenzy. He loved being treated
like this, when Remus was too keyed up to act like he’d break. Remus was strong, too strong,
when the full moon was close, but he had never hurt Sirius beyond repair.

Pain, white-hot and startling, blossomed in his shoulder as Remus clamped down with
his teeth, growling ferally into his skin. He angled his hips just a tad and Sirius cried out,
pain turning to pleasure in an instant. Remus didn’t let up but kept his new angle, and came
with a harsh grunt against Sirius’s throbbing neck. He pulled out, spun Sirius, and sunk to
his knees, heedless of the water that ran into his eyes.

Remus swallowed his neglected cock in one fell swoop and it was all Sirius could do
to stay upright, his knees shaking. He buried his hands in the wet curls below him, feeling
far too hot in the water, the humidity, and the man currently trying to suck his very soul out
through his cock. It didn’t take much, Remus’s cheeks hollowing out and his tongue running
a searing, sloppy line along the vein on the underside of his length, and Sirius came
gracelessly down Remus’s throat.
Hands reaching, he drew Remus back onto his feet by his shoulders and reveled in
the soft kisses placed on his bruised shoulder, his neck, his brow. His lips throbbed after being
treated like a chew toy, but the pain was invigorating, pleasant, even.

Remus was far more subdued after they actually washed, towel-drying his hair with
rigorous determination while Sirius fought with a drying charm on his own. Now that they
were almost to the surprise, he was nervous, which always made his magic a little dodgy on
the finer things like cosmetic charms. After three attempts --wherein he’d had to re-drench
his hair again in between each one-- he finally had his hair correct, and Remus was watching
him with quiet amusement, his kiss-bruised lips curled into a grin. “You love me,” Sirius
said, flippantly, tossing his perfectly coiffed hair for emphasis.

“Mm. Tea now, Padfoot, please,” was Remus’s only answer as he dug through his
drawer for a pair of briefs.
“So bossy,” Sirius teased, a little jolt going down his spine at the heated look Remus
gave him. He all but skipped to the kitchen, reflecting inwardly on how easy it was to get his
Moony going this close to the full moon. As he often did, Sirius found himself distracted as
he brewed the tea, lost in sordid memories that helped ease the nervous fluttering in his chest.
Remus found him with the teapot still in hand and two empty cups and tsked.
“Relentless,” he chided, taking the teapot from him and pouring it into the cups. Sirius
dressed quickly and when he returned to the kitchen, Remus had cleared away the mess from
breakfast and was sitting at their dinette, stirring a mountain of sugar into his tea.
“What’s the surprise?” Remus asked, head tilted slightly to the side. His golden eyes
flicked over Sirius’s body freely, taking in his tight acid-washed blue jeans and black muscle
tank top neatly tucked in at his narrow waist. Sirius felt a little like a rabbit being stalked by
a fox -- or a wolf, he supposed -- at the fire still in Remus’s eyes, but swallowed his arousal
down firmly. There would be time for that later.
“Well if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. C’mon, Moony.”
“Does Prongs know?”

“Pfft, like Prongs could keep a secret from you for longer than a day,” Sirius scoffed,
remembering plenty of blurted-out secrets from James in their school days. “But I suppose
you’ve already asked him?”

“I might’ve…” Remus admitted, tan skin coloring in his embarrassment at being

caught out. “You’re nervous.”
 “Just excited,” Sirius lied, flashing Remus with a wide smile. He drank his tea
quickly, poured the remainder from the pot into a thermos for Remus, and grabbed his jacket
from the coat rack. “Ready?”

“Where are we going?”

“Secret, Moony. Merlin, you’d think you didn’t know the meaning of the word.” He
dodged the attempt to ruffle his hair and pressed the thermos firmly into Remus’s hands.
“You’ll have to side-along. Unless you wanna take the--”
“We are not taking the bike.”
“Fine, fine, fine,” he said, flapping his hand. He knew Remus would reject the idea;
their destination was way too far a motorcycle trip, anyway. Remus wrapped one long arm
around his waist and held tight, fingers digging into his hip a little.
Sirius focused on their destination in his mind’s eye, and Apparated.

---

Once the world stopped its stomach-churning spinning, Sirius put his hands over Remus’s
eyes, stretching up to do so. “No peeking,” he whispered in his ear, unable to keep the grin
from his face.
He saw Remus’s nose twitch as he took in the smells -- crisp sea air, the salty ocean,
the smell of fresh paint and, he assumed since he’d been there so often over the past month,
himself. Remus’s brows knit together above his nose, but he didn’t protest as Sirius walked
him up a gently-sloping path.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.” Sirius slid his hands from Remus’s face and shoved
them into his jacket pockets to keep from pulling on his hair or something else mildly
destructive. They’d spoken about doing something like this before, had even discussed at
length about what they’d like to have, but it had always seemed so far-fetched, so out of
reach.

Remus’s eyes fluttered open and Sirius saw the place anew.
They were at the steps of a small two-story cottage with a white wrap-around porch
and gleaming, spotless steps. The wooden exterior of the house had been freshly painted in a
robin’s egg blue that nearly blended into the sky above it. An attempt at growing lavender
and sage had been made in the front garden, but Sirius had always been a bit rubbish at
Herbology and his years away from school had not improved that any.
Remus grabbed his bicep hard and looked at him, stunned. “Sirius…” he breathed,
amber eyes wide as saucers. “Where… what… what is this?”
 “Um, it’s… it’s our new home, if you like it,” he answered, anxiously scanning
Remus’s face for any trace of disappointment. Maybe he wouldn’t like it, maybe he didn’t
want to leave their tiny, cramped flat in London for a seaside home. Sirius had a moment of
irrational fear -- maybe Remus had mentioned he’d hated growing up on the sea, maybe he
had bad memories of it instead of good ones, maybe --
Arms like iron enveloped him and pulled him in a near-bone-crushing hug. “Padfoot,”
Remus whispered into his jacket collar. “It’s wonderful -- can we, can we go inside?”

They walked in through a stone-floored entryway into a house with light wooden
floors and pale blue walls. The entryway flowed into a comfortable living space and then
immediately into a sprawling kitchen with checkered linoleum on the floor and blue-and-
white cabinets. A large bay window looked out onto a hedge-fenced garden; the hedges were
uneven and lopsided but that was fine, Remus could fix those, too.

Sirius led a gawking Remus past an inset reading nook and up the staircase where
three rooms waited for them, two smaller ones and a spacious master suite. Although there
was no furniture, Sirius could see Remus imagining their lives together there -- room to
entertain, room to grow, if they wanted.
“You always said -- I think -- that you had fond memories of growing up in Dover. I
thought about, y’know, looking in Kent but… well we’re in East Sussex and I think that’s
alright, isn’t it?”
“It’s more than alright, Sirius, this is… wait, this is my surprise?” Remus asked
suddenly, surprised.

“Yes?” Dread settled like ice on Sirius’s shoulders. What if he’d been expecting
something else, something grander, something more--
“This is my gift? You got me a house?” Remus asked again, the whites showing
around his eyes.

Sirius nodded before a stream of words bubbled from his mouth. “Um, yes, we’re in
a little secluded part of Seaford and there aren’t any Muggles around -- there’s a ghost story
of something, I don’t know, and the beaches aren’t as good as Dover but we’re safe here and
I’ve put up a bunch of wards so the moons are totally covered.” He was rambling, unable to
stop, just jabbering along until Remus put his palm over his mouth.

“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted with you,” Remus said softly, his eyes overbright
with brimming tears. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten, Padfoot,” he whispered, voice
tight, thready. “Thank you.”
Sirius gathered Remus in his arms and held him tight, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“Happy birthday, Moony.”
 The Violence

Dancing on the crumbling precipice/The rocks are coming loose just at the edge/Are
we laughing? Are we crying?/Are we drowning? Are we dead?/Or was it all a dream?

The days they spend together pass as tiny, beautiful miracles. They do not always get
to speak, get to see each other, but when his smooth fingertips brush scarred knuckles --
almost always the first touch, a silent check for new marks -- Remus is restored.
This time, it was a week. Sirius was flung to some frozen corner of Scotland to ‘deal
with something’ -- the true nature of their missions cannot be revealed, even in the
nonexistent space between their lips as they kiss, breathe each other’s air as a reminder of
‘here, healthy, whole’.
Secrets remain locked even as Sirius’s legs wind around his narrow hips, buried
behind a sense of loyalty and justice and desperation that cannot be uncovered, unlike the
curses and confessions of undying love that spill from Sirius’s rose-petal lips like water.
“Love you, need you, mine, mine, mine,” he pants, his body an oasis, a respite
Remus needs after climbing the walls, alone, waiting for his return. Hoping for it. Praying,
even, to his mother’s God, for his deliverance.

The bombs are getting closer everyday/'That can never happen here' we used to
say/Have these wars come to our doorstep?/Has this moment finally come?/Or was it all a
dream?
Next time -- tomorrow, Remus’s heart wrenches as he reminds himself -- they’re to
spend nearly a month apart. It’s the first Full Moon without Sirius in years, and he is terrified
of the repercussions. What will the wolf do, without its long-time companion, without the
pack it has grown accustomed to? Remus hides his fear in Sirius’s neck with needy, hungry
bites. He tears his skin, but Sirius’s heady moans spur him on, and by the time his hips snap
to stillness and fill the pliant, greedy body below him, Sirius's shoulder is smeared with blood
and saliva and tears.

Are we not good enough?/Are we not brave enough?/Is the violence in our nature just
the image of our maker?/Are we not good enough?/Are we not brave enough?/To become
something greater, than the violence in our nature?/Are we not good, good enough?
They are silent, after that, curled together from hip to shoulder, still messy. Sirius
holds him from behind, a solid presence reminding him to breathe. They both want to say
it: don’t go, stay here, with me, but they don’t have the words. They both know the truth:
Remus is a weapon to be aimed and fired.
 The Order needs him.

He feels wrong. There are others, like him in the most base sense, strewn about the
camp. Thin, scar-marked, hungry. Faces closed off by years of oppression, the only surface
emotion is a quietly simmering rage. Remus was set on his arse by a big man missing an eye
for trying to take from the stew pot before him. There are rules here, in this lawless place,
and Remus has not earned his spot yet.
They don’t trust him. They have no reason to. But they let him in, saw the wolf lurking
behind his eyes as clear as if it stood at his side. Maybe it does, to them. He can see theirs, in
a way, in the fluid movements of their bodies, the darting of their eyes -- brown, blue, hazel
-- at the smallest sound, in the quick flash of teeth from behind scarred, chapped lips when
something angers. He’s never met another werewolf face-to-face before, and he is startled by
how happy the wolf in his head is to be around others like him. His heart tells him no -- this
is wrong, he has a pack: a rat, a stag, a dog. He doesn’t need a new one.
They run. There's blood, rich, coppery, heady in its sinful intoxication, like nothing
he's ever tasted before. He doesn't know where it comes from, if it's his own, another
werewolf's, or an innocent bystander. He knows run and fight, as the cursefire singes his fur
and reflects off, drops one of the wizards in the ricochet. He's immune to this, a shield. A
shield without stability, as he runs with his pack to cut down their attacker with brutal, razor
fangs.
He feels alive.

It's terrifying.
In the morning, blood-soaked and aching, he vomits.

To a predetermined fate, are we condemned?/Or maybe we're a book without an

end?/We're not stories, we're not actors

We're awake and in control/And this is not a dream

The pack is gone. His new pack. Gone-gone, rounded up and executed, if Peter's to
be believed. Every last one of them. Not him. Not Remus.

Remus is with Sirius, body mostly mended but aching. He was spared -- the plant, the
spy, the rat-who-is-a-wolf. Who is a man, Sirius reminds him, raw-voiced and hollow-eyed.
He can't tell him, even if he was allowed to. The secrets sever their school-forged
welds and though the arms that hold him are familiar, they feel too human, distant, done.
 He can't blame him. Remus is a monster. He's proven that to himself, now, after years
of misguided debate. The first opportunity he had to run free and he did something bad.
Maybe. Maybe it wasn't him -- Alastor couldn't say. Said three Muggles were dead, some
cattle. Remus hopes he'd only gotten the cattle.
He vomits, again, uninterested in food as his mind tries to come to terms with the
depths of the unknowns. He focuses on what he does know.

He hurts. Sirius is there, comforting. His body feels cold. Sirius is there, warm. His
mind is turbulent. Sirius is there, distracting. His cock is hard. Sirius is there, willing. His
heart aches. Sirius is there, loving.
Loving. Somehow.

He can't keep doing this, he thinks, entangled with Sirius and their sheets that
should've been washed a week ago.

So can we break this mold?/And set in motion something new/Forgetting what we

know/An evolution overdue/Fight the current/Pull the ripcord/Get away!
No. He can't. He won't.

A new-new pack. In the Dales. Three months. Remus paces. There's a path worn in
their carpet now, he's not imagining it. He smokes inside, cigarette after cigarette falling to
his nervous breakdown.
Angry buildup? Which is it, he wonders.

Three months, he whispers, aghast, at the half-moon spectacled face in the Floo.
Three months, he sobs, grieving, in the iron of Sirius's arms as he chases his release
for the fifth time that night.
Three months, he snarls, as he snatches the portkey from the old man's hand, white-
faced. He'll be counting.

Are we not good enough?/Are we not brave enough?/Is the violence in our nature just
the image of our maker?/Are we not good enough?/Are we not brave enough?/To become
something greater, than the violence in our nature?/Are we not good, good enough?
Is he even human anymore?, he wonders, staring into the startled face of his boyfriend
-- maybe he's not his boyfriend anymore, it's been so long -- when he enters the flat. He
knows he's a sight -- his long, previously fashionably-so hair tumbles down his back in matted
knots. No brushes in this wolf pack.

Are we even enough?, he wonders, around the first cigarette he's had in a season, said
aloud in a puff of smoke. They seem to be getting nowhere in this war. Sirius makes a dog
with his smoky exhale, and Remus's wolf is too big, too brutal, does not chase his smoke trail
but hunts it down in a vicious, violent attack.

Am I good enough?, he wonders, puffed into the humidity of the first shower he's had
since August. Sirius watches him, leaning against the sink, his silver eyes taking in the
mangled mass of scar tissue and poorly-mended broken bones that is Remus. He's thin, each
joint a protrusion, too jumpy, each noise cause for defensive snarling, too hungry, each casual
touch driving him to lustful madness.

He can't go back, he decides, as he falls into Sirius again and again, as the beautiful
man with shadows in his eyes cries his name and arches his back, as they open a new pack
of cigarettes on the balcony.

We'll travel back to what we take/We need a storm, let's pray for rain now/To wash
these roads away/Let's get off track and wander far/Same roads reducing
destinations/Following nothing but your heart/We're talking in our sleep/And sleeping
through our lives/We dream of the places where we never die/We step from our shadows/And
into the light

His friends are dying. Nothing they do is helping -- Remus has fed the Order enough
information to last a lifetime and nothing fucking helps. They are so young, so so young, and
dying.
Marlene dies, and the rest of her family. Sirius crashes his bike when he gets the news
and Remus breaks him out of the hospital because he doesn't have his Muggle vaccines or
any public records.
Dorcas dies, reunited with her love at last. How nice, a bitterly jaded Remus thinks -
- to be done, to be finished, to get to spend eternity with your soulmate. He wants that. He
doesn't think they'll get it. He feels guilty. She's dead. He is not.

James and Lily are next. It hasn't happened, but he feels it in his bones. There's a
traitor among them. Not Sirius, never Sirius, though Remus hears him scream in his sleep
and beg for mercy, apologizing for things he has not done.
Or Remus thinks he hasn't done. He wouldn't know. They've spent more days apart
than together at this point. Anything could be true. Anything could be a lie.
 Not Sirius, he begs of the universe as he mixes his own blood with black ink and
pours every ounce of magical power he has in his bones into the runes he dots, stick-and-
poke style, into Sirius's skin. It's the first permanent mismark he carries, and Remus puts
them there. Runes for health, power, safety, location, healing. Runes for Remus, who needs
him to stay.
Not Sirius, he decides, watching the newly-tattooed spine curve while Sirius pulls on
his trousers. "Don't go," Remus finally has the strength to say, and Sirius sits next to him for
a few more minutes. It lets Remus dream, but dreams are dangerous things, hopes rising on
wax wings only to melt against the blasted sunshine of reality.

Remus doesn't want a dream. He wants out.

Are we not good enough?/Are we not brave enough?/Is the violence in our nature just
the image of our maker?/Are we not good enough?/Are we not brave enough?/To become
something greater, than the violence in our nature?/Are we not good, good enough?

"Are we not good enough?" Remus shouts at Albus and the entire Wizengamot on
November 1, 1981. He's relying on a cane and his lung is punctured -- he woke up from the
Full Moon to the worst news of his lifetime, and launched into action.
He's done. He's angry -- furious. He has proof.

He is magnificent, all post-moon agony funneling into righteous rage as he storms the
halls of the Ministry, tattered cloak as majestic as any king's on his shoulders. The runes, he
says, my memories, my truths. He offers them, evidence -- sordid, lewd things that cause
members of the judiciary to blush as they relive Remus's pre-Transformation shag, a time-
honored tradition. As they trace the magic in the runes to show Sirius's whereabouts that
Halloween -- with Remus, always, waiting. Loyal.

"We're done," Remus seethes, taking Sirius and Harry -- oh God, Harry, and
Disapparating to the just-in-case-Moony-sorry-it-was-a-surprise blue cottage by the sea.
He will not be their pawn, will not let Harry be their weapon of war like he was --
like his parents, like their friends, were.

He needs a storm. He prays for rain.

 Moonfever

It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. Remus knows it. Sirius knows it. But it makes
them feel something. Something other than the teetering, twisting, tortuous vacillation
between heart-breaking pain and mind-whiting fear.

It's exciting. It makes their blood come alive. It's everything.

Even a year ago, Remus knows he would have knocked Sirius flat on his arse for
even suggesting this. But a year ago, there weren't more empty chairs than there were full
around the table at Order meetings. A year ago, all of their friends were still alive.
Their remaining friends don't know. No one does—well, Dumbledore probably, but
Remus doesn't give two shits about what the twisted old man thinks anymore. He hasn't for
a while. Not since the Dales. Fuck the Dales. Remus came back from three miserable months
with the most savage pack of werewolves he's ever met as a changed man. Remus knows it.
Sirius knows it.

Maybe that's why they do this—play “the game” . It seems wrong to call it a game,
but... it is fun, there are rules, and there is absolutely a way to lose. Two ways to lose. One's
just more permanent than the other.

Rule One: a vie for dominance has to occur. This is hardly fair —to Sirius—but
Remus doesn't make the rules. He just writes them down, metaphorically. The rules fashion
themselves as needed, like magic. Remus isn’t worried about Rule One. He won last month
and the month before. He'll win again.
Rule Two: no runes. This is meant to even the playing field because during Game
One, the full moon before Remus's twentieth birthday, Sirius accused Remus of cheating by
accelerating the natural way of things with 'fiddly, fucky runes'. Remus, of course, remains
under the opinion that as there wasn't already a rule in place prohibiting their use, he couldn't
possibly have cheated. He's very good at following rules. When it suits him.
Rule Three: no wands. It adds to the danger and the recklessness, certainly. There's a
war on. Everyone knows that. But it's part of the charm, to know that your only spells can be
those you've mastered wandlessly. Remus thinks it's actually quite the incentive to keep
learning after graduation, not that he’s ever needed one. He's added four new spells to his
wandless repertoire in only three months. Dumbledore should be proud, except that since
they're not combat spells, he probably wouldn't see the point. Miserable bastard.
Rule Four: tell no one. Again, it’s easy enough to follow since most of the people
they might tell are fucking dead. The others are unreachable or hidden away so deep, Remus
can't even smell them. Still, if others knew, they'd stop them. Remus can only imagine what
Lily would make of this game. He hopes he gets to find out one day.

Rule Five: don’t hold back. While the day of the full moon tends to turn Remus into
more beast than man, he has an ironclad level of control over himself on a regular moon.
He’s been a werewolf for a long time—almost sixteen years, now—and he’s learned ways to
keep the wolf in its cage. As such, he is very aware that adding the fervor of sex and a chase to
the normal internal chaos is exceptionally dangerous, and it took some heavy baiting from
Sirius to get him to just let loose. It’s more fun that way. They’re wizards. They can fix just
about anything with magic, right?

Finally, the Goal: Can you come before the moon rises?
They can technically start whenever they want to, but each month they skirt closer
and closer to moonrise. It's forty-two minutes until the moon comes up and they square off
in the Forest of Dean. They're not monsters —okay, one of them will be in…forty-one
minutes—and have an entire square kilometer warded to the teeth against Muggles and all
but the most determined of wizards. It's where Remus has been transforming anyway now
that the Shrieking Shack is no longer an option, running with the rat, dog, and stag at his side.
It’s been several months since the rat and the stag joined them, though. Maybe the absence
of their two friends is why they do this.

Or maybe it's just fun .

He doesn't know why Sirius bothers with this part, Rule One. The rule was his idea,
a folly of his blasted hubris, but there's no way he can win without a wand. Remus has never
once lost to him in a genuine physical dust-up. He's just too strong, especially today with the
wolf at its strongest, its most aggressive. Still, Sirius tries. It’s cute.
He launches himself at Remus, shifting from man to dog midair in a surprising stunt
that has Remus on the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs as six stone of dog crushes
his chest. Sirius turns into his human self again and pins Remus with a hungry smile, but it's
not over. Remus shoves him off and they roll together through the damp leaves and sticks
and dirt. Sirius is crafty and fights back admirably, but his technique is no match for the sheer
power in Remus's body.
Remus holds him down with one arm across his chest and uses his free hand to palm
Sirius's cock through his jeans. "Rock hard already," he taunts, though it's always this way.
They've fought since they were eleven years old, but now they get to use the rest of their
bodies, turning anger and frustration into a more meaningful and satisfying sort of passion.

"Shut up, Moony," Sirius grumbles, still wiggling against his capture. Rule One
doesn't ever specify that the vie for dominance has to end at any point, and Remus has a
feeling he'll have to put Sirius in his place a few dozen times tonight. He can't blame him,
not really. Up until Remus's twentieth birthday, he'd been more than happy to be the one bent
over the arm of the sofa or curled into a ball and absolutely fucking reamed .

But lately, all he's wanted to do is live in that arse, to pick him apart at the seams and
plow into his body until Sirius can't even walk . He's had him up against the wall, over the
kitchen counter, against the bathroom sink, and even the door of their flat on their way to an
Order meeting without a second thought. He can't get enough. Five, six times a day if they're
together, he wants Sirius. Needs him. Remus can only imagine that his arse is getting sore
or—more likely— that it has been for a while. Oh well. He'd say something if
it actually bothered him, Remus knows. Sirius Black is not shy about complaining.

“Get off me,” Sirius grouses, as if to prove Remus’s point. He squirms and tries to
get away, but even though Remus weighs nearly four stone less than he does, it’s no use.

Remus opens his fly with a wandless spell—it really does only have one or two
uses—and tugs them down Sirius’s strong thighs with one hand. It’s difficult to manage while
they’re on the ground and with Sirius flailing about, and Sirius takes advantage of that. He
shifts back into Padfoot and twists his spine to get free, kicking Remus’s jaw on the way out
with two strong hind legs. Fuck. Slippy bastard.
Padfoot runs—though that’s really a stupid thing to do since the only way to win the
game is to come before the moon rises—and Remus gives chase. For all the wolf lends him
its enhanced senses, Remus could never outstrip Padfoot. Sirius, absolutely, but he only has
two legs. Remus briefly considers attempting to cast the homorphus charm without a wand,
but as he’s not had much chance to practice without—Sirius would absolutely not let him
test it out on him and the only other Animagi Remus knows are unreachable lately—he
decides against it. He may want to beat Sirius (in a sexy, wrestling, groaning kind of way),
but he doesn’t want to send him to St Mungo’s with unknown spell damage.

Eventually, and the glowing blue tempus they have following them around now
shows twenty-seven minutes remaining, Padfoot stops, hunkers down, and growls. “So scary,
Padfoot,” Remus baits, rolling his eyes. Really now. They circle each other cagily, but Remus
is just waiting for Padfoot to make his next move. “Stop fucking around!”

Padfoot lunges to the right, silver eyes glinting like moonlight, but feints and pivots
left. It would work, but he always goes left. Remus grabs him around the middle and decides
to just go for it, weirdness be damned. The wolf in his head is foaming at the mouth, enraged
at this silly game because it knows that they could just take the silly human-dog-thing they’ve
been chasing around, if only Remus would let it. Instead, Remus holds tight to the squirming
dog and bites down hard on his scruff. Padfoot yowls—ear-piercing, shrill, surprised—and
Sirius is stunned into shifting back into a man.

Remus, feeling the fur melting away, adjusts his grip to accommodate for Sirius’s
significant weight increase, but doesn’t let up on his scruff, which is now the crook of his
neck where it turns into his shoulder. The yelp turns into an animalistic groan and then a
needy, desperate , whine and they fall to the forest floor again. This time, Remus is on top of
his back, and Sirius grinds up against his cock with his arse, offering himself up. Finally.

“Good dog,” Remus rumbles, licking away the smear of blood that coats Sirius’s nape. It’s
addicting. He wants more. He’s never bitten him hard enough to draw blood this close to the
full moon before, but Rule Five is Rule Five... He bites him again on the opposite side and
Sirius gasps.
“Moony, ow, fuck ,” he grunts, but the sinful slide of his arse back against Remus’s
hips betrays his real feelings. “More,” Sirius adds with a heady moan, and who is Remus to
deny him? He bites harder, growling loud enough to drown out the deafening snarls in his
head, and ruts against Sirius, seeking his release. Sirius doesn’t have to come for the game
to be won, and there doesn’t have to be penetrative sex.
“Fuck you, Moony, fuck me already,” Sirius demands harshly, jerking his head up to
see the glowing blue tempus : seventeen minutes left. He snaps his fingers and both of their
clothes Vanish—a spell Remus did not know he’d learned—and Remus’s bare cock now
slides between his tempting cleft. It’s… dripping. Soaked. Completely drenched in lube.
“Dirty trick,” Remus snarls around the mouthful of his shoulder. Sirius has clearly
been doing some extracurricular work on his own spells and if Remus could think a thought
other than ‘ take ’, he would be terribly impressed.

Sirius laughs darkly and pushes himself onto his elbows. If there weren’t only fifteen
minutes to moonrise, if their friends were still alive, if there wasn’t a war on, if there wasn’t
this overwhelming and primal need to survive , Remus knows the exact words Sirius would
say. But there are, they are, and there is , and words like that, soft and sweet and fond do not
have a place in this gritty battlefield.
Remus thrusts into him without preamble, and Sirius’s shout is music to his ears.
They’ve been fucking so regularly—rather, Remus has been fucking Sirius so regularly—
there’s almost no resistance past that first squeeze in. He’s tight, and it’s so so wet , Remus
almost loses his mind right then and there. But no, they have fourteen minutes, and
Remus isn’t completely lost to the wolf, though it’s getting close. He can take his time, pick
Sirius apart, make him regret his insubordination .

Or he would , except Sirius is grinding against him, ripping throaty moans out of his
own chest as he impales himself repeatedly on Remus’s cock. Remus ceases to think.
He grabs his hips with crushing, careless hands and hauls him to his knees, drinking
in every noise Sirius makes as Remus’s cock shifts inside of him. Remus slides one hand to
Sirius’s throat and presses down on his jugular just enough to make his entire body pull taut.
“Fuck, Moony, more ,” Sirius begs.
 It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. Remus knows it. Sirius knows it. Remus draws Sirius
upright so that his back is flush against his chest, and Sirius’s knees don’t quite connect with
the ground. Remus is too tall and his thighs are much longer than Sirius’s are, and he supports
his weight with his cock and the one arm he now wraps possessively around his waist.
It’s exciting. It’s everything.
Remus fucks up into him, leaving skin-breaking bites all across his shoulders as he
squeezes tight around Sirius’s neck. A litany of growls mixes with Sirius’s increasingly-
desperate moans and whines and choking whistles and Remus knows he’s bound to pass out
any minute now.
There! Sirius goes limp in his arms and Remus releases his throat immediately,
fighting back the vicious, gut-twisting, blood-chilling urge to hang on . Dorcas and Marlene
got to be together like this, why shouldn’t they? But no , the wolf would never let him go so
easily—Remus knows this now after three fucking months in the Dales—and Remus couldn’t
go on without Sirius. He’s reckless. He’s dangerous. He’s exciting. He’s everything. Remus
knows it. Sirius knows it.
Still, Remus fucks into his unconscious body with a new hunger, knowing that when
Sirius comes to, he’ll be able to clasp back around him and take away the fragile thread of
control that Remus has now. It doesn’t take long before Sirius stirs, gasping, spluttering, and
he clenches so tight around Remus’s cock that he almost can’t move.
“Moony, Moony, Moony, Moony, Moony,” Sirius babbles, reaching behind him with
both hands to cradle Remus’s head. The tempus mocks them: four minutes. “Harder, Moony,
harder, I’m going to— hngn —beat you this time, hah,” he taunts, voice raspy and hoarse.
He must’ve misjudged the hold on his throat, oops. Oh well. He’ll fix that later. After.
Tomorrow.
Human speech is no longer a viable option. Remus opens his mouth, but all that comes
out is a savage snarl, and he bites into Sirius’s shoulder again. Blood fills his mouth and spills
down his jaw and it’s so damningly delicious, he feels his balls draw up tight against his
body. Almost...almost…

“Fuck! Moony!” Sirius screams, and comes with a broken sob, thrashing against him
like a wild animal as his body convulses. Remus is right behind him, shoving his cock up
into his tight, hard body and spills into him for what seems like minutes.

The peace does not last long, and they do not have the luxury of basking in their
afterglow while they catch their breath. “The moon,” Sirius whimpers, and they watch the
clock count down. One minute. Fifty-nine seconds. Fifty-eight. The all-consuming relief
Remus feels now will quickly turn to bone-rending agony, he knows, but this… the game is
better than sitting around pacing, waiting, doing nothing. So, so much better.
 Remus releases Sirius and focuses everything he knows to be human about him into
the healing spells he ghosts along Sirius’s body. They’re not perfect: healing spells take
finesse and delicacy and concentration, but the bleeding stops, at least. They’ll have to take
care of the rest, after. Tomorrow.
“Moony,” Sirius whispers, surges back into his arms, and kisses him: firm, urgent,
frantic. His lips are split open and he tastes like leaf litter and wet earth and Remus wants to
stay there, forever, not face what’s coming. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, not again. He just
wants to be done . Ten seconds. Nine, eight…

It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. Remus knows it. Sirius knows it.
Remus strokes his cheek before pushing him away. Why was Sirius
just standing there, he needs to shift. Now . Six, five, four, three, two…! T he familiar shape
of the dog swimming into view is the last thing he sees before the madness takes him.
 A yearning, profound (a love, unbound)

"You're fucking kidding me. Still? Sirius, this has gone on long enough." Despite
Remus's vehement, snarled words, he only got a baleful, ghostly stare from the black dog
sitting guard at the cot in return. "It's been over a month." Nothing. Remus balled his hands
into fists and fought hard against the urge to strike him.
From inside the cot, Harry started to stir, making sleepy grumbles and grunts. He
wasn't much of a morning person, Harry, which suited Remus just fine; he just wasn't sure
from whom he inherited it. Neither James nor Lily could abide by a lie-in even in the laziest,
rainy of Sundays. Remus's throat grew tight at the thought of them, and he struggled to
maintain his hold on his fury, struggled to keep it from turning into manic, wracking sobs.

Remus crossed the room to see to Harry, but Padfoot stood up and gave a warning
growl. "Piss off," Remus spat. He was well past sick and tired of this by now. Almost six
weeks Sirius had kept that form, never transforming back, hardly even eating. He was
skeletal and frail, his coat lackluster and lank, but his eyes kept that hungry, sharp clarity
despite it all. Remus went through his first full moon alone while Sirius was undergoing the
Aurors’ interrogation, but even though it was Remus's memories and testimonies as to Sirius's
whereabouts on Halloween that got him exonerated, the miserable bastard hadn't said more
than a handful of sentences to him since they arrived at Polaris Cove.
Polaris Cove, a manifestation of Sirius's love of him, he'd said when they Apparated
there straight from the courtyard of the Ministry. It was intended to be a birthday present for
Remus, Sirius had said. A place of their own, built by Sirius and James's talented hands and
clever, brilliant magic. It sat on the pebbled coast of East Sussex, a callback to Remus's
childhood home in Dover on the sea. The ocean wasn't more than a hundred meters away,
beckoning, calling to Remus in its mystical way. The sea had been his first companion after
his bite, and Remus had always felt a kinship to it. So, Sirius picking there to live was more
thoughtful than Remus could've ever dreamt him capable of, but it appeared that every flame
of love Sirius said he had for Remus got snuffed out by the hard freeze of James and Lily's
deaths.

Six weeks he'd been a dog, leaving Remus to take care of everything with
Harry. Remus was the one feeding him. Remus was the one getting up in the middle of the
night when he fussed, rushing in the dark to change a nappy or soothe him when he cried.
And good gods above and below, the poor beggar cried a lot. Sometimes, Remus cried with
him. Cried for the people they lost, the most important ones in their lives. Harry cried, looking
for his parents, for he knew not where they went. Remus cried for his best friends because
he did know where they were, and knew there was no way to get them back.
 …Well, there was a way. Maybe. When it became clear that they were going to take
Harry, Remus broke into his childhood home to pick up some of his old baby things. His
father abandoned it a few years back when Remus's mam died, but he left everything as it
was under layers of blood wards, the only sliver of thought he seemed to spare to the son he
was abandoning, too. Remus found the study strewn with papers and hand-bound books,
scrolls upon scrolls of research in his dad’s slanting script and diagrams and alchemy sigils.
Ingredients stored and half-used, a scorched circle in the garden. He was studying the reversal
of death. Resurrection. Necromancy. Whichever you called it, the magic was dark and
dangerous, but it called to Remus in the same way the sea did, because dark and dangerous
was literally in his blood.

He took the lot of his father's research and shrunk it down, but hadn't had a chance to
really delve into it just yet. Remus was single-parenting a one-year-old, after all, since Sirius
decided he'd rather be a dog than face his fucking emotions.
Figuring out Harry’s needs wasn’t always easy, but Remus could smell that Harry
needed a change, which was simple enough. Remus ignored Padfoot's skulking behind him
as he charmed the changing table warm, the only spot of magic Remus dared use around a
child Harry's age. Remus was raised almost entirely without magic, save for that used to heal
him after the full moons, and his parents had gotten on just fine. Besides, he'd heard Lily
scold James enough for trying to use a cleaning charm on a newborn to understand her
wishes. Her son would be raised with magic, not by magic.

Harry sorted and set to rights, Remus scooped him back up in his arms. Harry pulled
at his earlobes and sideburns, still not quite used to Remus's sudden lack of hair, which was
his favorite hand-hold. In a fit of agony and perhaps a little bit of spite towards Sirius,
who loved Remus's long, sandy curls, Remus buzzed it short last week, bought Muggle
clippers and everything, and didn't bother to Vanish the mess he'd made in the sink. It wasn't
like Sirius was using it anyway. Remus was foolish enough to think (to hope) that might get
a rise out of Sirius, but still he remained as Padfoot.

Remus wasn't too proud to admit he hated him a little, right now. Maybe even a lot.
Sirius could hide behind Padfoot in a way that Remus would never be able to. His canine was
a mad, slavering thing, his inner rage brought to the surface for a night every month,
uncontrolled. It was not a safe haven. It was not asylum. It was madness and cruelty, pure
and simple, and yet coming back to Remus, to his human self, was as shocking and miserable
as the initial change. But Sirius had been able to seamlessly shift between his two forms, like
water through a sieve, painless and carefree. Bastard.

He hadn't thought Sirius was being, well, serious about the why while they were
setting things up, when the adrenaline of the trial and testimony and subsequent release kept
the shadows and demons at bay. Sirius made some off-handed comments about wards and
such, had said he envied Remus for his keen sense of smell and hearing, for how well he saw
in the dark. Remus retorted with something sharp, smoothed it with a kiss, and thought
nothing of it until he walked into Harry's room to see Padfoot standing vigil. Sirius’s purpose
was twofold: have some other way to sense danger coming (because clearly wards weren't
enough if Voldemort could get through to Godric's Hollow) and a convenient dampening of
his sharper, spikier human emotions.
Remus turned his face to Harry's and pressed soft, gentle kisses along the curve of his
cheek, below the jagged cuts. Harry's lightning strike of a wound had finally stopped
bleeding, but it smelled…wrong. Not like infection, not in the bacterial way anyway, but it
made Remus's hackles rise and his hair stand on end if he lingered. The mark of a dark lord,
splitting the poor child's face in twain, branding him for life. Maybe it wouldn't seem so
garish when Harry grew older. Remus knew all too well the effect that having visible scars
could have on one's social perception, how people saw the scar first and the person second,
if at all. That, too, he knew was a foolish hope; everyone would know Harry Potter's name.
Harry giggled, so Remus did it again, heedless of Padfoot perking up and starting to
circle his legs. Each kiss elicited another joyful noise, and when Remus paused after a flurry
of them, Harry leaned in and smashed his mouth to Remus’s chin. He'd never done that
before, and Remus was at once both elated and devastated at this milestone that his friends
did not get to share with their son. He was quick to smother his sadness, though, because
Harry absolutely picked up on that shit, and plopped a few more pecks to the tip of his nose.
"Good boy, Harry," he whispered, "kisses are nice, yeah? Yeah, we love kisses, don't we?"
Remus bounced him a little, milking this rare good mood (and maybe a little to rub it in
Sirius's face that he could), and willfully endured a few more mouth-smash attempts that left
his face wet with more than just baby drool.
Fortune was on his side tonight, because Harry quieted quickly after that, and let
Remus put him back in the cot, his tiny fist in his mouth, wild hair dark on the cushion.
Padfoot rose up on his hind legs and put his front paws on the rail, peering down at his
sleeping godson.

“Full’s tomorrow,” Remus muttered. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to ask.
Last month’s full moon had been the absolute worst of his life, including the ones spent with
the werewolf packs in the Dales, the ones where his fur smelled like cursefire and he couldn’t
be certain to whom the blood in his mouth belonged. The wolf was miserably alone for the
first time in five years, alone and unsupervised, and he was lucky his containment wards held
through the night. Remus was too tired to renew them; he exhausted his magical energy every
day to keep Polaris Cove hidden. It would be nice if Sirius would change back and fucking
help, but…
He didn’t get a response or acknowledgment from Padfoot, not even a flick or twitch
of his ears. The dog’s focus was on Harry, on watching the rise and fall of his chest, barely
even blinking. Remus could scream if he wasn’t worried about waking Harry up. Magic
warmed his fingertips, the urge to hex Padfoot rising, so Remus turned sharply on his heel
and left the room before he could do something violent.

The clock read 3 am, and Remus muttered profanities under his breath. He was tired,
but the moon’s fullness always made him restless, made his magic a little chaotic and readily
available, made him even more irritable. He snatched the pack of cigarettes from the
breakfast table and silently snuck through the front door to smoke on the beach.

Seaford’s weather was never idyllic, but winter was barking at the door, plummeting
the temperatures to below freezing and bringing with it a near-constant film of sleet. Remus’s
overwarm skin steamed in the cold, surrounding him in a cloud of it and cigarette smoke with
every exhale. His stomach growled, too, but he hadn’t had a chance to go to the shops to get
something that would actually satisfy his hunger. The kitchen was filled with food for Harry
and some shelf-stable staples, but this close to the full, Remus’s body craved meat, and lots
of it.

He needed help, plain and simple. He needed someone else…anyone else there to
help him. He wasn’t a parent. He never wanted to be. He was never supposed to be. Remus
loved Harry with every single ounce of himself, but for God’s sake, he was twenty-one. Too
young for this. Too inexperienced. Not for the first time, Remus thought about reaching out
to what remained of their friends. Alice and Frank had gone into hiding with Neville, and
Remus wouldn’t dare ask anything of them while they licked their wounds. Molly and Arthur
Weasley had offered, but… Remus had liked Fabian and Gideon a lot but he didn’t know
their older sister well. She had half a dozen kids herself, and Harry wasn’t a cakewalk.
What he needed was Sirius.

Sirius took to child-rearing like a kelpie to water. He was effortless with Harry,
straight from the start, able to calm him when no one else could, able to make him giggle and
coo and sleep with a husky lullaby.
But it wasn’t just that. Remus needed his partner back. He felt lonely, isolated. Cut
off and ripped open, turned inside out and raw from the lack of Sirius in his daily life. He
missed being touched, having a warm hand on his back and fingers curling through his hair,
feeling his laugh against his shoulder when they stumbled in nearly too pissed to stand. He
even missed bickering with Sirius, having a full-fledged row over something so pointless and
getting to make up afterwards, that awkward, heavy moment of apologies and peace
offerings, the lightness that followed in bed, curled up together and feeling the heartbeat of a
man who loved him.
Remus glanced up at the moon and vanished his cigarette with a wave of his hand.
They'd been so stupid to think they were the best fit for Harry. Remus had never met Vernon
Dursley, but while Petunia had always been a little nasty towards him, he could see that she
loved her sister, even if she didn't understand her. Maybe Harry wouldn't wail at her
unfamiliar smell, because she'd smell like Lily. Maybe living in a suburban house with a
proper garden and a daily routine would settle him more.

But then Remus would remember that Petunia wasn't at James and Lily's wedding.
Petunia wasn't at the small baby shower they threw. Petunia didn't send a card or flowers or
anything when Harry was born. Petunia wanted to pretend he didn't exist, didn't matter, and
Remus would never subject a child to that. Remus's father once treated him as a burden, a
punishment, and though he changed in a magnificent way, it shaped Remus and how he
viewed himself, viewed his place in the world.

Remus sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to at least try to sleep if
Harry was going to grace him with a good mood. Padfoot hadn't moved from his spot, ears
up, eyes alert. Remus didn't spare him a second look, and for the first time, didn't leave their
bedroom door open. It's not like Sirius was going to use it anyway.

If he heard a scratch at the door and a low whine, it must've been a seagull or the
wind.
Remus was in a fine state the next day, as he was every full moon. He was jumpy and
twitchy and needed every molecule of his self-control and patience to take care of Harry.
Remus didn't know how the night was going to go. Horribly, for him, certainly, but he didn't
like the idea of leaving Harry alone with Sirius. With Padfoot. Something could
go very wrong during those long hours, and Sirius would have to transform back, if he could
even remember how to at this point, and there might not be enough time. But there wasn't a
solution for it, so as the day lengthened, Remus got more and more irritable. There was no
other option. Harry would have to stay with Sirius.

After a full hour of trying to get Harry down for a nap, Remus was at his wits' end.
He had a mild fever and an upset stomach and the entire day had been filled with fielding
those crises. It was hard, when all Remus wanted to do was rip off his skin and jump in the
sea, let the water boil around him with how hot he was, and just forget about everything else.
It was 4 pm and Remus finally had a minute for himself and resolved to fill it with
eating something. Pasta and butter sauce might turn his own stomach, but he needed some
nourishment, some calories, to survive the change. When he opened the refrigerator, Remus
blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. It was filled with thick cuts of beef steak and
pork, and a peek into the freezer revealed dozens of butcher-paper-wrapped pieces. For a split
second, panic rose in his throat because who else knew about this place, but when he stepped
away from the fridge, Padfoot sat next to the table, looking at him.
"What, did you rob a butcher shop?" Remus couldn't keep the venom from his voice.
So now it suited Sirius to help? Now? After six weeks? "This doesn't change anything,"
Remus adds, advancing on the dog. "I'm still fucking angry with you. No, angry doesn't even
begin to cut it, Sirius. I'm furious. "
 Padfoot whined, and the pitiful sound was like gasoline on Remus's angry fire. "You
know what?" Remus said, feeling a little hysterical. "I'm done playing along. I'm done letting
you wallow in your self-pity and ignore everything else. News flash, Sirius: you're not the
only one who lost people you love! I lost my two best friends. I lost Lily. My first friend. The
first person who treated me like a person, and I lost James, and I haven't gotten to grieve!"
He couldn't stop it now, couldn't dam up the flood of words. "Because I've been giving you
your space. I've been doing this all on my own and I am fucking done."
Remus raised his wand and cast a spell he'd only used once or twice before. The light
circled a very concerned-looking Padfoot, settled into his fur, and then shoved Padfoot back
against the wall with a yelp. Remus watched Padfoot try to get away, but the spell was quick
and effective, and within the space of a dozen hurried heartbeats, Sirius Black was sitting on
the floor of the kitchen: man, not dog.
He looked like shit, and Remus got a vicious satisfaction out of it. Sirius was gaunt-
faced and sallow-skinned with giant shadows under his eyes and more within, the ghosts and
demons coming out now that they were free from their canine prison. His clothes hung off of
him, and Remus could even see the jut of his collarbone and shoulders through the thin t-
shirt. The more he looked, the more he saw, the less smug Remus was about Sirius's state of
being, but it didn't quell his anger with him.
Remus watched Sirius's hair move, trying to form into two dog ears, but Sirius
slumped back to the floor with an exhausted sigh. Remus's love for him went to war with the
part of him that delighted in seeing Sirius suffer a little for his actions, finally. (Remus had a
cruel side not many got to see, and it frightened him, but ever since his time in the Dales, it
was feeling more and more like an old friend.) Sirius's stomach growled pitifully and Remus
sighed when he remained silent.
Remus fetched a sachet of powder from the cupboard and quickly mixed it with water
from the tap in a cup and, after a second glance at Sirius, Transfigured a paper towel into a
straw. "Drink this." Sirius stared at the glass, unblinking. "If you don't drink this, I will knock
you out and force it down your throat," Remus warned.
Sirius must have taken his threat to heart, because he took several small sips from the
cup. When he made a face at the texture, Remus shrugged. "Electrolyte solution, since you
decided to starve yourself for six weeks."

"I had to-" Sirius croaked, and then his voice cracked and disappeared.
Remus heard Harry make a noise from the other side of the house, and Sirius turned
his head sharply when Remus did, following Remus's line of sight. Remus held up his hand
and his wand in warning. "He's fine. He's asleep. Sit. Down, or I will make you."
 Sirius complied, though whether it was out of obedience to Remus or an inability to
do anything else, Remus couldn't be sure. He drank again from the cup, still grimacing.
"Haven't used that spell since-"

"Yeah." Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and forced himself to sit so he wouldn't
do something stupid. The last time he used the spell to force Sirius back into his human form,
it had been part of foreplay, two kids breaking in their new flat, unshackled by the weight of
the horrors they would soon endure. There wasn't a lot of laughter in the flat, towards the
end. A lot of sex, sure, but laced with secrets.

"Hurts."
"It doesn't hurt."

"How would you know? You aren't an Animagus."

"A fact I am never more aware of than today," Remus said, cutting and clipped.

"What's today?" Sirius asked, confused. Remus's heart plummeted, settled in the pit
of his stomach, broken in odd-shaped pieces. Sirius had never forgotten a full moon ever
since second year. "Oh. Shit."
"Very."

Sirius fell quiet, and the silence between them stretched well past awkward into
uncomfortable, and downright painful. "I don't know what you want from me," he said at
last, barely above a whisper.
Remus reeled. "What do I want?" he shouted. Remus grabbed his wand and cast a
hasty one-way silencing charm. He didn't want Harry to hear and wake up, or be subjected
to the trauma of the argument on top of everything else. "I want you, you arsehole. I want
you. As a human. As a friend. As my partner. Because it's so, so fucking lonely and I've
never—never—felt so lonely before, not even when I didn't have friends because at
least then I didn't know what I was missing. But now my friends are fucking dead and my
boyfriend won't face the facts, would rather mope as a dog than do anything actually useful
to help me raise their son!" Remus felt too hot, his skin too tight, and he was starting to sweat,
despite the chill outside. The moon was a few hours away still, but he felt the wolf prowling
just under the surface, waiting for its chance.
Remus didn't think he imagined the brightness in Sirius's eyes. "I don't know how,"
Sirius admitted at last.

Remus bit back cruel words and inhaled deeply through his nose. "Don't know how
to what?"
"Live," Sirius rasped. "Without Prongs."
 "Grieve him. Honor his memory. Make sure his son gets a chance to grow up," Remus
said. "Don't hide from the truth. Feel your fucking emotions and know that he gave you the
best chance to be a good fucking person and you cannot waste that. Be better. For Harry."

Sirius swiped at his eyes with his forearm and finished the drink. "For Harry."
"Yeah." Everything they needed to do was for Harry, James's carbon copy with Lily's
eyes.

"What about for you?"

Remus frowned, raising one brow. "What about me?"

"Can I be better for you, too?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Sirius's face fell and he nodded, sullen. "I see. It's nothing I don't deserve…"
Remus groaned and crossed the distance between them. He knelt on the floor in front
of Sirius and took his hands, cold and thin, in his. "Shut up," he whispered, and leaned in for
a kiss.

Sirius met him halfway with a broken little moan, opening up willingly under Remus's
mouth. He got his hands free and grasped Remus's shirt between them, pulling until he was
practically in Remus's lap, flush together. "I'll be better," Sirius said, barely above a breath.

"No more hiding?" Remus asked, bumping his nose against the soft skin behind
Sirius's ear. He stank, but the wolf liked it as it always did, and grumbled happily in his chest.
"No more hiding."
 Dominus

It's funny, Sirius thinks, how familiar the mechanics of this feel. He's kneeling on the
unforgiving hardwood floor with his hands bound and there isn't a cushioning charm set today
to ease the ache in his knees. His shoulders have cramped from holding this position for what
has to be at least thirty minutes. He'd check, but he knows he can't cast a lumos right now,
let alone a tempus thanks to the runes painted on his chest—pretty little bastards, though, that
mimic a harness—so he has to guess. It could be longer, he thinks, wiggling his cold toes.
Maybe an hour.
He's been in this position before—albeit with significantly more clothing and
significantly less excitement. The creaking of the door is familiar, as is the feeling of eyes
raking over his back, and the exhale of breath as someone approaches. But these footsteps
here are heavier—more solid—than the severe click of that harpy's heels, the hand that
tangles in his long, black hair is fire-hot—not corpse-cold—and though the pinprick of pain
that lights along his scalp is similar, it is laced with an entirely different promise of more.
"Your word?" Remus asks, his voice and scent husky from cigarette smoke. He
always needed to ground himself before indulging Sirius in this darker fantasy, and who was
Sirius to deny him? The cigarettes were Muggle—sharp, acrid things—and only added to the
similar-but-different feeling buzzing at the edges of his brain like déjà vu.
"Walburga," Sirius spits, his skin crawling.

That, too, is different. While here, naked and tied and open for Remus, he
may appear to have relinquished every element of control down to his magical core, Sirius
knows he still has power. With those three, wretched syllables, Remus would stop. His love
for Sirius would make him stop. There's no spell to hold that agreement in place—though
they certainly exist—just trust and respect.

Love is powerful magic. It can burn away foolish, arrogant pride and coax out the
velvet softness behind fanged hubris. Love has a reputation for
being light and soft and gentle, something only found in the small space between lips, the
sweet sighs before a sunrise, or the silent smiles across a crowded room. But it's not—or
not only. It's also in the thud of a flogger, the zing of a whip, the sharp smack of a gloved
hand on bared, reddening flesh.

Love is not always tender. It needs to be rough, sometimes, and heavy, sharp around
the edges, to survive all the shit the world throws at it: the months apart, the secrets, the
screaming nightmares that can never be fully explained or understood.
It's love that makes his pulse race with anticipation—not fear—at the whisper of a
belt slithering from its loops. The smell of the leather is nearly gone, worn away after a year
of use, but as the hand in his hair draws his nose close enough to brush the coarse fibers of a
tweed trouser leg, he catches it.

It's love that makes him wait—unmoving, obedient—for permission. His nature is to
be brash and bold and insolent. He'd been raised to have it all, had been given whatever he
wanted, when he wanted it, and though he's now several decades past that phase of his
upbringing, those irrefutable rights settled into his bones, his breath, his blood. They were a
part of who he was, at his core. And that's why he needs this.

"Stand."
It's a tall order. He's not old, but he has been immobile for a long stretch of time and
his feet are numb. Still, obeying a command is also part of him—forced into his making—
and though the voice that requests his obedience has love simmering under the surface instead
of frigid iron, it elicits the same immediate response. Sirius gets to his feet and swallows his
groan of discomfort because he has not been given express permission to speak, to make
noise. He's unsteady on his pins, but the golden eyes that he dares to look up at still his
swaying body.
Sirius looks away as quickly as he can and lands on Remus's scar-slashed mouth
where he sees the corners quirk up from their brief downturn. There are rules, but he's been
granted some exceptions, with limits of their own. Remus has always been great at following
rules—or at least as it suits him—but Sirius has struggled since the day he learned the word
'no'.
'No' does not belong here. There isn't a place for it, nor does it have any weight, any
meaning. Nothing Remus will do here is unwanted or undiscussed—those fine, gritty, sordid
details were worked out well in advance. It's all just as well—Sirius would give Remus the
world and hates saying 'no' to him, anyway.
"Kiss me."

Sirius surges forward without a single thought other than yes and leans up onto his
tiptoes to kiss Remus. He teeters awkwardly for a few beats, calves cramped and feet still
tingling as blood returns to them, but Remus mercifully catches him around the waist and
holds him close, supporting Sirius's heavier frame with ease despite the fragility in his own
design. Remus's suit jacket is the same rough tweed as his trousers and it rasps against his
ribs, his naked skin oversensitive in his anticipation.

He is allowed to drive the kiss for a few more luxurious moments and savors the slick
glide of his tongue against Remus's before Remus takes over. The kiss turns hungry in a way
entirely unique to Remus as he licks into his mouth, nipping at Sirius's bottom lip until he's
trembling in his arms and thrumming with need. It's just a kiss, and already he's chomping at
the proverbial bit.
 Sirius feels the warmth of Remus's body through his suit as he pulls him firm against
his thigh. The unmistakable press of his erection drills into Sirius's side, just above his hip,
and his own cock pulses in response. Remus pulls away with the willpower of a saint and
levels Sirius with one look, his eyes blown wide with lust and his lips shiny with spit. Sirius
could come from that look, if he was allowed. He is not.
"Sit," Remus commands with a sharp jerk of his head at the chaise at the foot of the
bed.

Willful petulance flares before Sirius can stop it and though his mind goes through
the motions of thinking— wet nose, ears, fur, paws, freedom, run!— it feels like an
interrupted sneeze, but in his whole body, his magic chained and reeled back by those mangy,
Founders-blighted runes! At his surprised wince, Remus tuts in disappointment. Each one of
those sharp sounds is a nail in his metaphorical coffin. Fuck.

"Really, now," Remus says heavily, and Sirius's heart sinks. "Let me guess… you
were going to turn into Padfoot?" His tone is lighter, but it's clear that he is not impressed.
Sirius looks away, wants to tuck his tail and roll over, but Remus grabs his chin firmly.
"Look at me," he prompts, and Sirius obeys. He could lose himself in those eyes, goldenrod
irises like sirens drawing him in only to drown him among the stark onyx of his pupils.
Remus's eyes narrow at his silence and the message is clear: he won't ask again.
"Yes, sir. Sorry," Sirius says calmly. He doesn't need to beg, not for this. He only
needs to apologize and do better.

"You know I can't let you suck my cock now, right?" Remus says cooly, and Sirius
chokes on a whimper. Damnit. He watches as Remus crosses the room, leather-soled shoes
thudding purposefully on the floor, to sit on the edge of their bed. "Come here," he says, and
taps his lean thigh.
Sirius complies and bends across his lap with the barest of shivers. He fits perfectly
there: Remus's thighs are long, if a little narrower than they used to be—oh, the cruel joke of
ageing—and wonderfully sized to support Sirius. His back cools even as his front starts to
boil from being draped on Remus's too-hot body, and the juxtaposition is disorienting.
"How many?" Remus asks, tracing the runes he'd etched earlier in a façade of
idleness—Sirius's magic may be locked away, but he can feel Remus's trickling over his skin
and into his bones, through his blood, renewing the runes effortlessly.

It's a tricky question, and one with many possible wrong answers. Too few, and he'll
probably not get to come at all. It's not as thrilling of a prospect now that
it's actually happened to him—and in recent memory—as punishment for his cheek. Rules
were hard. Too many, and Sirius would feel it for a week, watching with mixed horror and
delight as his perfect, prize-winning arse turned a kaleidoscope of colors.
 "Sixteen?" he suggests, and feels Remus's inhale. It could be from disappointment or
humor—they were so very similar with Remus—and Sirius holds his breath, waiting for
judgment.

"Count."
It's all the warning he's offered before Remus's gloved hand—when the fuck did
he— fuck, ow! "One," Sirius yelps, arse burning already.

A dozen more even, measured strikes leave Sirius's body trembling, but not from fear
or pain. The pain is there, that's the whole bloody point, but Sirius is achingly hard and each
impact grinds him further against the tight firmness of Remus's thigh. "Thirteen," Sirius
quivers, unembarrassed by the thickness of his voice. Remus doesn't falter, though Sirius
feels the sharp inhale of want falling from him, and delivers three more with efficient ease.

" Good, " Remus says in that low, rumbly way that leaves Sirius aching. His voice
sends lightning down his spine and straight to his dick that pulses another glob of precome
onto Remus's coarse trousers. Remus helps him sit up and gently leads him to kneel at his
feet, pink-cheeked and still so hard. He needs to be touched, needs to come.

The likelihood of that just got further away as Sirius watches golden eyes flick down
to the large damp spot he'd left behind. "Tsk. Sirius," Remus scolds, and the weight of his
tone makes goosebumps shatter across Sirius's skin. "You've made a mess of my favorite
trousers." He smears clear, tacky precome with his gloved fingers and extends them to Sirius.
"Go on, then."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Sirius opens his mouth and moans in appreciation
as the fingers rest heavily on his tongue. It's not his Moony's cock, but it'll do. He laves his
tongue around each of Remus’s fingers in turn, licking away the salty, thick taste of his own
precome until all that's left is the taste of leather in his mouth. After a few minutes more of
indulgent sucking—because he had really wanted to suck his cock, earlier-now-always—
Sirius pulls off of them, licking his lips.

"Trousers, too, Sirius," Remus prompts, and Sirius gets to work. The fabric is rough
on his tongue and it's humiliating to do this, knowing that all he's really doing is making the
damp patch bigger and wetter. He feels fingers on his scalp, drawing something and feels the
warm caress of Remus's magic, like honey and-
"Moony!" he exclaims, suddenly hit with an assault of smells and sound: Remus's
arousal, thick and musky and so much more than he's ever felt before, the sound of his
heartbeat through his femoral artery, the dark rich blood coursing through his veins, the
amused, vaguely sadistic laugh that hits his ears like cymbals.
 "You wanted to be Padfoot so badly," Remus says, showing him his other hand, bare
and bloodink stained. "Thought you might like a little taste of what it's like to be me, for a
while."

Bloody runes! If Sirius focuses—which is hard, with so much else going on—he can
smell the magic that shapes the intricate symbols on his scalp, honey-sweet, coppery, ink-
sharp. He has a dozen questions, all of which die on his tongue at the look on Remus's face.
He can smell his disapproval now, sour and prickly, and waits.

"You are not well-behaved tonight," Remus comments, pushing Sirius's head from
his lap with surprising gentleness. He could send him sprawling across the floor with one
hand if he wanted to, and Sirius would be powerless to stop him. But he doesn't. Remus has
rules, too. He's just better at following them.

Remus reaches into his pocket to grab his wand and Conjures a blindfold into his
hand. Sirius swallows nervously, worried he'll be left alone again, and this time in the dark.
He's come a long way since his boyhood fears of shadows and things lurking in the night—
an adolescence spent making mischief will do that—but sensory deprivation sits on the
fringes of his comfort zone. And yet, as Remus secures it around his head and latches the
buckle, its metallic ting ever-so-loud, Sirius is unafraid. Moony wouldn't hurt him.

Aeselon’s beak, but he smells good. Sirius can’t help but inhale over and over again,
filling his nose with his scent. He feels lightheaded from it, like he might-
“Exhale,” Remus commands, and gives him a sharp rap on the skull. Sirius obeys.
“You’ll pass out if you carry on like that. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he assures
him, laughter waiting in the wings of his normally-controlled voice. Sirius hears the slide of
his zipper—bright, crisp, clear—and the susurration of his fingers over the top button of his
trousers, and he trembles. The smell of him is so much more now, and though he can’t see,
he knows Remus has pushed his trousers down to his thighs while seated and hears the soft
sound of a naked hand on smooth, silken skin.
“Mo-” he stops himself before he can complete the syllable, and Remus blessedly lets
his error slide.

“You’re going to sit there like a good dog, and listen to me,” Remus instructs, and a
whole-body tremor overtakes Sirius at ‘ good dog ’. He can’t help it, it’s instinctual at this
point—Pavlovian, even. “If you behave, you’ll get a treat.” Sirius nods several times and
clasps his hands behind his back to reduce the temptation.

It’s torture. He’s experienced this before, of course, but with muted,
mortal, human senses. But now he can hear every tiny gasp, every slide of skin on skin, and
when he smells Remus’ magic, he nearly comes where he kneels. Sirius doesn’t have to guess
what he’s done. The Conjured lube he used to think was odorless now registers as faintly
fruity, like strawberries, and it turns the casual sounds of Remus’s masturbation into
something pornographic. It’s wet and slick and pure, absolute abuse on his poor, pent-up
cock.

Be good, be good, be good, he chants to himself, soundlessly in his mind, all while
his body curves towards Remus’s. He craves it, wants it, needs to be the one causing Remus
to make those delicious, balls-tightening noises. The thick, heady smell of Remus’s arousal
increases, hitting him in waves with each downward stroke of his hand, and Sirius’s mouth
waters. He’s close, he can tell now, and that certainty has him thrusting minutely in the air. It
doesn’t help him—there’s nothing to grind against, no friction—but he can’t stop.

Remus comes with a moan that sounds ripped from his soul, and Sirius can barely
hear the salacious drop of his release over the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears.
His cock throbs painfully between his legs and his spine bends, his entire body bowed as he
fights back the urge to touch himself.

“Good dog,” Remus practically purrs, and Sirius squeezes his eyes tight behind the
blindfold. No, no, no, not yet! he shouts at himself and takes deep, fast breaths through his
mouth because the ones he sucked in through his nose were a very bad idea. Remus snaps
his fingers—percussive, coaxing—and Sirius waits for the, “Stand,” before he rises to his
feet. “Come here,” Remus says, and Sirius takes six cautious steps forward.
Remus’s hand curls around his hip and Sirius whimpers. His skin is hot, an inferno
against his own chilled, exposed body. “You may clean me up.”

“Thank you,” Sirius gasps, and drops down to his aching knees again. He noses down
Remus’s torso for a few moments until he finds a familiar scar with his lips—the June moon
of 1984—and follows its path down the junction between hip and thigh, crosses over,
and finally! The smell here is intense, uniquely Remus, and Sirius barely stops himself from
burying his nose in the soft curls. Instead, he takes to his task with hungry, shameless laps of
his tongue, scooping up every last drop of come from the softening cock like it’s the most
delicious ambrosia.
“That’s enough,” Remus says after only a handful of brief, too-short minutes, and
Sirius pulls away with a mournful whine and a final lick of his come-smeared lips. Remus
removes the blindfold and allows Sirius a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He hears the
rustling of fabric and the quiet creak of the bed as Remus pulls his trousers up. "Stand up and
look at me."
Merlin reborn, but Remus looks like a walking wet dream. Sirius takes in his
appearance greedily: his tweed suit with his not-quite soft cock still untucked from the open
fly, his short-cropped curls slicked back from his face with a hair potion, his shirt perfectly
tucked into his trousers, not a wrinkle nor stain in sight. He still wears a tie, perfectly knotted
at his throat, but above it in the space between his neck and jaw, Sirius sees the tell-tale flush
of his want, scarlet darkening his tan skin.
 "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Sirius chokes on his breath, nodding rapidly. He didn't think Remus was even going
to entertain that idea after the almost-Padfoot thing, and his eyes go wide. "Yes, please, sir,"
he says, remembering to use his words.
Remus stands and circles him, every thud of his heel on the floor making Sirius's
heart beat faster. He pauses behind him, and Sirius shivers at his breath on his ear. "Should I
be rough, make you scream as I fuck you against the wall, or into the floor like the needy
slag you are?" Oh, fuck! Sirius grinds his teeth and clenches his thighs tight. "Or fuck you
nice and slow until you're sobbing, begging to come even as I push you into the mattress?"
Remus's voice is velvet, sliding over his ear, and Sirius can smell his excitement.
What he wouldn't give to have a whole day with these new senses to devote to learning every
inch of Remus, to study the nuances of emotion on his smell. He doesn't have the patience,
today, not when he's been skirting the edges of orgasm for hours. Remus is offering him
a choice, and he knows it's not a trick, not when presented like this. "Rough," Sirius decides.
He doesn't want this to be over quickly, but slow might give him time to think, to break out
of this glorious space he's in now. He needs rough, to be manhandled like a rag doll by this
magnificent man and left gasping.

He can feel Remus's satisfied smirk on the back of his neck as he bows his head,
hands pushing aside his long hair. His teeth rake across his skin and Remus catches him
expertly across the middle with one behind arm when his knees give out. "Fuck," Sirius
whimpers, having forgotten how needy that one gesture makes him feel. Remus laughs, hot
puffs of breath that tickle his hairline, and bites harder.

Sirius is putty, liquid and pliant in Remus's arms now, and if the increased fervor in
which Remus nips along his neck and shoulders wasn't proof enough of his satisfaction at
Sirius's choice, the renewed hardness of his cock against his back makes it clear. Remus
walks them backwards several feet before turning and pinning Sirius to the wall with his
longer body. The fabric of his trousers is coarse and painful on his spank-sore arse, but it
doesn't stop Sirius from bucking back against the hot line of Remus's dick.

"You need this," Remus whispers in his ear, his hands sliding down his sides to his
hips. He pushes his shoulders hard against the wall with his chest even as his hands pull
Sirius's arse further out, rutting along his crease.
"Yes, sir. Please," Sirius whines.

"Please what?"
"Please use me." He's not too proud to beg. Not with Remus.

It's the right answer, and Sirius yelps as cool lube slicks up his insides, but when no
accompanying stretch comes soon after, he forces himself to relax. "Remember your word,"
Remus warns, moving one hand to tangle in his hair. Yeah right, Sirius thinks. He's never had
to use it, never come close, perfectly willing and wanting and able to take everything Remus
can throw at him.

Still, the rough shove of Remus's cock in his hole is a lot. Sirius shouts, though it's
more in shock as his head knocks into the wall from the force of the first thrust. The feeling
of fullness forces every other thought from his head, suddenly consumed by Remus.

"You're made for this," Remus tells him, sticking to his conviction to fuck Sirius
roughly. When they first started doing this sort of thing, Remus broke character all the time,
checking in on him, making sure he hadn't broken anything. It was sweet, but maddening.
Sirius wants to be broken. They can mend any wound afterwards, if they please, and
eventually, Remus grasped that what Sirius really needs is to lose control.

And he has none, his cheek smashed against the wall, his hands useless to protect
himself. It hurts. It burns. It sets him free. His body adjusts after a few deep thrusts, and
pleasure breaks through, primal and real, and he hears himself begging like a Knockturn
whore. "Please sir, I need, unh, fuck, haa!"
"What's that?" Remus teases cruelly, his fingers bruising his hips where they dig in.

"Against the—fuck yes—uhn the…the wall…!"

"I'm sorry, that's not very clear." How he can sound so calm, so level, not even out of
breath is beyond him.

Sirius tries to look over his shoulder, but Remus has him pressed so hard against the
wall, he can't move an inch. "All the way against the wall," he manages to get out in a whoosh
of breath.

"You want me to shove you all the way against the wall?"
"Please please please please!"
Remus buries himself to the hilt and Sirius groans, eyes rolling back a little in his
skull because holy fuck that's just what he needs. It feels like Remus is trying to crawl inside
of him as he takes one step forward, still sheathed, and another, and another until his hands
squeeze tight around his hips and hitch him up so that Sirius is standing on his tiptoes.
The wall is icy cold against the heat of his chest, his shoulders, his face. It warms
rapidly with each forced exhale as Remus covers his entire body with his, using his height
and strength to his advantage to keep Sirius upright and teetering—on the edge of his feet,
on the edge of his orgasm.
This close, he can feel the ridges of some of Remus's older, layered scars against his
back and the scrape of his stubble on his shoulder before he bites down again. Sirius moans,
the pain blending seamlessly into pleasure as Remus's cock finds his prostate again and again.
This is different from the nights leading up to the full moon, where every thrust is frantic,
feral, fierce. Remus has complete control here, Sirius can feel it in the measured, consistent
pistoning of his hips against his body, in the way his shoulder isn't turned into a bloody mess,
in the way he knows Remus is still listening for his word.
It's the furthest thing from Sirius's mind. He thrills in each breath pushed from his
lungs, in how the only words he can form are "yes", and "please", and "more". He can't even
hope to buck back against Remus now, with his hips held in place, his legs unsteady, and his
hands splayed uselessly on the wall. He loves it, loves feeling completely helpless, and loves
the ratcheting pleasure that winds tighter with every push inside. He hasn't been given
permission to come, and he knows Remus knows he's close. His entire world is whittled
down to the moment: the smell of sweat and lust, the sound of their breathing, heartbeats,
and the sinful slide of cock into a warm hole.
"Come." It's a command, not a request, and Sirius is amazed—like always—that
it works. His cock, trapped against his stomach, paints the wall with thick stripes of white,
and his world erupts in starbursts and the roar of his blood in his ears.
Remus fucks into him five more times, using him like he promised he would, before
coming with a moan that rattles Sirius's ribs from their closeness. Sirius feels his cock pulse
inside of him and makes a happy, pathetically sated little noise at the sensation and at the
thought of being owned, marked, claimed in a way no one can see. The rings on their hands
are all well and good but this—this—belongs to them alone.

Remus is careful in pulling out, and is ever so gentle as he helps Sirius to stand flat-
footed on the floor. His arse feels rubbed raw by Remus's rough trousers, he feels a bruise
forming on the side of his face, and his hips are decidedly stuff when he gives an experimental
wiggle, but he's happy.

"C'mon," Remus coaxes, and lifts him into his arms with ease. Sweat has soaked all
the way through his button-up, the white cotton nearly transparent, and Sirius nuzzles his
face against his neck, taking advantage of this rare moment to commit the smell to memory.
The runes are wearing off—all of them—and Sirius feels his heightened senses slipping
away. Remus deposits him in the bed and strips down to bare skin before joining him.

He traces over each sigil he's marked onto Sirius's skin backward, and with each pass
of his fingertip, Sirius feels a surge of his magic come back. It's a bit like circulation returning
to a numb limb, but Remus smooths the uncomfortable transition with sweet, tender kisses
to his lips, making Sirius forget about everything except for the taste of him.
When he's done, Sirius grabs one of his long arms and hauls him close, curling up
against his chest. He's exhausted and his mind is finally at peace. Remus encircles him and
though Sirius can't smell him as keenly as he did before, it's enough. He's safe here, and it's
so very familiar.
 Lines

Chapter 1: Far Too Old to Be Having Morning Sex

He feels the too-hot limb untangle from his leg-lock of an embrace and stirs just
before the mattress groans under the shifting weight. He tries to reattach, but a scarred, tan
hand bats his reaching foot away with a husky, early-morning chuckle. Bemoaning the loss
of the body next to him, he opens one eye just enough to see his husband sit on the edge of
the bed and stretch.
He’s more scar tissue than tan skin now, nearly each of Remus's 77 inches of flesh
crosshatched by silvery stripes of varying ages, but the sound of his knobbly spine cracking
as he reaches for the ceiling is music to his ears. He reaches out again to run his fingers down
the dip of his back and snickers boyishly as, once again, he’s batted away.

“Insatiable and incorrigible,” Remus chides him, though the fondness in his tone
betrays his sharp words. He stands and Sirius doesn’t flinch at the still-puffy, red bite mark
on his left hip -- it’s an old enemy, now, and still dreadfully sensitive -- but instead eyes the
waistband of his white briefs covetously, how they hug his narrow, protruding hip bones with
their elastic. Lucky bastards.

As if feeling Sirius’s eyes on him -- and maybe he does, Remus just Knows Things
sometimes -- he looks over his shoulder with eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy. “We’re far too
old to be having morning sex and you know it, Padfoot,” he warns, his voice still gravelly
and deep from slumber.

It sends a shiver through him and he puts on his own show of stretching out -- all
5’10” of himself, pale skin and nothing else, curling his toes becomingly. “Speak for yourself,
Mr. Moony. I’m a spring chicken.” A spring chicken with graying chest hair, but still. He
shivers again, but this time from the chill in the room. It’s November, and the coast is brutally
frigid this time of year. “Come back to bed -- it’s bloody cold without you,” he says
petulantly, knowing he’s being a brat and also knowing Remus loves it. It was a line he
straddled, knowing that pushing too far so early in the day might get him a proper scolding.

But Sirius lives for the line.

To his total surprise, Remus comes back to bed. He sits down and rolls his long, too-
thin body on top of him. He’s so light it scares Sirius sometimes, like he’s just one good, stiff
breeze away from shattering, but the fingers wrapping themselves around his wrists are
strong as steel and warm his cooling blood quickly.
 “You’re older than me,” Remus reminds him, not for the first time, his lips against
the shell of his ear. His morning breath is familiar, faintly coppery, and Sirius grins.

“So indulge a dirty old man who wants a Sunrise Surprise with his blushing young
bride,” he implores, raising his legs to bracket Remus, drawing him further down on top of
him. He presses his cold toes into his thighs and cackles when Remus jolts from the
temperature shock. The heat from his body is better than any warming spell, each point of
contact radiating warmth back into his admittedly-sore joints. Getting old was a bit of
bullshit.

Remus’s laugh pushes the breath from his lungs and he drags Sirius’s wrists above
his head. “Hardly blushing, am I? And it’s not yet sunrise.”
Sirius scoffs. “So then it’s not even morning sex, Moony! It’s nighttime sex -- look,
the moon is still sprung,” he insists, glancing out their window at the half-moon on the
horizon, pale white on the inky violet of the pre-dawn sky.
“I suppose I can’t fault your logic,” he concedes, and graces Sirius with a kiss. It’s
not urgent -- no, they have all the time in the world -- his lips a firm, warm press on Sirius’s,
his two night’s worth of stubble rasping over his jaw like sandpaper. There are no surprises,
no true butterflies, but while that once may have terrified Sirius into fabricating a problem,
he knows now that it just means security. Safety. Stability.
There is no rush as Remus releases one of his wrists to cup his jaw, his fingers tracing
the fine laugh lines of his face before smoothing over the sharp angle. No rush as Sirius cants
his hips upwards, dragging his burgeoning erection against the growing bulge in Remus’s y-
fronts.

No need to hurry at their age -- their days of clumsy fumbling in empty classrooms
and frantic rutting in mens’ bathrooms at clubs are well behind them. But this is better, Sirius
thinks, getting to take their time in the build-up.

“You or me?” Remus murmurs against his mouth with a meaningful press of his hips,
gasping a little at the friction.
Sirius considers the luxury of choice before spreading his legs. “Me,” he decides,
tangling his free hand into the short-shorn curls at Remus’s nape. He doesn’t often get fucked
by a passive Moony -- usually it’s a half-feral on-the-cusp-of-turning Remus shoving him
and his smart mouth against a wall and shagging him senseless. Which is great, but
exhausting. They aren’t young men anymore, but that’s never stopped them before. It still
may not stop Sirius now, but he hasn't quite made up his mind.
Remus hums appreciatively against his neck before rising up onto his creaking knees.
He peels away from Sirius in a way that leaves him aching in more ways than one and strips
off his briefs, freeing his cock. He settles again next to Sirius and sits against the headboard,
smirking slightly. “Come on, then,” he prompts, patting his ropy, silver-etched thighs.

Sirius pouts. “But I’m an old man,” he whines at the implication. “Elder abuse,
making me do all the work.” But he’s breathless at the prospect -- feral Moony doesn’t let
him call the shots, doesn’t let him control anything other than a choked moan of consent, so
this is more exciting than he wants to let on.

But Remus knows him. He rolls his eyes -- still strikingly amber and sharp, framed
by fluffy, golden lashes, and makes to stand up. “Guess I’ll put the kettle on, then,” he
threatens, and Sirius pounces.
Their noses knock together as he pushes Remus back down against the headboard and
straddles his hips. Remus's cock slides into the crease of his arse and Sirius buries their moans
under another kiss. A little more insistent this time, since apparently, his Moony has jokes this
morning -- nighttime -- whatever -- but not hurried. Remus's thighs tense under him and
Sirius knows by the twitching of his muscles that he wants to bury himself balls-deep into
him. Muscle memory, he supposes, from all the times he's done just that.
Remus's hands roam, passing over familiar curves and angles he knows by heart, and
Sirius preens under the worship. He knows Moony is mad for him, even after nearly forty
years of this, of them, of a child they'd never intended to raise all grown up and on his own
now, of an empty blue house that overlooks the sea.
It's home, like Remus's hand on his cock is home, like the thickening breath on his
jugular is home, like the smell of him, unshowered and sleep-sweaty, is home.

Remus strokes him languidly, twisting his hand at the very top of his path like he
knows Sirius loves. His thumb smears clear precome across his swollen head and Sirius is
reduced to a panting, throbbing mess like a teenager. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't
Remus, who knows him better than he knows himself, cliches be damned.

Sirius runs his hands through chest hair that's only gotten thicker with time, a forest
of dark curls that bravely grows around the scars. It covers Remus from the base of his neck
to the curve of his cock and though the hair on his head has grayed, these remain dark gold
and soft as velvet under Sirius's palms. He's heard somewhere that kids these days are waxing
or spelling it off to be hairless, dolphin-like mannequins, but Sirius can't imagine lapping on
a nipple that isn't hidden in the canopy. He doesn't have to, of course, because Remus is
entirely his.

He catches the pebbled nub between his teeth and ripples with pleasure at the hiss
Remus exhales on his throat. Remus's teeth, sharper in his incisors -- a cruel joke of genetics
that has nothing to do with his lycanthropy, Sirius learned when he met Remus's father
decades ago -- and a little uneven from the repeated abuse of the full moon, latch onto the
side of Sirius's neck and he sighs contentedly. It's not a harsh bite, no rabid intent, but firm
like a warning, letting Sirius know he's going in the right direction but also toeing the line.

Sirius lives for the line.

He slides his arse along Remus's length in a tantalizing glide of his hips -- he's still
got it, he thinks, thanks his pliable hip flexors. Remus releases his neck and scrapes his
stubbly jaw against his cheek again, tangling Sirius's still-long hair in the sharp, prickly beard
hairs. Remus hasn't shaved in a day or two, and although Sirius knows it drives him crazy to
go without, he rather fancied the look it gives him. Terribly Muggle, he'd said the last time
Remus grew it out. No pureblood in the Sacred 28 would ever let their beard grow so long,
so it's no surprise Sirius finds it maddeningly sexy.
"Are we doing this?" Remus rumbles in his ear, laughing darkly as Sirius's cock jumps
in his hand. Sirius tuts, but is pleased. He's getting to him, breaking through that time-earned
patience. "The sun's coming up," he adds with a quick jerk of his head.
Sure enough, the sun's golden light is threading through the purple of night, doing its
best to warm up the frozen landscape. Sirius scoffs and grinds down again on his cock, fixing
Remus with a critical eye. "Do you have somewhere better to be?" he challenges, carding his
fingers through Remus's close-cropped curls. He misses when they were long, like his, but
has stopped fighting Remus on the matter. One learns to pick their battles.
"I might," Remus lies, and laughs as he lifts Sirius up by his hips in a maneuver that
has Sirius breathless. Sirius has nearly three stone on Remus, but he manhandles him
like he's the larger of the two, hoisting Sirius and holding him hovering over his cock.

Sirius's patience breaks first as it almost always does in the moon's off-phase. He
growls a charm -- familiar and obscene -- that slicks up his insides and stretches him a little
before sinking down onto the waiting cock. “Bloody tease,” he hisses as he’s split open,
gasping.

Remus releases his hips and leans back against the headboard, the lazy sod, putting
his hands behind his head to watch Sirius work. If he wasn't so turned on, so suddenly
desperate for him -- which, if Sirius was being honest, has never been the case -- he might
have the good sense to be a bit angry, but watching Remus just sit back and leer at him has
Sirius quivering.
He gets his bearings as his body accommodates the familiar intrusion and steadies
himself. Forty years, and the fullness hasn't lost its charm. They've experimented with toys
both magical and Muggle alike, things that made Sirius see stars and left him twitching
afterwards, but nothing has ever compared to the outright Rightness of having Remus's cock
inside him. He plants his palms in the thicket of chest hair and rises up on his knees. It's slow
-- Remus growls warningly at him through clenched teeth, which only encourages Sirius to
keep doing exactly what he's doing. Never mind that it was slow because his knees are old
and stiff from the cold morning... if Remus thinks he's being a brat, all the better for Sirius,
who has decided exactly what he wants.

Sirius drops back down and can't help the moan that rips its way from his lungs.
"Fucking -- ahh, Moony," he spills, rocking on his thighs, fully seated. His ineloquence is no
surprise. Sirius has never been particularly varied in his coital exclamations, all concept of
flowery words and praises gone out the door the moment the real stuff starts. For all his sharp
mouth and wicked tongue, Sirius is very aware of how readily he falls to pieces with Remus.

Remus just watches as Sirius decides on a much-less-taxing method of grinding on

him in figure-eight undulations of his hips that have Remus's cock bumping his prostate
regularly. Not the most exciting trick in Sirius's arsenal, but it's effective. Sirius loses himself
in those eyes, huge, amber pools that drag him under. Eyes that dare and taunt and challenge
him every day, eyes that are currently blown wide by black pupils as lust overtakes his brain.
Sirius sees his hands twitch, knows what he wants to do. Remus isn't used to sitting back
and watching, after all, not when it's his cock in Sirius's arse, and Sirius intends to exploit
this.
He licks his lips and Moony's entire body pulls taut below him. Almost there.
"Moony," Sirius keens, whining, angling his thrusts upwards. "Just f-fuck me, c'mon, you
know you w-wannnt to," he pants, and watches the dam break.

They're too old for this, he has a moment to think before Remus is pushing him down,
cock still buried deep. Remus is looming over him with his longer body, colored rose gold
by the sunrise. He pushes Sirius's legs back, back, impossibly back until he's whimpering at
the burn, his knees at his ears, and Remus holds him there, cruelly and wonderfully, and the
ache in his hamstrings is worth it for the pulsing cock in his body, for the almost-too-much
stretch of his hole as Remus practically climbs inside of him.

"Brat," Remus huffs in his ear. He slides out and snaps back in -- staccato, sharp,
punctual. Sirius laughs, his cock leaking like a faucet. "Spoiled. Rotten," he growls, repeating
the thrusts. Sirius isn't laughing now, his brain is lost to the rumble in Remus's chest, in the
brutal assault on his prostate. He loves it. The line is crossed.

He lives for the line.

"Absolutely obscene," Remus pants in his ear, fucking into him at a pace they would
both be feeling later. "Your face, Sirius. Your fucking mouth. You should be locked up."
Sirius would purr from self-satisfaction if he had the wherewithal to do anything but moan.
"Nearly sixty and you think you can just bait me?" he snaps, biting the shell of his ear, his
jaw, his neck, his shoulder, leaving red blossoms of pain in his wake.

"I can," Sirius gets out between increasingly desperate cries, feeling the pressure build
and come to a head. He hasn't come untouched in ages and the prospect of doing so now has
him egging Remus on. He clings to his shoulders, his nails biting through broad, slippery
scars to leave crescent-shaped tears that well up with bright blood. It's all he can do to hang
on.

"What're you going to do about it, Remus?" he gasps into his face, and he sees it. The
moment Remus tips over, pushed into ferocity by the unfamiliarity of his Actual Name
coming from Sirius's mouth.
Sirius spares a thought to apologize to his future self as Remus pulls out of him with
something akin to a snarl. Hard, hot hands flip Sirius with spine-melting ease over onto his
stomach and yank his hips back until he's arse-up. The same hands swat his arse and he yelps,
glaring at Remus over his shoulder in a way he knows can't possibly be menacing. No, he
feels the flush on his own face, knows he looks fucked-out and too eager to feel any rage or
indignation for the mistreatment of his Prize-Winning Arse (Rainbow Room, 1984, thank
you very much).

Remus spanks him again and he shouts, swearing, laughs into their rumpled duvet.
He's nearly hanging off the foot of the bed and he sees Remus's precious sweater draped off
the back of the armchair, and the juxtaposition of his sweet, domesticated house husband and
the practically feral man leaving red handprints on his arse is almost too much. He's swatted
again for his laughter before he feels Remus line up against his hole. Cheeks burning and
anticipation building, he exhales in absolute satisfaction when Remus's cock slides back in.
Home.

Bony fingers dig bruises into his hips as Remus resumes the unforgiving pace he'd
set earlier. He drags Sirius back against his body with each thrust and Sirius has well and
truly lost the plot. He knows only balls-tightening pleasure and the sound of Remus muttering
obscenities in his ear as he curves his body over him. He's not heavy, not by half, but he
covers Sirius's smaller body easily and he feels small, coveted, belonging.

Remus grunts a warning, half-formed, but Sirius can only hear the roar of the blood
in his ears as he comes in sticky ropes into their mattress, his mouth open in a soundless
scream, noise lost to the memory foam. He's dimly aware of Remus chasing his own orgasm
by the sudden pistoning of his hips and the seeping warmth filling his body and, he could
laugh if he could breathe, Remus collapses on top of him.

Again, Remus isn't heavy, but his chest hair is matted with sweat and sticks to Sirius's
equally sweaty back. Sirius suffers the weight for a few minutes, which he spends trying to
remember how to form human speech and trying to figure out how on earth he was going
to move. Remus finally budges, his softening cock slipping out of Sirius's too-sensitive hole
as he rolls off and onto his back next to Sirius. His breathing is labored -- they are a bit old
for this, but his scar-split face is peaceful.

Sirius reluctantly and with great effort rolls onto his back because gluing himself to
the duvet with his own come is not an appealing prospect, and though he's overheated,
overstimulated, and overfucked, he wraps his leg around Remus's. He's never spent a
moment asleep without touching him, and he's not about to start now. Sirius knows they
should… move or clean up, even with the sterile-sharpness of a cleaning charm, but that's
about all he knows before he dozes off. There is a fine line between being into rough near-
morning sex and up for rough near-morning sex.
And Sirius lives for the line.

When he wakes again, the sunlight nearly blinds him, reflecting off the waves as it
does every afternoon. He hisses and throws his arm across his eyes and waves his other hand
impatiently at the curtains to close them wandlessly. There's warmth in the room now, but it
feels like Remus's magic, so he knows he's been up and about for a while. He attempts to sit
up, but his back quickly tells him that's a fool's errand, and he lays back down with a pitiful
whimper.

As if on cue, and it probably is because while Sirius's hearing has gone a bit batty,
Remus's is as keen as ever, he hears the door open and it's Remus, of course, a little stiff but
altogether perky. He clucks at Sirius's state of decay and gingerly kneels on the floor next to
the bed, planting a firm kiss on his brow. He's showered but unshaved, still, Sirius notes with
pleasure, and he opens his eyes after two more indulgent kisses.

"I've not killed you, then," Remus teases him, his lopsided smile deepening the lines
on his face. He leans back and holds up a small jar of salve Sirius thought they'd run out of.
At his puzzled look, Remus shrugs. "Popped over to Poppy's," he says simply, and Sirius
grins wickedly. He can only imagine the scolding Remus got from their old school nurse for
needing an emergency salve on the off-phase. "Shut it," Remus mutters, blushing faintly
under his perpetual tan. "Can you roll over?"

With a little pushing from Remus, Sirius is on his stomach, staring at the cable-knit
sweater again. Remus works the pungent salve into his aching back with tender, loving care
and Sirius feels his muscles unknot, feels his discs fall back into line. There's no urgency to
this, either, and no underlying promise of something lustier, like there might once have been.
He takes comfort in knowing that, while their sex life is still -- apparently -
- shockingly active, it isn't something he has to work at, or chase. They can enjoy each other's
touch without it leading to something.

His back restored to all its glory, Sirius stretches and gets to his feet. His arse is still
obscenely sore, but he'd never dream of letting Remus heal that -- what would be the point?
-- and the bruises he sees on his upper body in the mirror hit him with a wave of pleasing
nostalgia. "Still got it," he tells his reflection with a satisfied wink.

He half expects Remus to scoff at him, but he's off in their en suite, trying to restart
his day. Sirius watches him putter around the bathroom in nothing but the too-loose joggers
-- Sirius's -- around his hips. He watches him peer into the mirror and tut over his hair, the
last tawny strands nearly lost to the silver, watches him try to make sense of the wayward
curls that defy reason at this length. Remus scratches the scruff on his jaw, picks up his
Muggle razor, catches Sirius's eye in the reflection, and sets it back down, smiling softly.

Victory swells in Sirius's chest and he leaves Remus to his routine in favor of tucking
into the shower. Remus must've set a cleaning charm to his arse at some point, for which
Sirius was quietly grateful for. Cleaning magical lube and werewolf come -- not that it was
any different from regular come, probably -- out of one's bottom after it sat for hours
was not a pleasant task. He washes efficiently, knowing Remus will have cooked up a proper
luncheon for him after all that.

"For me?" he asks in feigned surprise at the platter of bacon sandwiches, sliced fruit,
fresh chips, and a strong-smelling herbal tea that greets him in the kitchen.

Remus rolls his eyes and swats him gently with his damp tea towel. "Of course," he
answers, dropping a kiss to the top of Sirius's wet hair. "Even bossy bottoms get a proper
meal when they make me come like that," he adds, almost innocently, and Sirius nearly
chokes around the crusty bread in his mouth at the wicked look in his eyes.
"Godric, Moony," he gasps once he's no longer in danger of dying, looking up at his
husband in wonder. No one would suspect that the quiet, willowy man before him in that
cable-knit sweater has just fucked him within an inch of his life. Sirius sips a measure of the
tea and smiles along the rim of the delicate cup -- an heirloom from Remus's mother -- as he
catches Remus's eye. Good, he thinks, as he watches Remus stir honey into his mug. He's
never been good with sharing.
 Chapter 2: Have I Mentioned that I Don't Want to Go?

"I don't want to go."

"So you've mentioned." Thirty-eight times, in fact. Remus looks at the tempus inlaid
in the handsome limewood nightstand and sighs. He had three more minutes before the alarm
was set to wake him with a gentle shaking of the bed, and silently curses his husband’s
inability to just let him sleep.
"Have I?” Sirius replies airily with his back turned, no doubt rolling his eyes. A line
of smoke wafts up from his hand, a lit cigarette poised between his fingers. “Then why are
we still going?" The doors to their wardrobe close and gray eyes fix him with a hard glare.
Remus deactivates the alarm charm with a tap of his fingers on the wood. No use for it now.
Remus snorts, finally pulls the duvet back, and gets to his feet. His joints throb, a
reminder that the moon is a few days off, and his skin feels a bit like it's stretched too taut
over his body frame, but the wooden floor is cool, bracing, coaxes him out of his post-nap
fog. Mid-afternoon naps were essential at his age, but he always felt a little disoriented
afterward. "Because, Sirius, the world does not revolve around you." He looks at his husband
and smiles at his own hypocrisy. His world certainly revolves around Sirius.
Sirius rolls his eyes -- Remus sees it this time. "Well, it ought to." He opens the
wardrobe again and the hinges squeal noisily. They should fix those soon, just another line
item on an ever-growing ‘Honey Do’ list. There's silence and Remus savors it, pushes away
the headache blooming between his eyes. He doesn't necessarily want to go either, but they
made a promise.
"Have I mentioned I don't want to go?" Sirius blurts again, mostly to the row of robes
in front of him.

"Once or twice," Remus murmurs in response even as his shoulders tremble with
muffled amusement. He rolls his neck and exhales in relief as too-tight muscles unknot and
he's rewarded with several, audible clicks and a release of pressure. That's better. "We
promised Harry," he reminds, crossing the room to stand behind him.

"You promised Harry, actually. I was coerced," Sirius defends with a little jut of his
stubble-covered chin, trying to embody his old self, the haughty pureblood lordling Remus
met over forty years ago.
Remus wraps his arms around his waist -- still trim, just a little less defined -- and
props his pointy chin on the pillow of salt-and-pepper waves his messy bun makes. Sirius
leans back against him and puts the cigarette between his lips without hesitation and Remus
grins, takes a drag that does wonders for his headache, and gives him a little squeeze. "It's
only a few hours," he assures, not that it'll make any difference to Sirius's willingness to go.

Months ago, after a routine family dinner, Harry quietly told Remus about a
fundraiser St. Mungo's was putting on and begged Remus to convince Sirius to come. Not as
a donor -- they'd given plenty to the hospital over the years -- but as a familiar, friendly face.
Harry hates social events almost as much as Sirius does, despite choosing a socialite for a
partner, so Remus of course obliged.

Anything for their boy.

Something stirs in Remus's chest as he remembers just how he convinced Sirius to
say yes in the first place. It was highly unethical, and would never hold up in court, but…

He knew he couldn’t try to butter him up with his favorite foods and those flavored
Muggle cigarillos he’d grown so fond of -- no, he would catch on too quick. So Remus spent
three days ignoring Sirius, strutting about in nothing but a pair of sinfully short cut-offs from
their golden years, doing manual labor around their home under the guise of ticking off items
from that Honey-Do list. He’d kept himself half-hard as long as he could, his cock nearly
peeking over the waistband as he walked. Sirius made several goes at him while he was bent
over, his breath hot on his ear and lusty, but Remus denied him until he’d gone for a cool-off
ride on his motorbike.
When he’d returned, broody, covered in road grime, and still frustrated, Remus
struck. He hit Sirius with a scouring charm so strong he yelped and pushed him against their
kitchen table, shucked off his jeans, yanked his legs back, and opened him up with his mouth.

The memory of Sirius’s strong thighs squeezing his shoulders and quivering as he
buried his tongue into him, drawing out pleas and promises for anything, anything Remus
wanted, makes Remus press a breathy kiss to Sirius's neck.
"And you’re sure we can't spend those hours doing something... else?" Sirius tries to
turn in his arms, but Remus holds him tight. He knows this ploy. If he lets Sirius turn, then
Sirius will kiss him and draw little idle circles in the whirls of his chest hair and do that little
sigh into the dip between his collarbones and, well… that's all very wonderful, but they have
things to do. Places to be.
"Mmm," he considers, low in his throat like he knows Sirius likes. The sound vibrates
against his neck and Remus hears his heart rate tick up a few beats, smells the first waft of
his interest roll off of him. "I'm sure," he says at last and chuckles as Sirius visibly deflates
in his arms. "Come on, let's make you presentable." He finishes the cigarette and sends it
flying to the nightstand ashtray with a flick of his wrist. Remus pulls him backwards for a
couple of awkward penguin-wobbling steps before sliding his arms away, grasps his slender
hand with his larger, calloused one. He leads Sirius into their en suite and the wall sconces
light obediently at their arrival.

The shower turns on, the taps magically attuned to their preference of Practically
Boiling, and Remus steps out of his Napping Shorts -- an admittedly ratty, paper-thin striped
cotton pair of boxers with faded golden snitches on them. They'd been a joke gift from Harry
some fifteen years ago, but Remus rather likes how soft they’ve become. He coaxes his
husband under the spray and takes just a moment to admire the beauty of a dripping wet
Sirius Black-Lupin.

He's undone the bun from his head and his hair falls in a heavy sheet to the middle of
his back, the depthless ebony now shot through with streaks of silver. It’s turned his hair into
something resembling obsidian, Remus thinks, the lighter hairs looking more like a trick of
the light than an actual sign of aging. Water courses down Sirius's front, carving paths through
his, in comparison to Remus's, light dusting of chest hair. Those hairs are nearly gray, as are
the ones that cover his stomach and curl around his groin, and Remus feels honored to have
watched them change with the seasons, to have seen Sirius age with such grace.
Sirius catches him staring and winks. "Offer still stands, Moony," he reminds him,
barely audible over the roar of the shower. His cock jumps a little for emphasis and Remus
grins, pushing down his own arousal firmly. Sirius knows nothing is going to happen, but
their lives wouldn't be complete without a steady stream of come-ons and dirty jokes. It's
who they've always been and always will be.
“Bad dog,” Remus teases, and selects Sirius’s favorite hair potion from the high shelf
only he can reach. He works it into the weighty, silken waves with practiced curls of his
fingers, pushing the rapidly-foaming tonic through each loop as he draws it up. His arms
strain a little with the effort -- it is quite a lot of hair, after all -- but it’s a comfortable task,
and Sirius practically purrs under the spoiling. Remus doesn’t remember the last time Sirius
has washed his own hair, which is a bit of bullshit, if you ask Remus. It was Sirius’s decision
-- a Proclamation of Youth, he’d called it, actually -- to keep growing his hair long, but it was
Remus’s job to keep it clean, evidently, not an easy feat when one lived on the beach.
Remus piles the soapy mass on top of Sirius’s head and spreads the remaining suds
down his back with his hands, tracing his still-straight spine with fingers that look like a
dog’s chew toy. A scar or two, small and mortal-pink, mar the once-perfect planes, reminders
of a war they fought and won, left as a matter of pride instead of covered up by black ink.
His back is a masterpiece, Remus thinks, following the lines of the tattoos he knows by heart.
On his left shoulder blade, directly behind his heart, is a pair of antlers wreathed in
lilies. Runes for protection dot his spine, ones Remus put there himself decades before, with
shaking hands and desperation, still shimmer faintly with magical potential. They’ve never
been activated, never had to call upon the power he put in them, but their presence is calming,
reassuring. Just under his hairline, Remus knows but cannot see now, is a trio of letters,
‘R.A.B.’, a memoir to the first brother he lost to the war.

Sirius turns and Remus lathers up his chest with an exfoliating pouf and beaded scrub,
covering his own inked name over Sirius’s heart with white suds. More runes, Remus’s
handiwork again, surround it and are repeated in excess down his chest, a testament to the
sheer panic Remus felt as one by one, their friends were killed. ‘Not Sirius,’ was his mantra,
pouring every ounce of magical power he had in his bones into the runes.

Sirius traces his frowning lips with his fingertips and bumps their foreheads together,
recatching Remus’s attention. A look passes between them -- shared grief, shared pain, shared
nightmares -- and the kiss Sirius plants on him is grounding, firm, tethering Remus back to
the present. It's all he needs, and he's back to washing, carefully guides Sirius's head under
the water to rinse the shampoo away.

Something bumps the back of his knees and Remus dutifully sits on the marble bench
Sirius has coaxed from the shower wall. Now at a height Sirius can manage, his firm hands
scrape his scalp and push soap through his no-nonsense haircut, making short work of
something Remus spent nearly twenty minutes on with Sirius. Careful fingers keep the suds
from Remus's eyes as he rinses, and he submits willingly to the soft flannel spreading a
moisturizing, delicately-scented lather across his mangled, sensitive skin.

There's nothing lustful or sexual about these touches, these expressions of love that
transcend physical attraction. Remus worried once, in the foolishness of his youth, that
perhaps he was a novelty to Sirius, a loud, screaming statement of his rebellion against his
parents and the world -- a werewolf boy with a Muggle mother, a total 'fuck you' to blood
purity fanatics. But time builds trust, actions speak and break down fears, and Remus learned
he meant more to Sirius than a form of protest or an overly-warm body to cling to. And now,
with Sirius carefully running cool water down his overly-stimulated skin because he knows
Remus feels too tight, too prickly with the full moon days away, he holds that truth to his
heart.
Matching towels appear once they've rinsed and Remus dries off. He smiles under the
cover of the cotton at Sirius's exasperated tut at the 'sheer brutality' in which he treats his hair,
wringing it dry and toweling it briskly. It's just hair , Remus thinks, and certainly nothing
like the glossy waves that tumble from Sirius's head. It would be like putting lipstick on a
pig, for Remus to fuss about with his burst of curls.
Unprompted, a quilted-top backless stool slides out from the vanity and Sirius sits
down with an expectant look over his shoulder. He scrapes his long fingers across the salt-
and-pepper stubble on his jaw and bats his long, onyx eyelashes up at Remus dramatically.
Remus snorts -- he's ridiculous. "You can't do it yourself?" he teases gently, even as he
reaches for the gleaming copper razor. Sirius used to be petrified of the thing -- he'd nearly
run screaming when Remus's father offered his spare to Sirius one summer. He'd called it an
'unsafe Muggle torture device' then, and looked a bit silly with a week's worth of beard
growth on his teenage cheeks.

"Be quiet, Moony," Sirius snaps harmlessly, and sits up straight. He lets a smirking
Remus slather his cheeks, jaw, and neck with a brush covered in fragrant cream and tilts his
head back until he's propped against Remus's bracing chest. Remus starts low, dragging the
razor blade across the fluttering skin at his throat, leaving nothing but pale, soft skin behind.
It's a terribly intimate thing, a complete display of trust, and Sirius does not tremble as stripes
of shaved flesh are revealed. His heart maintains a steady, confident pulse under Remus's
supporting hand.

Sirius gently pries the razor from Remus's hands when he's done, setting it back in its
case with a pointed look at Remus's chin. A week and a mind-blowing shag ago, he'd been
love-drunk enough to agree to grow out his beard, and he was still adjusting to it all.
It itched , but Sirius seemed to like it.

"Stand still," Sirius commands, and though Remus's knee-jerk reaction is still to
disobey and challenge him, he fights the base urge. Sirius reaches up and coats Remus's beard
with a pleasantly calming oil and when he looks at his reflection, the inch-long hairs actually
look nice -- groomed and in the proper place, and they smell a bit like peppermint. Despite
his hair being nearly white instead of the tawny brown he'd grown up with, his beard is a rich
dark gold and adds a bit of warmth to his sharp, narrow face. "Now, Mr. Moony, what are we
wearing to this dreadful affair?"

Normally, Remus wouldn't have the foggiest clue. His sense of style was never at the
front of fashion and years of choosing comfort over form has done nothing to sharpen his
eye. But Harry had sent help -- help in the form of the delivery of impeccably tailored robes
with a note that smelled like candle smoke and citrus in the slanting, elegant penmanship that
only purebloods faffed about with these days. Had the robes come from anyone else, Remus
would have balked -- wizard fashion trends had certainly taken a hard turn back to an older
era, but he trusted the choice. "Come," he tells Sirius, and leads him to their wardrobe. He
pulls out two black bags and deactivates the charm, the protective fabric melting away to
reveal two sets of robes.
Sirius's set is obvious -- black, of course, with the tactile feel of velvet but the weight
of thick cotton under his questioning fingers. In the light, it throws a deep blue color from
the folds, like the wings of a raven. Sirius is, evidently, appeased at the selection and dons
the complicated garment with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times. His
fingers connect every hook-and-eye fastener without pause and when he steps back, Remus
feels like he's falling in love all over again.
Sirius never wears formal wear. He's taken his job as a beach bum very seriously and
often struts about in ripped jeans and slash-sleeved Muggle band tees. If it's hot, he's in
inappropriately short shorts and a cut-off tank, flaunting his still-fit body brazenly, even at
the Muggle farmer's market they visit once a week. He's confident in those pieces, his adopted
style, and takes great pleasure in the disapproving looks of old women who think he's far too
old to be dressing like that.

But Remus has always thought Sirius looks his best in robes. He'd never change
Sirius's daily fashion, of course, but there's something extra special about seeing his broad
shoulders covered in magical cloth, in seeing his snatched waist held lovingly by a navy
brocade waistcoat buttoned by gleaming metallic clasps -- not silver, the note has assured
him, though visually Remus could've been fooled. The robes are fitted through to his hips
before they open wide to allow for free movement. The accompanying trousers are slim-fitted
to his fine-boned ankles and Remus fights hard against the urge to kneel at his feet.
"Like what you see?" Sirius is taunting him even while he eyes his own reflection
appreciatively in the full-length mirror.

"Don't let it go to your head," Remus advises cooly, lets his gaze rake him up and
down one more time, and turns to face off with his own set of robes.
Remus's robes are a rich royal blue that he would not have picked out for himself,
preferring muted earth tones and soft, creamy beiges. Visually, the textures look like they
will irritate his skin all night, but as Sirius helps him into the first layer, he finds it lined with
silk that glimmers with a cooling charm set in the weave. The vest is the same fabric as
Sirius's outer robes and instead of making Remus look underfed and gaunt as he usually does
in close-fitting garments, has flattering darts and vents inlaid with threads the color of his
eyes that make him look, well --
"Edible," Sirius rumbles against his throat as he does up the brass buttons for him. "If
I didn't know any better, I'd say our son-in-law has a crush on his old professor," he adds,
stroking his hands down his chest longingly. "I know I do." He catches Remus's hands and
kisses the tender spot beneath his ear, sending a thrill down Remus's spine that coils in his
groin.
The growling in his head is as familiar to Remus as his own voice, the wolf his
constant companion. It encourages him to grasp, to take, to claim the clearly willing body in
front of him, and the pull is strong this close to the full moon. With visible and painful
reluctance, Remus pushes Sirius away with gentle but firm hands, feeling a bit light-headed
from the effort. "Must run in the family," he teases, laughing at Sirius's face, which has
contorted into a grimace.
"Oh you've gone and made it wrong, Moony," he groans, remembering the relation,
and opens a deceptively small box to reveal a treasure trove of rings. Most are junk, bits of
shiny nickel and resin gemstone imitations that Sirius, like a crow, had to have. He wears
those most often when they spend the day on the beach itself, unafraid to lose them in the
sand, but today's a special occasion. He bypasses the costume jewelry and lifts out a velvet-
lined tray with items that sing with magic, old and powerful, seductive. There's a row of
jewelry that reeks of silver, heirlooms that haven't seen the light of day since before they met,
but it's behind so many protective wards that Remus can't even see what they look like. He
knows Sirius only keeps them at home to keep them safe -- the dark magic in those rings has
a way of attracting the wrong sort.
He picks up a band of gold automatically and slides it on his ring finger. Tiny inlaid
runes light up on contact and glow radiantly along the ring -- protection, location, health. He
hands Remus the twin with a smile as it covers the tanline on Remus's left ring finger. Sirius
selects a few others -- glittering things with onyx and sapphire that weigh down his hand but
only accentuate the nobility of it all. Nearly every finger is adorned, but instead of looking
garish, he looks expensive.
He fusses with his hair and gives Remus a pleading look from under his long
eyelashes, batting them charmingly again. Merlin if that doesn't work every time… "Come
on, then," Remus relents with fabricated annoyance, returning to the plush stool in their
bathroom.
He runs a wide-toothed comb from root to tip of the heavy hair, untangling until each
wave stands on its own merit. He assesses Sirius's ensemble for a moment before starting in.
With a skill only obtained through hours spent practicing in front of the fireplace in the
Gryffindor Common Room, Remus braids the crown of Sirius's hair until the crest, where he
secures it in a half-up ponytail with a white-gold clasp, like a moon against the dark tumbles
of his hair. He smooths errant baby hairs away from his regal hairline with a bit of pomade,
and catches Sirius's smile in the mirror.
He lets Sirius style his hair a little, too, just a quick swipe of wax to define the longer
curls on top and smooth out the duck tailing in the back, and endures his overly-fond recall
of when they had matching mullets. Remus snorts, aghast. What little rebels they'd been.
Sirius goes back to his jewelry box to reconsider something and Remus waits for him
in the kitchen, noshing down a few cold sausages from the refrigerator as the familiar hunger
sets in, as known as the growl in his brain. If he gave in to it, he could probably eat an entire
butcher shop in one go, but that would take a lot of explaining…

Sirius finally returns, though Remus sees he didn't actually change out anything, he's
just probably taken every shiny thing off only to put it back on in an attempt to delay the
inevitable, but he's smiling. "Since I may have mentioned I don't want to go," he begins, and
there's a cheekiness in his gray eyes that has Remus preparing to shoot him down. "We
could… take the bike? I'll stasis charm our clothes," he adds hurriedly, twirling his wand over
his ringed fingers.

Remus pretends to consider, lets Sirius squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze, but
eventually nods. "Oh alright then," he says, like he's doing him a favor. Fact of the matter is,
Apparating this close to the full moon is unbelievably uncomfortable and Remus hates the
Floo. There's also a not-small part of him that gets a thrill from the idea of showing up to a
stuffy wizarding event on the back of a flying motorcycle.

Sirius kisses him swiftly and they're out the door. The bike roars to life under Sirius's
magic and Remus climbs up behind him, long legs sitting high on the footboards. The stasis
charm coats them, a little suffocating, and Remus tucks his nose into his hair. His magic
smells nice, as they take off, the sand kicking up around them as they go from wooden
pathway to the dunes, gaining speed until the world drops out from below. Remus holds
tighter, to a ripping laugh from Sirius who knows he's still a bit dodgy about heights, but he's
so full of joy and excitement that Remus can't help but be swept away in it.
They land a few miles away from the hospital in a secluded area meant for broom
landings and drive the last leg of the trip to London. Remus untucks a little and looks around
-- it’s been a while since they’ve been in the city proper, and things have definitely changed.
Neon lights have been replaced by blinding LEDs that prickle his magic -- electricity has
never been very enjoyable to be around, and it’s been a long time -- and the cars around them
are sleek, shiny things in black, silver, and white. No one looks at them speeding past-- the
bike has so many Notice-me-Not charms on it it’s a wonder Sirius can even find it, and only
one person notices them when they pull up.
He's a broad-shouldered, bronze-skinned man with wild, black hair that's clipped in
a regimented Quidditch style, and his face nearly splits in two when he sees them. "Dadfoot!
Moony!" he greets exuberantly, crossing the pavement easily with his confident strides to
meet Sirius in a long-overdue hug. Remus is next, and though the strength in his embrace
pops his back, his heart is light. This is their boy, the man they raised.
"I would ask how you convinced him to come, but I don't think I want to know,"
Harry whispers against Remus's cheek, grinning. He pats his arm gentler than he'd hugged
him, fully cognizant of the moon's growing fullness, and takes a step back to let them both
fuss over him. He's striking in deep burgundy and black robes that flatter his Chaser's build
perfectly -- adulthood has filled Harry out to a breadth to rival his father’s, no longer Seeker-
sleek -- and when he takes the hand of a slender man with white-blonde hair longer than even
Sirius's, Remus can only smile. He's happy, and Remus feels it.
"Evening, Draco," Sirius greets, a little terse but not aggressive. He shakes Draco's
hand politely and retreats to Remus's side where his palm lays flat on the small of his back.
It's more for Sirius's sake than Remus's, but it's comfortable all the same.
"You're looking well, cousin," Draco drawls in reply, gray eyes glinting into matching
gray as Sirius frowns faintly. Remus knows he just hates being tied back to 'that Lucius
Malfoy arsehole', and still can't quite get over their boy's involvement with Draco. It's only
been… ten years or so. Sirius is a bit stubborn like that.
 Draco hugs Remus, adjusts his lapel ever-so-slightly, and steps back to welcome them
in. Sirius wags his eyebrows at Remus from behind Draco's back and Remus flushes crimson
at the sudden recall to their earlier conversation.

All things aside -- things like his age, his marriage, Draco's own marriage, Draco's
relation to Sirius -- the idea that Remus would be Draco's type is laughable to him. Harry is
James's spitting image and Remus has never had any illusions about passing as a Potter. Far
too tall, too skinny, too pointy. He mouths a very foul word at Sirius that does nothing to curb
the man’s wicked mirth and walks inside. "Thank you, Head Healer Malfoy," he says fondly,
knowing Draco's terribly proud -- as he should be -- of his promotion.

"Founders save us, is that Remus Lupin?"

 Chapter 3: This, Mr. Lupin, is Payback

Remus bristles instinctively at the voice and turns, resigned. He already knows who
he’ll see -- the loud confidence and the unmistakable smell of crystallized pineapple are dead
giveaways. Horace Slughorn approaches from the Apparation Point dressed in a shade of
olive that has Remus oddly yearning for a martini, but that could just be the desire to drink
himself stupid when his old potions professor is around. Remus fixes a polite grin on his face
and meets the older wizard’s crushing handshake, his own huge hand practically swallowing
Slughorn’s smaller palm. Sirius taps his spine in a familiar comforting gesture and dutifully
goes to locate the beverage station. Heart of gold, that one.
“Remus, my boy!” Slughorn booms, even though Remus is nearly the same age
Slughorn was when he taught Remus at Hogwarts, and elevates the handshake to a clasp on
the shoulder that Remus finds terribly abrasive and full of un-earned candor. Physical touch
is a love he shares only with his close friends and Harry, and Slughorn falls into neither
category. “So good to see you,” he continues, steering Remus into the lobby proper by his
elbow. He scarcely comes up to Remus’s bony shoulder, but his presence is commanding
nonetheless.

“Er…You too, Prof-- Horace,” Remus corrects quickly, cursing himself for his
bumble. He's in his fifties, this is ridiculous, feeling like an awkward, unprepared schoolboy
called on to speak in class. His clumsiness appears to appease the old man, though, and he
smiles ruddy-cheeked up at Remus with a fondness he's certain he has done nothing to
deserve.

After all, he’s interacted very little with the man since graduation -- there was some
cooperation during the war, of course, but never one-on-one. In school, Remus had been one
of his absolute worst students. For all of Remus's proficiency with dueling and other magical
arts, he was no potioneer. Remus Lupin trying to brew complex potions was a bit like trying
to turn a manticore into a housecat -- an expensive, destructive, violent affair. It was only by
the grace of Lily Evans and nights spent with their heads bowed over textbooks, red bleeding
into dark gold, that Remus survived his N.E.W.T.s. He was satisfied with his Acceptable.

"That Wolfsbane potion sure is a marvel of modern medicine, isn't it?" Slughorn
exudes, looking him up and down, and Remus stomps on his knee-jerk reaction to bare his
teeth. His lycanthropy is not classified and hasn't been for years, but the man has practically
shouted what was once his darkest secret to a room full of wealthy wizards.

The golden ring turns suddenly warm on his finger and, startled, he looks over
Slughorn's green-draped shoulder to see Sirius with two champagne flutes cupped in his right
hand and rubbing his wedding band with his thumb while making small talk with Ron
Weasley. Gray eyes flick his way for just a second, and Remus feels the fury melt from his
chest. In, out, in, out. Breathe.

Remus tucks his right hand into his pocket -- safer there than within striking range --
and again transfixes a polite smile on his face. "It is, yes. Truly a revolutionary thing, for
those who can afford it." He frowns, and pins Slughorn with a critical gaze. They are not
professor and pupil here, forty years later -- they are peers, and he intends to hold his own.
"It's a pity the Ministry hasn't passed the Humane Transformation Act yet."

Slughorn's mouth twitches at the corner and Remus continues. "As I am sure you are
aware, most werewolves are underemployed or entirely without work, and the continued
exorbitancy of Wolfsbane has made it nothing but a fantasy hidden behind a bureaucratic
paywall." His tone is clipped, formal, firm. He's not sure what Slughorn's angle is, bringing
all this up, but Remus has been an advocate for equal rights among 'demi-humans' for decades
and has no desire to stop now.

Remus knows he's fortunate beyond reason to have had Sirius's financial heft funding
his monthly doses. There were years after its development where Remus fought his help -- it
was too expensive, too frivolous a use of Sirius's fortune that Remus didn't always feel he
had any right to. They'd actually gotten into a huge, shouting row -- one that ended with tears
and confessions of self-doubt from the smallest parts of both of them -- before Remus
understood. It's just what you do when you love someone. You help them however you can.
Sirius couldn't turn Remus human again, but he could make the Transformations more
comfortable.
Dark curls appear at Remus's left side and with them, the smell of crisp parchment,
cedar, and ink. "Hello, Remus! Are we talking about the Humane Transformation Act?"
Hermione Granger-Weasley asks, her sepia fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass.
Her brown eyes are sharp and alight with passion for the subject at hand.
"Ah… yes, hello, Miss Granger," Slughorn says, clearly uncomfortable.
"Granger-Weasley," she corrects automatically, her fire undamped.

"Yes, of course, my apologies, my dear." He turns back to Remus, a Teaching Look

on his face, like when they were at school and Remus wasn't quite grasping a concept. It was
gratingly familiar, but out of place in this setting. "But you see, Remus, it's a terribly difficult
potion to brew -- not for one such as myself, but for most wizards -- and the ingredients,"
Slughorn pauses to whistle low, the skin under his jaw swelling slightly, "are quite
expensive."

Hermione's arm is warm as she leans a little against Remus, her zeal is contagious.
"But Horace," she implores, launching into the use of his given name with an ease Remus
envies, "If the DRCMC would just reallocate the gross amount of galleons they spend on
staffing and maintaining their Safe Transformation Units towards subsidizing the cost of the
Wolfsbane Potion on an income-based sliding scale, they would actually save money."

Remus swells with pride. What a warrior of a woman the little girl with bushy hair
has turned into, indomitable will wrapped in a deceptively diminutive package. He is secretly
touched by her use of the Department's acronym -- Department of Regulation and Control of
Magical Creatures is not only wordy but downright offensive. He neither needs Regulation
nor Control, though a mouthy Sirius might disagree some days. He's heard that Hermione is
also lobbying for a rename, but the Ministry of Magic is as reluctant to change as a mountain
to bow. Stuffy old bats.

Slughorn has the decency to withdraw and smiles placatingly at the both of them.
"My, my, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has quite the lioness in you," he
concedes, and Hermione's chin raises a fraction.

"No lioness, just a person with a heart and a law degree," she responds briskly. She
turns to Remus and gives his arm the gentlest of squeezes. "Good to see you, Remus -- Ron
and I really do need to have you and Sirius round for dinner at our new place soon." She
waits for his answering nod before merging back into the growing crowd of people, her
aubergine gown like a queen's train in the wake of her majesty.

Sirius slides into her empty space with ease and passes one of the champagne flutes
to Remus. Their fingers brush on the pass-off and immediately Remus feels tethered, his
world refocusing onto the man at his side.
"Oh good evening, Sirius," Slughorn greets, clearly happy for what he presumes will
be less prickly conversation. "You know," he begins, smiling winningly at Remus, "I taught
Damocles Belby. One of the brightest of his year, I dare say."
Remus blinks. Yes, he...did know. Belby was a year their junior, and he smothers a
chuckle. Sirius, who evidently doesn't have Remus’s self-control, snorts, and takes a hefty
swig of the champagne. "Cliodne favor the man -- he deserves his Order of Merlin and more
and all that, but Morgana’s tits, was he an insufferable prat at school, hey Moony?" he jokes,
smirking up at him with eyes like diamonds under the splendid lighting. Remus supposes he
should be grateful Sirius didn't say what they used to call Belby, back in school… Belby the
Bellend. Boys could be so cruel.
Remus slides his foot over and presses the toe of his polished shoes onto the black
leather of Sirius's boot, scolding. Slughorn doesn't appear to notice their exchange, and
merely tuts. "You always were getting into trouble, the four of you…" he trails off, clearly
anticipating the hitting of a nerve, and makes to leave. "But yes, Remus, Sirius, so wonderful
to see you both back in society. Do owl me when you have a free hour, we should do tea."
And with that, he makes himself scarce.
 Sirius scoffs and finishes his champagne with a brooding look, his brows drawn
scathingly over his fine, Grecian nose. "Pillock," he mutters as his hand finds the small of
Remus's back again, like an owl finding its way home. "Still think he's a vampire," he
confides, and Remus laughs, surprised. He hasn't heard this particular conspiracy theory
since he last taught alongside Slughorn.
It was birthed in their third year at Hogwarts when James, newly prescribed glasses
but staunchly refusing to wear them, swore up and down that he saw Slughorn
drinking blood from a goblet. He and Sirius went on 'covert missions' to prove their theory,
sneaking into Slughorn's private rooms to check for a coffin, look for mirrors, the whole
thing. Remus tried to tell them it was just wine, and an awful lot of it, but the Blood Pops
they found in Slughorn's desk drawer were apparently Solid and Irrefutable Proof of his
vampirism.
It was utterly absurd, of course, and unequivocally untrue, but they'd been rather silly
boys back then. The thought, though bittersweet from what they had lost, makes Remus
smile. He tilts Sirius's chin up with a gentle press of his fingers and kisses him sweetly, tasting
the sparkling wine on his full mouth. It's dry, tart, and leaves Remus wanting more until he
realizes he holds his own glass. Right.
He takes a sip and lets the cool liquid slide straight down his throat without much
consideration. It's probably decently expensive stuff, for all the level of high-class poshness
that floats about the room, but Remus has never had a nose for wine or its like. Whiskey or
mead, or cider on hot days when he wants to feel sixteen again.
"They've certainly done a number on this place," Sirius remarks in an affected casual
tone, his gray eyes scanning over the lux decor appreciatively. St. Mungo's Hospital for
Magical Maladies and Injury has never been a particularly pleasant place for Remus. From
his earliest memories -- seared into his brain by the hot iron of pain -- to the continued glances
of Knowing and deep-seated Mistrust in the eyes of some of the older Healers milling around
them, keeping a wide berth from The Werewolf, St. Mungo's gives Remus a feeling of unease.
It's been transformed for the fête, though, the clinical white walls covered in gauzy,
golden wisps and literal faerie lights, warming the sterile lobby into something almost
welcoming. Crisp-robed waiters with uniforms like magpie wings flit effortlessly through the
crowd, passing out hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne and red wine. The room is filling
rapidly with people, noise from the band, and smells that cloy at Remus's nose and throat like
a noose. Instinctively, his eyes go to the Directory near the lifts, piercing through the attempts
at a glamor on them. Only one floor up, a short jaunt up the stairs or the quickest stomach-
lurching jolt in the lift, is where Remus spent a great deal of his childhood, and the neat
typeface on the metal sign is almost mocking. Creature-Induced Injuries. Creature. Spiders,
manticores, hippogriffs, werewolves.
 Sirius slides his hand under Remus's outer robes and hooks his fingers through the
waistbelt of the dark vest, mooring him again and snaring his attention away from the morose.
The weight pulls him a little, and he grins gratefully down at the handsome, noble face. He's
his entire world, his lighthouse when the seas rage around him. They're both made tense by
the sheer number of bodies filling the room, but Remus presses his long thigh against Sirius's
hip and that's enough, an anchor, safety. Together.
"Quick smoke?" Sirius suggests, and Remus nods enthusiastically. They step back
into the biting night air and though eyes follow them wherever they go, they find a pocket of
solitude under an awning, out of the walkway and out from the moon's light. In the dark,
backs pressed against cold, beige stone, their faces are cast into sharp relief when Sirius lights
their cigarettes with a snap, his rings clinking together in a charming verse before the rasp of
ignition. They inhale, exhale, breathe. In, out, in, out. Together.
"Sorry," Remus says to the street lamps, his elbow touching Sirius's bicep as he brings
the cigarette to his lips again. He knows he hates this, the attention, the stares, the inevitable
questioning about things. Hates it just as much as Remus hates the smells, the sounds, his
own stares.
"Pish posh," Sirius brushes it off, waving his hand about a bit. The glowing red end
reflects on the sapphires on his hands, a beautiful play of the light. "Harry's happy." He states
it, a fact. "And," he drawls, looking up at Remus through his lashes, his steely irises barely
visible through the thick curtain, " You look good enough to eat." His hand brushes Remus's,
his rings cool against his jutting knuckles, before dropping down to his waistband and dipping
under the fabric to press his fingertips on Remus's heated hip. It's a simple gesture, but it has
his blood coming alive.
Remus gasps and exhales inaudibly, smoke furling from his mouth and nose like a
dragon. "Flattery will get you far, Mr. Lupin," he says, canting his hips up a little, calling
Sirius's bluff. He sees the way Sirius's spine straightens a little with pride at his name, the
one he's chosen and continues to choose every day. Remus exhales a smoke cloud that turns
into a wolf, and it chases Sirius's smoky dog around their bodies until they are broken by the
breeze.
Cigarettes finished and politely disposed of, Remus kisses Sirius, firm and far from
sweet, before stepping out of their little secluded bubble under the awning and back into the
fray. The smell is manageable now, no longer a violent cascade of perfumes and colognes
and sweat, smothered behind a heavy layer of cigarette smoke that he burned into his sinuses.
It's a little crippling, makes Remus feel slightly more blind than he normally would like, but
he gladly takes the handicap in favor of the alternative. Sirius's left hand is in his and their
rings hum faintly together in the clasp, sending a line of the warmest joy through his arm to
rest over his heart. Yes, together.
 "Sirius? Remus ?" It's a voice he hasn't heard in nearly two decades, aged like the
finest scotch but so damn familiar, Remus's head whips around. He clenches Sirius's hand as
his heart skips. Mary.

She's approaching them with bright, brown eyes lined in actual kohl, her smile
trembling a little but genuine. She's a glorious vision of gold and emerald velvet and chiffon
that flatters her curves, the swell of her breast and full, round thighs most becomingly. Her
skin is radiant, glowing, like a polished Knut against the gold neckline and her hair is in
dozens of steel-gray braids collected at her nape with a gleaming pin. Her face has been lined,
like theirs, by a life of mirth, grief, and experiences, but she's as lovely as Remus remembers
her being in school.
And still as touchy, apparently, as she envelops Remus in a hug that's soft and
cushiony against her chest, her smell like vanilla permeating through the smoke barrier he's
created, but he doesn't mind either of those. He hugs her back, mindful of the force he applies,
and she releases him to do the same to Sirius, who kisses her on each rouged cheek. "We
thought you were in Spain," Sirius says, his smile stretching the very limits of his face. He
might crack a cheekbone on that thing, Remus thinks, amused, counting each of his pearly
white teeth.
"I am! I live on Majorca," she clarifies, and accepts a glass of dark wine from a waiter.
Sirius takes one, too, but Remus dismisses the man with a nod. "I decided to take a leaf from
your sordid little book and shack up with a man on the beach -- Luis," she teases good-
naturedly, winking at them. Her ring finger is bare, though her others are adorned with tasteful
selections. "My husband Luc passed away three years ago, but the kids bring their littles
around for holiday now, it's quite nice." There's a hint of pain in her voice when she mentions
the loss of her husband -- a French Muggle Remus never actually met -- but her happiness is
clear when she waxes about her brood.

Mary was a constant in their lives from their first year of school up to Harry's fifth
birthday. She helped them through some of the roughest patches of parenthood and only left
for France when Remus and Sirius saw her loneliness eating her away. She'd wanted a chance
at what they had, at raising a tiny human to make the world better, to go home to a roaring
hearth and a man that loved her, her heart finally mending after its greatest wound. They kept
in contact -- owled frequently for years, but time and busy schedules had reduced their
weekly correspondence to exchanged Christmas cards.

It didn't seem to matter, the distance. It was all but gone now, and she fit seamlessly
in their severely narrowed circle, the very last of their merry band of miscreants, eight to
three.
Someone calls his name and Sirius excuses himself to greet, from the mixture of
dutiful resignation and polite placidity on his face, someone Remus can only assume is a
family member. Remus continues chatting with Mary, marveling in how easy it is to fall back
into old habits. She's leaning on his arm like she used to, cleavage on proud display, but it
lacks the underlying intent it had in school. It's not a snare meant to lure, just a gesture of
habit as they reminisce. They don't talk about things that ache -- there’s the careful omission
of the smiling, sunny energies snuffed out too soon -- but they speak of the favorite meals in
the Great Halls they miss eating, the joys of beach life, and the best suncare charms to affix
to wriggling little bodies.
A whiskey floats into his hand -- neat, dark, fragrant -- and Remus glances quickly at
the direction it came from to see Harry smiling slyly into his own glass from across the room.
They each raise the crystal in a silent toast and Remus drinks, the peaty liquid like an old
friend. Harry has significantly better taste than his father did, Remus notes with pleasure.
A witch with a sonorous engaged welcomes them to the fundraiser and outlines the
night for the guests -- a bit of a speech, dancing, dinner, all that, and Remus stands up straight,
spine creaking from the sudden change, to look for Sirius. There are an annoying number of
silver-threaded black-haired heads in the crowd, and his innocent perusal turns quickly to
concern when he cannot locate him after a full minute. He finishes the whiskey and Vanishes
the glass, leaving his hands free to twist the ring on his finger clockwise. He feels the gentlest
of tugs from his literal heart strings and follows, winding through velvet-backed men and
lace-covered women to the opposite corner of the room where Sirius stands, deep in animated
conversation with two women who could be his sisters.
"Ah, and here's my husband now -- yes, Cissa, isn't his beard wonderful -- I really
should be going," Sirius calls, clearly relieved to see Remus. While they are both immensely
fond of Andromeda, she does have a tendency to become quite the vicious gossip when in
the presence of her sister Narcissa, and the two Black sisters are formidable companions at
social events such as these. Sirius doesn't hide behind Remus, but he does tuck himself out
of the direct, piercing eyesight of Narcissa Malfoy, occupying his mouth with his glass of
gin. Remus could laugh, he's like a child hiding behind his mother's apron strings, but he
smiles at the two women.

"Andy, Narcissa, my goodness… your loveliness increases, I dare say it will never
pass into nothingness," Remus greets, pouring on the charm as he kisses the pale backs of
their outstretched hands with a little bow. Andromeda hides her amused grin against the
curved rim of her wine glass and though Narcissa tuts, her rouged mouth curls ever so slightly
at the corners to indicate she is appeased by his verbal tribute.

"Keats, Moony, really? Is nothing about our marriage sacred?" Sirius scolds, half-
joking, from behind him, no doubt recalling all the times Remus has crooned Bright Star to
him on humid, summer days in their youth. "Yes, yes, the House of Black is the most beautiful
and lovely, but I will not let these harpies get their claws in you. Cheers," he bids his cousins
and steers Remus away hurriedly, to the amused laughter of Narcissa and Andromeda.
 He's pulled all the way into the men's restroom by Sirius's guiding hand and is pressed
against a stall wall before he can get two words out. "What was that all about?" Remus asks
finally, before he's assaulted by lips that taste of smoke and gin, Sirius's wet tongue plunging
into his shocked mouth. Sirius's hands are on the complicated opening of his trousers and
Remus bucks when he presses down with the heel of his palm against his suddenly-quite-
interested cock.
They are fifty-six and far too old for this level of fooling around, truthfully, but
Remus's blood has been running hot for days now at the behest of the full moon, and the
growling is urgent, insistent in his skull that he should spill into the willing, needy body
before him that reeks with arousal. Sirius's mouth drops to his neck, his tongue lathing over
coarse beard bristles and sliding a well-worn path down a scar to Remus's jugular.
His hands are kneading through the thick trousers and Remus slams his head back
against the wall as he's coaxed to full hardness in a matter of seconds, panting like an
inexperienced teenager, and flushed solid red. Skilled hands undo the tricky fastenings on his
trousers and before he can fully register what’s happening, Sirius is on his knees and sucks
him down whole. Remus convulses, surprised. His knees feel weak, his heart is fair galloping
out of his chest and fuck if Sirius isn't the world's best at blow jobs… Where this came from,
he has no idea, but he's here for it now, he's willing to --
The wet heat pops off of his cock and Sirius is standing, smirking, leaning against the
opposite wall. He wipes his glistening chin with his handkerchief, tucks a strand of his hair
behind his ear, and readjusts his own cock in his tight black trousers, looking like a cat who's
caught the best damn canary. Remus surges forward, ravenous, but runs into a harmless-but-
effective barrier charm an inch in front of Sirius's nose.
"This, Mr. Lupin," Sirius begins, his voice like honeyed venom, "is payback. Consider
it reparations for the crime of coercion, for seducing me into agreeing to this." He pulls his
heft of hair over one shoulder so Remus can see his long, pale neck, and Remus’s mouth
waters. Fuck. Sirius winks luridly at him and strides out in a whirl of black robes, leaving
Remus behind.
Remus bangs his head against the wall again, painfully hard and aching from the loss
of contact. He reaches for his wand to cast the sexual equivalent of a sobering charm, only to
find his pocket empty. That bastard. Sirius definitely lifted it from him, knowing Remus
wasn't familiar enough with that sort of spell to attempt it wandlessly and knowing he'd be a
total mess. His blood boiled, both furious with and upsettingly amused by his husband's
trickery. He stares at the obvious erection and groans, bringing up very unpleasant imagery
until he's feeling nauseated but no longer rock hard, and tucks himself back into his trousers,
spending entirely too long on the nonsense sequence of loops and hooks and laces. His
kingdom for a zipper.
 He checks his pocket watch and swears. Shit. Another two hours of this, maybe three
if the speeches run long.

Remus washes his hands, because he doesn't want to be pinned as a bloke

who doesn't wash his hands after leaving the loo, and steps back out into the lobby. The
cooling charms woven into his vest are earning their keep, and he’s just about cooled back
down. He spots Sirius a few feet away, talking animatedly to Harry about Quidditch -- he can
pick his voice out of a crowd when they're this close -- but when Harry turns to greet someone
else, he hears it.

"Going to lick you open and make you scream."

It's barely above a breath, the softest push of sound, but it's definitely come from
Sirius -- he watched his lips form the words, the salacious glide of his tongue across his lower
lip when he finished, and then he's back to speaking to Harry about the bloody Cannons like
nothing has happened.
Remus's cock twitches in renewed interest and he groans miserably. Sirius has taken
this to a new level, exploiting Remus's heightened senses to torture him. He should’ve known
Sirius wouldn’t let that go -- he always did like to hold a grudge.

He was in for a long night.

 Chapter 4: We are In Public

Heedless of Harry’s presence, Remus advances on Sirius with something akin to

murderous intent -- if one could simultaneously want to kill and shag someone which, if he’s
being honest, is sort of the baseline of their relationship -- but feels Sirius’s magic now that
he's almost expecting it, the cool smell of leather that rises when he's three long strides away,
and tempers his approach. The invisible barrier charm lowers as Remus draws near in a much
calmer manner and he groans inwardly. There would be no bullying or shaming Sirius out of
his mischief, then, it would seem.
Ignorant of the illicit feud brewing between his godparents, Harry's face lights up
when Remus steps into their circle. With a simple wave of his hand, he procures another
crystal glass of whiskey from thin air for him, grinning. Harry’s skill at wandless magic is
unmatched, and Remus appreciates the gesture. "He's finally convinced you to grow it out
then, has he?" Harry asks, smoothing his free hand over his own smooth, square jaw. "It looks
nice." Harry doesn't just hand out compliments willy nilly, and it feels like his favorite pair
of slippers, fuzzy and comforting.
Sirius nods enthusiastically in agreement, but Remus just takes a sip from the offered
glass, considering his next move. He plucks the handkerchief from Sirius's pocket --
and Merlin if it doesn't still smell like his cock and Sirius's spit -- and carefully wipes the
droplets of liquor from his mustache before speaking, his body tense under Sirius's
incredulous gaze as he stuffs the handkerchief unceremoniously back into his robes.
"Thank you, Harry, but it's on a trial basis," he tells Harry lightly, though even he
knows that’s a lie. Sirius is happy with it and no doubt has some weird wicked plan to put
Remus in a Father Christmas outfit at Yule to appease the children in their lives, Sirius
included. Remus can see it now -- crushed red velvet trousers with black suspenders and
nothing else, if Sirius gets his way. His mind starts tumbling down a dangerous path and he
reels himself back in -- he's a grown man, for Godric's sake.
Harry laughs, the sound rich and full and not unlike the whiskey slipping down
Remus's throat, warming him from the inside out. Remus sees him quickly glance across the
lobby at Draco, standing tall but looking vaguely hen-pecked in the crescent of Andromeda’s
and Narcissa's attentions. Harry's eyes are back on them in an instant, but Remus knows the
look -- the need to know that your partner is safe, is okay, in a room full of people who
would've once wanted them dead. "Draco says I should grow mine out, too," Harry admits,
blushing faintly into his glass. Unbidden, an image of Fleamont Potter, who sported a thick,
full black-as-night beard for as long as Remus knew him, springs to mind and Remus smiles
at the memory. James had always wanted to grow one to match.
 Sirius snorts, clearly drawing more far-fetched conclusions about their son-in-
law’s preferences, and snakes his hand around Remus's left hip to dig his fingers in a
punishingly tight grip. His fingertips are careful, trained by decades of muscle memory, to
just skirt the angry raised edges of the sensitive First Bite there, but the force of his fingers
pulls on the surrounding skin just enough to make Remus squirm. Remus drains the last of
the whiskey in one go, desperate for the alcohol to make him less responsive to Sirius’s
touch.
Instead, the whiskey emboldens him, and Remus gives Harry a subtle wink. "These
purebloods," he begins with a long-suffering sigh, glancing down at a suddenly-suspicious
Sirius for just a moment, "It must run in the family." He endures the vicious jab to his obliques
from Sirius, grinning mildly as if unaffected while Harry splutters into his drink, red-
cheeked.
Remus glances at his pocket watch again. "They'll be calling us for dinner soon.
Love, do be a dear and refill my glass for me, will you? I'll find our seats." Remus leans down
and plants a chaste kiss at the summit of Sirius's mountainous cheekbone before pressing his
now-empty glass into his free hand.
Before Sirius can protest or say something rude, Remus is striding across the room
and through the familiar corridors to the fancifully-decorated canteen. It's been transformed
from a cold-sandwich, counter-service nightmare to something that would be right at home
at Grimmauld Place. There are a dozen long, gold-clothed tables with overstuffed suede
jacquard seats, polished silverware, and beautiful centerpieces that cover the lengths of the
tables in fragrant, eye-catching blooms. He reads each name card as he passes, his skin
itching wildly as he walks by sets of silver knives, forks, and spoons, but there's a table
without any of the discomfort or gut-wrenching stench and on it, their names in curling,
delicate calligraphy hovering above the chairs: ‘Mr. Remus Lupin’ and ‘Mr. Sirius Lupin’.
To his further relief, the seats directly behind him also have imitation silver, and Remus takes
his chair knowing he can dine in comfort.

The handsome goblet in front of him fills itself with water and he's dimly aware of
Sirius approaching with two mauve cocktails, his rings catching Remus's attention -- like
they are spelled to -- in the faerie lights overhead. Remus takes a sip of the water, finding it
crisp, lightly carbonated, and a little lemony, when he hears him again, a whisper from yards
away.

"Going to gag you with my cock and come down your throat."
Bloody hell. He chokes on the water, spraying down the front of his robes as he wills
it from his windpipe. Sirius, a picture of spousal concern, is at his back, thumping unhelpfully
against his ridged spine. When Remus stops hurtling towards his watery death, Sirius smiles
innocently at him, no trace of the sordid words on his face. Oh, he’s good.
 "I know you hate listening to speeches, Moony, but my, my, that's hardly the way to
get out of it, love ." Vindictive bastard, Remus thinks viciously. Sirius pulls Remus's wand
from his pocket and coaxes the liquid from his collar before taking his seat on his left. Remus
is flummoxed, flustered, and flushed -- traitor wand, listening to Sirius, of all people. "I need
you very alive," he whispers in his ear, the only indication of his trickery.
Remus grinds the heel of his shoe into Sirius's toe again, but he maintains his cherubic
mask. "Give me back my wand," Remus growls in his ear, doing his best not to stab Sirius's
hand with his fork. He occupies his hand with the cocktail -- sage gin and blackberry, a
refreshing palette cleanser.

"And ruin the most fun I've had all night? Don't think so," Sirius quips back with a
sneer, his gray eyes dancing with mad enjoyment. Remus seethes quietly in his chair,
wondering what on earth possibly possessed him to get involved with a man like Sirius.

They are joined at their table by Andromeda and Narcissa, seated -- to Sirius's dismay
-- directly across from them. Further down, there are a few wizards Remus recognizes from
the Donor's list but isn't familiar with enough to greet beyond a polite head nod. Draco and
Harry are seated with the other Heads of Staff at a different table, and it's clear Sirius would
rather be there than with his cousins. Nevertheless, he pulls his lips back into a practiced
smile. "We are fortunate, Moony, to have such…seasoned dining companions." He sounds
like someone's dug an elbow into his side, but Remus's elbows are blameless.

"Do you think I long to do nothing more than to stare at your sour face all evening,
Sirius?" Narcissa asks imperiously, one perfectly-shaped eyebrow raised on her high, noble
forehead. She's tutted at by Andromeda and her spine unstiffens just a fraction in submission,
though she does not apologize.

Surrounded by them, three of the five living Black scions -- though wonderfully none
of them still boast the surname -- Remus feels woefully plain-looking. They are first cousins
by relation, the sisters and Sirius, but the Black family phenotype is strong: the long-lashed,
piercing gray eyes, the painfully-straight Grecian nose, pale skin, exquisite, thick, wavy hair,
and a mouth like cupid’s bow, full and rose-petal pink. Narcissa’s chin is a bit pointier, and
Andromeda’s nose tilts up just a smidge at the end, but the women are as statuesque as his
husband, living pieces of art next to the mangled scrap of tan skin and overly-long, arthritic
jumble of limbs that is Remus.

After a brief speech, food appears on their plates and their pureblood table etiquette
keep the three cousins from bickering further. Remus, whose stomach has been angrily
protesting its emptiness all night -- cold sausages be damned -- pushes the leafy salad around
with the tines of his fork, eating the chunks of ham and boiled egg but nothing else. In his
youth, he could eat nearly anything before the full moon and be fine, but as he aged, his
stomach started rejecting anything that wasn’t meat or at least rich in protein. Whether an
effect of the Wolfsbane he takes every morning for a week or just the wolf's will growing
stronger, Remus doesn't know. It's damned inconvenient and telling in social settings, but his
tablemates tactfully do not comment.

The main course is better -- a steak grilled to each diner's preference, sauteed
mushrooms, and scalloped potatoes with a buttery roll. Remus tucks into his steak --
bleedingly rare, of course -- and finishes the cocktail Sirius brought for him. Without so much
as a word, Sirius's fingers tap the very rim of Remus's plate and the sides and bread roll are
swapped for the second half of Sirius's steak, also rare -- even though he usually takes it
medium-rare. His husband continues eating like nothing's happened, and Remus smiles
around his fork.

Right. This is why. Lovely man.

"So, Remus," Andromeda starts, her voice like a cello -- full-bodied and elegance
defined. Beside him, Remus feels Sirius tense in anticipation. "Cissy and I were thinking…
it would be so nice to have you two closer by. Is there any convincing you into moving back
to London? We're not getting any younger, you know, and I do so miss our Saturday walks
through the Apothecaries’ Gardens." She fixes him with a smile he's seen a thousand times
on Sirius, her wide mouth curled beautifully across her ivory face.
Remus pauses, and carefully dabs his mustache and beard with his cloth napkin to
give him time to think. This must be what Sirius was on about earlier before...well, before.
They haven't lived in London since November of 1981, when they fled to the coast to
their blue cottage, aptly named Polaris Cove, to raise Harry. The house was supposed to have
been a birthday surprise for Remus, Sirius said, and had still been missing a few finishing
touches, but it was the safest place for them at the time. In all honesty, he hasn't given much
thought to moving -- London has certainly changed in the thirty-odd years they've been away
and he's grown rather fond of the uncomplicated simplicity of beach life.
He looks at Sirius, who is scowling silently into his cocktail with a dark look on his
face. Judging by his expression, they’ve already tried to convince him to move, and probably
with less tact than Andromeda’s approach just now. "I'm afraid I'm terribly fond of Polaris
Cove, Andy. It's even started to act like a proper wizard home, if you'll believe it." Remus
smiles gently at her, hoping he hasn't offended.
It was true, though. The house was responding to them, learning their habits and
preferences and was eager to please. The walls, floorboards, and very foundation of Polaris
Cove soaked up their magical energy like a sponge, and it started to manifest. Remus, who
grew up in a home where magic was practically anathema -- his mother had been so terribly
afraid --, had been shocked the first time his towel came pre-warmed, without any prompting
from him.
"In only thirty years?" Narcissa asks archly, her skeptical surprise apparent in her cool
gray eyes.
 Sirius butts in, his hand draping over Remus's shoulder possessively. "Thirty- five,"
he corrects, more to defend their relationship than the time they've spent in their home.
"We're good wizards, Narcissa," Sirius adds, his lips in a downward twist that has Remus and
Andromeda exchanging a look. "Strong. Skilled. Powerful. Handsome beyond
comprehension."
Andromeda laughs, like water down a mountainside, her face flushed with mirth and
perhaps a little of the wine she’s drained from her goblet. "One of those doesn't quite match
the others, Sirius," she points out cheekily.

Sirius's expression turns into one of aristocratic disdain and he shrugs, an elegant rise
and fall of his shoulders that Remus never can seem to imitate. "Doesn't it, though?" he
drawls, gesturing to his beautiful face with a flourish of his hand.

"Your hubris is exhausting, cousin," Narcissa barbs, and Remus knows they are only
spared from an eye roll by her pristine manners. Despite her prickliness, Remus likes her --
she's clearly a devoted mother to her son, who happens to be the love of his boy's life, and
her dry condescension towards Sirius's dramatics amuses him. Sirius's ego would be fine, it's
been fed enough.
Dessert is a lush vanilla cream with bits of fruit in it that Remus lets Sirius have,
trying his best not to jump out of his skin and into Sirius while each spoonful of white foam
slips between his lips. He's grateful, suddenly, for the presence of the two women across from
them -- it's keeping Sirius relatively tame, despite his foot running up and down Remus's calf,
and keeping the wolf in its cage, if only just.
Predictably, there are more speeches -- long, droning, boring, flowery things that have
Remus wishing it was socially acceptable to duck out for a smoke during. As such, it
is not polite, but he occupies his time by watching the light dance on the jewels on Sirius’s
rings, each twinkle of them holding his attention firm. His heart leaps into his throat when,
some absurd amount of time later, Sirius speaks. “Dance with me, Moony?” He stands and
extends one of those lovely hands to Remus, who is feeling a little dazed from the bewitching
gemstones. Sirius laughs and pulls Remus to his feet, steadying him with a firm grip. “Easy
now, love.” He leans in, voice low and husky, “I’ll put those fingers you’ve been ogling to
better use later.”

Remus snaps out of his little trance and glares down his long nose at him. “We are
in public, you have to stop this,” he implores through gritted teeth.
Sirius laughs again, a little crueler, and tsks. “Oh Moony, wild horses couldn’t drag
me away from this.”

Remus frowns -- quoting the Rolling Stones, really. Before he can retort, Sirius is
pulling him down the corridor back to the lobby, now cleared of everything else to act as a
ballroom. A string quintet sits in the far corner, hidden by thin, gauzy magic that makes
Remus’s eyes feel fuzzy, and they play beautifully, the music arching delicately over the low
hum of chatter.

Remus doesn’t like dancing -- not this kind, anyway. When they were younger -- and
maybe even not-so-young -- they would dance the night away in dark clubs with other people
like them, all sweaty bodies and tight, seductive clothing, free to just be themselves without
fear. That dancing was easy -- just a sway, push, grind of the hips in time with the blaring
music so loud you could feel it in your bones and there was little you could do that was wrong.
This… this was a test, a performance to put on and be judged by, and Remus has very little
faith in his abilities.

Still, as Sirius puts his hand low -- too low -- on Remus’s waist and takes his hand in
the other, Remus doesn’t mind terribly much. The next song starts and they’re off to a
fumbling start, Remus stumbling over his own too-large feet and crashing into Sirius with an
‘oomph’. By the second song, Sirius steadies him, grinning, and sets him to rights. “Stop
trying to be the boss,” he instructs, squeezing Remus’s waist. His gaze drops to his mouth
and Remus watches him lick his lower lip, just a quick flash of pink tongue against the plump
flesh. “I’m in charge.”
The promise of later hangs between them, and Remus is once again thankful for the
cooling charms on his robes that keep him from sweating right through the expensive fabric.
Sirius’s instructions echoing in his head, he lets Sirius guide him, subtle twitches of his
fingers on his ribs and hip leading him through the steps. It’s even a little nice -- and
truthfully, this revelation happens every time they dance the old dances -- spinning around a
dance floor with a man as good-looking as Sirius, whose attention is on him and only him,
the world a blur of color and noise.
There’s magic in these dances, too, Remus knows. A bit of binding and strengthening
of the bonds that exist, a lightening of the feet to increase the speed, a headiness that dulls
the senses. Remus almost doesn’t feel it -- the warning, crawling of his skin -- but Sirius pulls
him close at the last second as a couple spins towards them, the silver torque around the
woman’s neck as brutal as a whip across his back. Remus gasps into his hair, his white-
knuckled fist nearly crushing Sirius's shoulder, but they side-step tactfully and change
directions and the burning lets up.
When the song ends, they tuck to one side of the room and Sirius runs soothing hands
along his shoulder blades while Remus catches his breath. In, out, in, out. “Alright, Moony?”
Sirius whispers, his nose against the side of his neck. He’s guarding Remus from view of any
onlookers out of habit, though no one is paying them much mind. One of the few perks of
growing older, Remus muses bitterly.
Remus nods -- it really hadn’t been that close of a call, but the suddenness of it
without the head’s up his senses usually provide him, had made it feel more traumatizing.
But he’s better now, no harm done, and when they turn back towards the crowd, Draco is
extending his hand.

“May I?” he asks of them, his mouth -- different from his mother’s, thinner but
slightly fuller on the top -- quirked at the corners, almost daring Sirius to deny his polite and
reasonable request to cut in. From beyond his shoulder, Remus sees Harry twirling Hermione
a bit recklessly across the floor, and bites his lip to keep from smiling.

Sirius looks Draco up and down critically, glances at Remus, and sighs. “Mind the
other dancers, would you?” he says pointedly, and a look of understanding passes between
them. Basically, don’t let any arseholes who still wear silver in this day and age get close.
“Please,” Draco scoffs, looking for all the world like a paler, blonder version of his
glacial mother in that moment. “Some of us have never left this world, cousin." He looks at
Remus, his expression softening. "Remus?”
Remus takes the cool, elegant hand in his and shuffles after him. It’s a bit weird,
actually, not having to look down into those striking gray eyes. Draco is quite tall -- inherited
from Lucius, certainly -- and is nearly on-level with Remus’s 6’5”. He’s slender and not as
solid-feeling as Sirius is, but the hand at a respectful height on his waist is confident, guiding
him through the steps as neatly as Sirius had, perhaps even a little better -- not that he could
ever tell Sirius that.
“Thank you for the robes,” Remus says, to fill the space while they dance. With Sirius,
they communicated in other ways, unspoken vows that grew with each breath, ways that
were certainly not happening here, Sirius’s ridiculous jokes aside. It had backfired on him,
anyway.

Draco tilts his head slightly in a nod, the lights nearly blinding on his glossy, platinum
hair. Up close, Remus can see it's been braided in tiny, painstaking plaits from his temples
before joining the rest of his long hair in an ornate obsidian clasp at his neck. “Harry’s idea,”
he insists, already leading them away from a man with silver rings on every digit. “But my
selection, of course. Harry has all the fashion sense of a blind grindylow.” He rolls his eyes
scornfully, though there's a fondness in them he cannot hide.

Remus chuckles, terribly certain that Harry’s dreadful fashion choices were a learned
behavior he got from him, along with his habit of using filler words before speaking and an
unhealthy obsession with employing tea and chocolate as universal cure-alls. “He’s fortunate
to have you, Draco.” And he means it. He's never seen Harry happier in his life, and as a --
well, as a parent, it's everything he had ever wanted for him. Remus was never sure where
Harry's life would lead, but he'd wished and hoped and pleaded with whoever might be
listening that he would be happy.
A blush like red yarrow colors the high planes of Draco’s cheeks, a bit splotchy but
oddly becoming on him. “You’re absolutely right,” he says confidently after a moment’s
pause, and bows low over Remus’s hand when the song ends, smiling genuinely up at him
from the dip. “A pleasure as always, Remus. I suppose I should rescue our favorite barrister
from my husband’s clutches.”

Remus watches him leave and immediately looks for Sirius, more out of habit than
concern. After a moment of picking through the dancers, he sees Sirius dancing with a
breathless, giggling Mary. He bows over her hand, too, with a cheeky press of his lips to her
bare ring finger -- once a flirt, always a flirt -- and they exchange promises to write more
often, to visit each other, to keep in touch, before parting ways. Other couples are splitting
up, and Remus again considers dipping outside for that smoke, but Sirius’s voice cuts through
his thoughts like a knife.
“Going to take you home and make you beg for my cock.”

Their eyes meet -- wide-eyed amber to wicked, predatory gray -- and Sirius gives a
tense, terse jerk of his head towards the exit, his message clear. Remus wants to stop and say
his goodbyes to their friends, their family, but really doesn’t think it’s all that appropriate
with the half-hard cock straining at his trousers.
“Get to the bike. Now.”

He’s walking out the door before he can think about it, and though the cold night air
against his face is sobering, Remus feels a little drunk. He can’t remember the last time he’s
been this turned on or in such quick succession...it's been ages, at least. It’s come and go all
evening and now that he’s outside and standing in front of the gleaming metal of the bike,
the anticipation makes him tremble. He lights a cigarette -- he can at least do that without his
wand, which Sirius still has, the wanker -- and inhales shakily. The familiarity of the routine
and the nicotine calm him almost instantly, though it does allow for the growling in his head
to speak up again.
He could ruin Sirius’s carefully-laid scheme and make him beg for his release -- it
would be laughably easy at this phase of the moon, and Sirius always did enjoy that. It’s
certainly what his baser self would enjoy, and the memory of last week’s earth-shattering
shag has him practically salivating, but… There’s a big part of him, Remus the Man, that’s
curious about Sirius’s plans, excited about what he’s building up to, so he puts a lid on his
ferality. He’s been a werewolf for over half a century and has gleaned some semblance of
control, at least when the moon isn’t actually full. He’ll play along. For now.
The cigarette is plucked from between his fingers and he protests with a sharp sound,
though there’s no bite to it -- only one person would be so bold. Sirius blows a puff of smoke
in his face, smirking. “I’ve made our excuses, said the goodbyes. Now get on the fucking
bike.” He puts the cigarette back between Remus’s mouth and mounts the motorcycle. Remus
finishes the cigarette hastily and Vanishes the butt before climbing behind him, albeit with a
bit less finesse. Seated so closely, his clothed cock is pressed against Sirius’s back and he
sighs a little in relief. Finally.

He curls his hands around Sirius's middle and dips his fingers into his waistband until
his nails scratch on the coarse hair. Sirius laughs, and they take off at startling speed. “Oh
you’re in for it, Moony,” he howls to the moon, and Remus holds on tight as they peel through
the streets of London like bats out of hell.
 Chapter 5: I'm in Charge

The flight from London back to the coastal shore of Seaford is at once too short and
excruciatingly long. All Remus knows is that the vibrations of the seat under him are terribly
strong, and that he ought to be ashamed of how fervently he's rutting against Sirius's back.
His hands, however, have zero shame and a mind of their own, though also zero competency
at undoing all the fancy fastenings on Sirius's blasted trousers. He spends most of their time
in the air trying to wedge his hand down the front of them, but they're so sinfully tight, he
only manages to squeeze up to his knuckles, the very tips of his fingers stroking desperately
at the cock straining against the fabric.
It's certainly not the safest way to fly, and a younger Remus would have balked and
shied away the moment they took an unplanned dive and nearly took out the roof of a grain
silo as Sirius bucked against his hand. Unworried by their near-death experience, Remus
buries his face in his neck and noses aside his curtain of hair to place wet, open-mouthed
kisses on the sweaty, silken skin there. His nose fills with the smell of him, thick with arousal
and excitement, and only the sensation of them landing on the pebbled beach keeps Remus
from demanding they pull over now so he can haul him off and have his wicked way. It
wouldn't be the first time they shagged in a pasture...though their bovid audience had been
less than impressed.

Sirius parks the bike and Remus is on him as soon as the engine quiets, fists in his
hair, pushing him along their wooden walk-up and up against the front door. His kiss is
ravenous, his entire body strung tight with longing, and Sirius is laughing even as Remus
palms his erection. He was going to play along, but the ride home has worked him into a
frenzied state. The growling is now a foaming snarl and all he wants is Sirius writhing below
him, clothing optional.
The door unlocks at Sirius's surge of magic and they stumble through the entryway
and into their living room, connected at the mouth. Sirius zigs when Remus expects a zag,
and Remus runs into the high back of the sofa, toppling gracelessly over it with a muffled
thump and a hissed curse. Lightly bruised but altogether undeterred, he gets to his feet and
makes to grab at Sirius again, but... he's nowhere to be seen. Slippery fuck.

" Sirius ," he calls warningly, abandoning all pretense of patience along with his
nickname. It's downright foolish for Sirius to think he can just get away or hide from him --
he's lost every single game of hide-and-seek they’ve ever played. Remus can smell him, hear
his heart pounding, taste his lust in the air, and stalks into the kitchen after the scent trail,
ready to strip him down and bend him over the first available countertop.

He finds him, alright, but the sight he’s greeted with stops him cold. Sirius is leaning
sinuously against the island in the middle of the kitchen, his thighs spread invitingly and his
hair pulled over one shoulder again to show off his graceful neck. But it’s his chest that gives
Remus pause -- his robes and shirt are hanging off his sculpted shoulders and the waistcoat
has been cast off somewhere, and his perfect, pink nipples each have a titanium loop pushed
through them.
Remus swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, and his cock throbs painfully against his
fly. He advances -- slower, less predatory, and rests his hands on the firmness of his chest.
His thumbs are a breath away from the rings, but he waits, feels Sirius’s heartbeat quicken
under his palms. “ Sirius ,” he whispers, reverent.

He hasn’t seen the damned things in probably a decade, so how Sirius managed to get
them in at all was beyond him. Magic , probably , his last remaining brain cell prompted.
His mind is a chaotic discord of wanting to worship the body before him, wanting
to take the body before him, and wanting to ask a dozen questions. Sirius must’ve put them
in after they got dressed -- while Remus was stuffing his face with cold, sad sausages, he
thinks -- it was the only chance he would’ve gotten before they left. Sirius arches into his
touch with a fluttery sigh, and his nod is the only encouragement Remus needs.
Remus bends to get a better look and slides his thumbnails across each nipple, just
enough to graze the sensitive flesh. He tugs on the rings gently with his index finger and
thumb, coaxing soft moans from Sirius’s mouth that escalate when Remus bends even further
to lathe over the sensitive nubs with his tongue. He is but a pilgrim to the temple of Sirius’s
body, his sole focus the metallic tang of the ring in his mouth mixing with the coppery taste
rising from under Sirius’s skin as blood rushes to just below the surface, peppering the
surrounding pale flesh with red pinpoints.

“Kneel,” Sirius commands, voice a deep rumble that causes Remus to still in his
adoration. He’s brought back to his body, to the cock now leaking precome in his expensive
trousers, and to his aching spine and he releases Sirius’s nipple with a wet pop . He’s made
an absolute mess of the pair of them, all bruised and puffy now, and the sight of them, garish
and obscene on his pale, perfect chest, has Remus dropping to his knees. They creak and
crack and ache on the blue-and-white checkered tile below him, but Sirius whispers a spell
and the pain lessens as a cushioning charm forms, creating a much-needed buffer.

His hands encircle the fine-boned ankles bracketing his knees, and he traces each
angle of them in rapt fascination, lovely things that put his chewed-up bones to shame. Remus
looks up, greedily eying the bulge above him, up to the still-there cut of his Adonis belt, and
up the sleek lines of Sirius’s chest before sweeping his eyes back down via the steel-gray hair
that carves a sinful path from the sopping wet nipple rings to his waistband.

He swallows again -- this time a mouthful of saliva and oh, he’d be proper mortified
if he could hold a thought in his head beyond take , and forces himself to meet Sirius’s eyes.
The only light in their house is the heavy, fat moon outside the big bay window, and his eyes
are like literal starlight in its caress, an unearthly, ethereal iris around black-hole pupils.
Sirius’s promise from earlier echoes in his mind: ‘Gag you with my cock and come down
your throat,’ and Remus wants -- no, needs it.

Sirius buries one of his hands in the longer curls on top of Remus’s head and his rings
are cold against his scalp. The other hand cups his face along his jaw, fingers raking through
his short beard until his nails scrape his skin. “I’m in charge.” It’s a statement, a fact, more
to the wolf than to Remus, he knows. His tone brokers no room for argument and Remus
finds himself nodding, slamming the door on the furious barking in his skull because he
cannot imagine a single thing better than submitting to this god before him.

Sirius’s hands leave him and Remus whimpers pathetically at the loss of contact, his
head feeling suddenly very heavy, unsupported on his shoulders. He’s saved from the
frustration of undoing Sirius’s bottoms, though, as he deftly navigates through the ridiculous
fastenings keeping his cock from Remus. When the fabric starts to fall to the side and his
cock springs free -- he’d taken his sodding pants off, too, when he’d put the rings in, Remus
notices with a lurch -- Remus surges forward to take him in his mouth, but Sirius’s palm on
his forehead holds him back. “ Aesalon’s beak , Moony, let me get them all the way down
first,” he protests, laughing softly.
Remus waits, however impatiently, and Sirius’s hand lifts from his brow once he’s
stepped out of the black fabric and tossed them to the side. Remus inhales, the musky,
intoxicating scent of Sirius’s body flooding his nose and he holds it there, feeling his blood
rush and pulse in response. He looks at Sirius's cock, proud and flushed and leaking a little
at the ruddy head, and leans in. His tongue catches the clear precome first, a quick flick across
the top to collect it and he savors the salty viscosity of it. Wanting more, he delves his tongue
into the slit, but can’t keep himself from sliding his mouth down the rest of the way, taking
inch after inch of cock in his mouth until his nose collides with the coarse hair at its base.

After decades of practice in bathroom stalls, under stifling duvets, and in soft leather
armchairs with a cup of tea balanced precariously on the arm, his gag reflex is virtually gone,
but he still swallows instinctively around the intrusion in his throat. Sirius’s hand is back in
his hair and he grips the silvered curls as the walls of Remus’s throat clench around him.
“Fuck, Moony,” he moans, the noise bringing Remus to rut against the air fruitlessly. Remus
pulls back a fraction and dips back down, repeating the movement with increasing distance
intervals until he goes from the very tip down to the base in one fluid motion that has Sirius
wrenching his hair. He’s sure he’s lost a few strands to the rough treatment, but it only
encourages him, his entire world whittled down to the cock in his mouth.

With his tongue, he traces the ridge on the underside of the shaft, whirls it around to
relentlessly tease his frenulum until Sirius’s control slips and he grabs the back of Remus’s
head with both hands. Remus wraps his hands around Sirius’s muscular thighs and relaxes
his throat as Sirius starts to fuck into him. It’s not comfortable -- it’s not supposed to be, the
thick press down, in and out, increasingly brutal and frantic as Sirius draws close. Remus
breathes through his nose as best he can, his eyes tearing up from the pressure and the rawness
and he tries to encourage him, though it just comes out as garbled nonsense. The silence of
their house is interrupted only by the lewd slurping, Sirius’s grunted warning -- "Moony,
fuck!" -- and then his low, gratified moan as he comes down Remus’s throat in warm, thick
spurts.
He pulls out slowly, his cock still dribbling come that beads against Remus’s mouth,
and when Remus looks up through tear-clumped eyelashes, he’s truly the most beautiful thing
Remus has ever seen, scarlet-flagged cheeks and blown-out pupils behind half-lowered lids.
Tender fingers brush away the salty tears from under his eyes, guide him to his feet, and
Sirius kisses him, lapping his come off of Remus’s cock-swollen mouth with a satisfied sigh.
Remus remembers he’s still fully dressed when he wipes the saliva off his chin with
the back of his hand, streaking their finery with spit. Sirius links their fingers together and
switches places with Remus, moving him to stand against the island instead.

“Let’s get these off of you,” Sirius coos, his barbed wire demeanor now cotton-
covered in the wake of his orgasm. He carefully removes the outer robes from Remus’s
shoulders and sends them gliding gracefully to drape across the other side of the island with
Sirius’s, though at what point he finished taking his clothes off, Remus has no clue. He
prompts the cufflinks out from his wrists with a simple twitch of his fingers, but Sirius
unbuttons Remus’s vest and still-crisp shirt without magic, nearly two minutes stretching
between them as he works open every tiny, tedious button by hand. Remus is trembling by
the time his chest is exposed to the air, and Sirius seems quite satisfied with his handiwork,
smirking smugly at him. "Desperate, are we, Moony?" he baits.
Irked and prompted by the sudden return of the growling in his head, Remus’s hand
lashes out and grabs a handful of his perfect, miraculous, proof-of-the-gods arse and uses it
as leverage to pitch his hips forward, dragging his still-painfully-clothed-and-hard cock along
Sirius’s hip.
Firm fingers grab his chin and he’s met with a frigid glare that shakes his core. “ No. ”
Sirius's other hand wraps around Remus’s wrist and removes it from his arse after a
momentary struggle of wills -- Remus lets him, rather, but the sentiment is the same. “I’m in
charge,” he reminds, staring Remus -- the wolf -- down until he’s satisfied it’s subsided.

There’s not always this constant back-and-forth between them, this battle for
dominance, though it appears to come in waves. The first time was when Remus turned
twenty, when they were living in their postage stamp of a flat in Muggle London. All he felt
like doing for nearly two months solid was bending Sirius over anything he could find and
shagging him until he couldn’t speak, which...they were twenty, it was fun, easy, exciting.
They chalked it up to environmental stress , long stretches of time away as they did missions
for the Order, and the general lustiness of youth.
 The second wave was when Remus was forty, and after two weeks of enduring an
amorous werewolf hounding his every move, Sirius had thrown a right strop -- had
complained he was too old to be accosted and buggered at all phases of the moon. He was
just being dramatic, of course, used to a more placid Remus who returned home from
teaching tired and more inclined to a quick hand job before bed, but remarked by the end of
that two-month stretch that it was a vast improvement to their sex life.
After all that, though, it didn't seem entirely coincidental, so they’d worked out a set
of rules, guidelines to follow, like now. Remus assumed the next resurgence would be when
he turned sixty, to follow a pattern, but he had no one to consult. Simply put, werewolves
rarely lived past forty-five, and there wasn’t exactly a wealth of research to be had on sexual
aggression in homosexual male werewolves. So, at fifty-six and feeling the old pull towards
an assertion of dominance, he knows he'll have to make a conscious effort to tether the wolf.
Sirius’s hands find his waistband and Remus’s breath hitches in his chest. “Please,”
he whispers, trying not to buck into him again, trying to be good.

Sirius smirks and drags his fingers across the bulge, pulling them away with a look
of pleasant surprise. “ Sopping ,” he comments, and Remus looks down at the wet spot he’s
made with the amount of precome that’s accumulated. “Oh you’re down bad with it, aren’t
you, Moony?” he taunts, nipping at his earlobe. “Need me to let you out of these so you can
fuck yourself on my tongue?”

He’s whining before he’s nodding, fervently. “Yes, please,” Remus pants, too gone to
feel ashamed or embarrassed. With the cooling charms from the vest gone, he’s starting to
sweat, can feel his temperature rising back to its normal fever, and its return makes him light-
headed.

“Hmm,” Sirius considers, though he’s working open the intricate hooks and laces
while he speaks, each motion easing the pressure he's been shackled with all night, “Should
I lick you out or suck your cock? Which is it, Moony?” he asks, tilting his head a little to the
side in a mockery of innocent wonder.
Remus groans, but already knows his choice. He hasn't been able to shake the thought
of Sirius's tongue inside of him ever since that first barely-there whisper. "Lick me," he
mewls, and nearly comes right then and there when finally , his cock is freed. He sobs, a
sound borne from his very core as Sirius's ringed fingers close around his shaft and start to
stroke. He's close already and shakes his head wildly, desperate. "N-nhhngn, close, Sirius,"
he squeaks, chasing his orgasm without control, closer and closer and almost cresting until -
-

"No." Sirius's hand flies off his cock and he leers up at him, the very picture of control
to Remus's trembling disaster. Sirius tilts his head up and grazes his perfectly straight teeth
across Remus's earlobe. "You tortured me for three days, stomping about in those slaggy
shorts you know I'm mad for. You don't get to come so easily."

Remus grinds into empty air and tries to grab Sirius's hand to yank him back, but the
hard, warning look in his eyes quells his fevered grasping. Sirius graciously divests him of
the rest of his clothes, guides his sore feet out of the polished leather shoes, coaxes the soft
socks off until Remus stands there naked as the day he was born, save for the golden band
on his left hand. He looks at Sirius, not down his own body, not interested in seeing the
doubled-up scars gnarling his thighs or the narrowness of his torso that defies reason -- he's
not even at his thinnest yet, that's for the day after -- but drinking in the utterly mind-numbing
beauty of his husband, kneeling, washed in moonsilver.
He's so enraptured, he loses himself in thought, words swirling together like road oil
on rainwater, vaguely iridescent and mystifying. "Of snow upon the mountains and the
moors," Remus rasps, his raw and ragged from the punishing cock down it minutes before.
He thrills in Sirius's smile, bringing a lightness to his predatory face as he quotes Keats
at him , and luxuriates in the hot slide of Sirius's hands as they roam over his mangled ankles,
his calves, his bony knees, up the scar-slicked light-rail to Remus's thigh, his jutting hip
bones, artfully around the swollen First Bite, and settling on his rib cage. His palms are
smooth and though his cock has not been touched again, it curves upwards in its urgency,
throbbing between his legs.
Sirius pulls him close, their chests together in a clash of chest hair, of the purest white
on rich, sunkissed tan-and-silver, and Remus is putty in his arms. His hands find their home
in Sirius's hair, and he swiftly removes the circular clasp to let the ponytail fall, heavy and
fragrant, around Sirius's shoulders. Remus wriggles his fingers along the plait he'd done
earlier and works it apart until the rest of his hair joins the cascade, a lion's mane of
gracefully-aged majesty. He curls his fingers around thick hunks of it and begs Sirius closer
still, rewarded by the heated press of his cock on his thigh and the slick slide of his tongue
into his waiting mouth.

"Go find somewhere I can bend you over and taste you," Sirius commands in the
smallest space between their lips, and Remus shivers in anticipation. It's actually quite a tall
order -- their height difference bending Remus over anything rather complicated -- and
requires a fraction more brain power than he has on-hand after everything he's been through
tonight, but he stumbles out of the kitchen in a lust-drunk haze. He trails his fingers along
the walls to keep him steady and though he can't see Sirius, he can hear his footfalls behind
him, soft as night.

In some corner of his mind, he remembers: the desk . Struck giddy with inspiration,
he takes the stairs with renewed, energized steps, though the bobbing of his cock is not
entirely pleasant in the climb. He turns into one of their spare rooms -- never filled with a
child of their own surrogate-bloomed genetics, Harry was more than enough -- and faces the
handsome, cherrywood piece of furniture with unbridled excitement.

It's just a writing desk, at first glance, but it's actually the perfect height, of everything
they own, for Sirius to properly bend Remus over. It was a cheeky anniversary present from
Remus to Sirius, who bemoaned Remus's nonsensical height at every opportunity, who had
to use boosting charms to line up just right if he wanted to take Remus from behind. Remus
found the desk at a shop and ran a series of measuring charms on it, and when he unveiled it
for Sirius complete with his very self lubed up and on display, they'd been nigh inseparable
for days. Remus even had to owl in for a stand-in professor after, claiming illness, caught in
the fever of ardor.
There were other ways to shag, of course, and other positions in which Sirius could
eat him out, but this felt the most... right, in the moment. And now, as he stretches his too-
hot skin face-down across the cool, hard expanse, Remus realizes the desk has never even
been used for writing .

"Something funny, Moony?" Sirius is behind him, his thighs pressing into the backs
of Remus's, his cock a tease against his arse.
Remus shakes his head ardently and smothers his smile into the black leather inlay in
the center. He arches his back a little and they gasp together when Sirius's cock catches
between his cheeks. Sirius's hand presses on his spine, a calm warning, and he flattens once
more.
Sirius pulls back and Remus hears the desk chair roll across the floor, clattering along
the wood before the leather cushion exhales airily under Sirius's weight. His fingers trace a
scar that divides one of his arse cheeks and Remus jolts -- ticklish. "Circe's rapture," Sirius
croons, his breath now at the dip of his spine. "Absolutely stunning, laid out for me, waiting
for me to pick apart that calm, composed exterior and turn you into a needy, dripping hole
for me to fuck. Is that it, Moony? Is that what you want?"
He makes a noise somewhere between a strangled cry and a whine as Sirius speaks,
as his fingers continue their trek across his backside. Remus has been brought off many times
to just this, the sound of Sirius whispering filthy threats and sordid promises in his ear, and
it's nearly gotten him there now, his cock leaving a puddle of need atop the polished wooden
surface of the desk. "Y-yesss," he hears himself speak, and reaches back to spread himself
open with both hands. His shoulders protest with deep squeaks below his skin, bone-on-
nearly-bone, as the position forces them into an uncomfortable press on the desk, but it's
worth the discomfort. He's needed this all bloody night.

The chair groans and Remus hears the slide of palm on cock and Sirius's feathered
moan. "Ah, fuck, Moony," are the last words from his mouth before he sets to work. Sirius
doesn't muck about -- he gets right to it, licking a broad stripe down Remus's cleft that has
his blood coming alive, blazing through his veins like fiendfyre in a dry field, swirling his
tongue around his rim like it's a sugar-coated cocktail glass. He delves that wicked, barbed
tongue of his past the tight furl of muscle and Remus can hardly breathe, let alone think, as
minutes of lurid slurping and Sirius's puffing exhales echo in the room. He tries a few
experimental jerks of his hips, causing his weeping cock to slide sinfully slick across the
desk, but Sirius holds him in place with his free hand.
He knows he could easily best Sirius in a physical bout, break free of his binding hand
and take his pleasure how he sees fit, but there's something so damn erotic about taking
control of himself and bending to Sirius's will. It's the only way this works, the understanding
that if Remus is at all pliant and cowed so close to the full moon that it is entirely a conscious
decision. He knows Sirius has no illusions about their actual power dynamics, and the fact
that he still readily engages in playful dust-ups and attempts at dominance are a testament to
his love of Remus's mind and body. They challenge each other, complement their vast
differences, two bright celestial bodies in the night sky.

Remus feels saliva drip down from his hole and over his balls and shivers. Sirius has
never been neat, and he moans into Remus like he's the best thing he's ever tasted in his life.
He doesn't expect eloquence from him in this moment -- Sirius's sharp wit turns to tongue-
tied wool when they're in the actual heat of it all -- but he doesn't need it, he can feel the
thrum of Sirius's excitement and utter joy that he gets from plucking Remus apart at the
seams.

And apart he goes, fraying, unfurled ends of his sanity escaping with each timed thrust
of his tongue, and Remus grasps the edges of the desk in desperation. "Sirius!" he warns,
hardly more than a yelp as his balls draw up tight, the coil tightening and tightening and
tightening until--
"God fucking damn you ," he sobs as Sirius jerks away from him with one last
salacious slurp. His whole body grieves the loss, his hole clenching around the sudden
nothingness, and he bangs his forehead into the desk's surface in frustration.
Sirius's almost-cruel laugh lashes his back, hitting him like a damp towel. It's so full
of self-satisfaction that Remus almost loses his carefully-held control. "Ooo, a Muggle swear
that time, you were close," Sirius marvels, dragging his finger through the pool of sweat at
the base of Remus's spine and up the rigid ridged column before coming to rest in his hair,
the desk chair rolling noisily with him.
"Three days, Moony," he repeats, his voice a gravelly growl that has his whole body
quaking for it. "Could see your fucking cock over your waistband for three. Fucking. Days."
He punctuates the last three words with increasing pressure on the back of his neck, his nails
biting into the delicate skin.
 It's a primal, animalistic feeling it evokes, having his nape clenched and shook, and
his control unravels, snaps. The wolf rallies once again and Remus flips with vicious speed
as he springs off of the desk and into Sirius's lap. They teeter for a moment of imbalance
before the chair topples over with both of them in it. Remus grunts on impact, bares his teeth
and sinks them into Sirius's shoulder with a snarl. And oh it feels good, the firm flesh in his
mouth, the surprised shout of pain that fills his ears, the body next to him
almost almost submitting.
But then that hand on his nape tightens and a second grips the crest of Remus's hair
and together they pull him back and Remus is pinned by mercurial, lightning-in-a-bottle
eyes.
"I'm in charge," Sirius grounds out between his own gritting teeth. For a fleeting
moment, Remus thinks he sees his hair flick into triangular dog ears and maybe his teeth look
a little sharper, longer, but it's dark in this room and perhaps his eyes aren't what they used to
be. He does feel Sirius's magic lash out and rattle a few books from their shelves on either
side of him, and in the wake of his accidental magic, Remus the Man finds the helm once
more.
"You're in charge," he repeats, nodding, eyes watering from the hold in his hair but
his whole body responding readily to Sirius's control. Sirius's chiseled chin is still glistening
with saliva from the long minutes spent buried in his arse, and Remus longs to lap it off, to
taste himself on that carved-from-marble face and set it to rights. "Fuck me, please," Remus
pleads, needing it, now more than ever. If he could only come , he could descend from the
cliffs of madness Sirius has worked up him along, he could finally begin to settle from the
foaming, churning, raging sea of lust that crashes in his brain.
Sirius huffs in his ear, a short sort of laugh filled with promise, and he loosens his
hold on Remus's neck, though his fingers run maddeningly sublime circles on the hollow
between his strained tendons, catching the edges of two separate scars in the journey around
the circumference of his mindless whirl. "Get back on the desk. Face-up." He catches his lips
in a kiss that makes Remus want to beg, please won't you just shag me here, on the floor, in
the toppled chair? , but he complies.
Extricating himself from their tangle of limbs and chair parts is not entirely easy, and
his old joints have struck up a new round of raucous protest from the cruelty of his own
actions, but Remus eventually sorts which bits are his and slinks back to the desk. He sits on
the far edge and scoots back, his long legs still flat-footed on the cool, wooden floorboards.
He watches Sirius, the way his body moves with a fluid grace Remus has always envied,
even when they were coltish boys, watches the bend of his knees -- Merlin, were they lovely
knees -- as he gets to his feet. He watches the flex of his thighs once as big around with
muscle as Remus's entire waist but are now leaner but still strong and defined, covered in
downy black hairs that stand on end under Remus's watchful eye. Sirius finds his home
between Remus's spread knees, and the coolness of his skin against his own thighs, burning
hot, causes Remus to whimper.

"Oh Moony," Sirius purrs, gliding his fingertips along the scarred expanse of Remus's
ropy legs, following scarpaths he knows by heart without having to look. "So fucking
beautiful, aren't you? Do you know how hard it was to watch you flit around a room full of
people, laughing with Mary and my blasted cousins?" His cock bumps against Remus's and
he takes them both in-hand, heedless to Remus's surprised shout and helpless writhing.
"Founders help me, Moony, that was a bigger cock tease than your damned shorts." The
strokes along his shaft are magnified by the hardness of the many rings on his fingers and the
solid press of Sirius's cock and Remus pants, bucking his hips up into the circle of his fist in
fervor. "Watching all those rich pureblood toffs eyeing you up like a piece of meat, knowing
I get to take you home because you're mine ." He releases Remus's cock and Remus shuts his
eyes and tries to catch his breath, heart at a full gallop in his chest and threatening to run off-
track.

He hears them, the sharp click of metal rings being placed one-by-one on the wood
near his head, and as each adornment is cast off, Remus's need spikes -- one-two, three
four five , six -- how many more? -- seven… Seven. He's left his wedding band on, then, and
warmth blooms in his chest, oddly soft and lovely amid the fire that threatens to overwhelm.
Sirius loops his hands under Remus's thighs and hoists them up until the backs of his
knees rest over his sturdy shoulders. His feet are poor companions to the beauty of his back,
Remus is sure, but the whispered spell Sirius kisses against his knee is titillating, and the
press of a magically-lubed finger against his tongue-loosened rim glues Remus's impatient
tongue to the roof of his mouth. It's an easy insertion, not even a stretch, but he takes pleasure
in it as it works him open deeper than Sirius's tongue could reach. This prep is hardly
necessary, not when Remus's arse is as used to Sirius's cock as the winter nights are long, but
he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it all the same.

He's rewarded for his patience and docility with a second finger, longer than the first,
making him stretch just a little in the welcome, barely-there burn. "Made for this, weren't
you, mon loup ," Sirius hisses into his inner thigh, teeth nipping the sensitive skin that lines
it. Remus trembles and nods, the ill-used pet name rendering him gloriously mute. Sirius toys
with him, deliberately skirting around the bundle of nerves he knows the route to like his
own name, and Remus knows it, his body tensing when he gets almost there so close and
then shuddering when he pulls his fingers back and away.

The third finger makes it inevitable though, as Remus's rim stretches eagerly around
it, his body greedily pulling the fingers back into him before Sirius can properly withdraw.
The come-hither rasp along his prostate is what he's imagined heaven to be like, in his
boyhood musings of theology, lighting up the pleasure center of his brain and turning him
slack-jawed and gasping under Sirius's capable hands. He opens his eyes just a crack as the
fingers retreat, and he's met with the ravenous face of his husband from between his knees,
his bottom lip in a vicious clamp twixt his fine teeth as he watches his fingers disappear into
the needy body.

"Je veux tu basier, mon loup," Sirius simmers, his eyelashes fluttering closed over his
eyes as he reclaims his fingers for his own. I want to fuck you, my wolf . Remus clenches his
knees against him -- for loss of the fullness, for his brain short-circuiting at the French that
only flows when Sirius is well and truly trying to get to him, their mutual tongue learned at
the teat but bastardized over years of second meanings and whispered in heated moments, far
cries from the elegant use Sirius's parents intended of it or the scholarly employ Remus's
mother wished for.
Before he can reply, which is really for the best because his mind is a fog of snarls
and a jumble of human dialects -- English-French-Latin-Greek -- that would probably be
translated into something entirely meaningless, Sirius sheathes himself inside of his body
with one, fluid thrust of his hips. Remus’s spine bends like a bow, arching off the desk in
response to the sudden, wonderful, unholy fullness of it all, and out his mouth tumbles a
guttural moan of rightness , pulled from his very depths.
Sirius is not rough with him, as he half-expected he'd be after their repeated vies for
dominance, but takes his hands in his own, tangling them together on his sternum as he fucks
into him. Remus clutches to those hands like a liferaft as he's swept up into the swell of his
rhythm, drowning amid the sound of slapping skin and breaths that blend in the liminal space
between them, the roar of his blood in his ears and the happy, pleased rumbling in his mind
of the wolf who is finally getting what it wanted.
The head of Sirius’s cock batters into the small bundle of nerves with each passing
stroke and Remus's entire body responds by ratcheting tighter, making Sirius work hard to
pull out in the backswing of his thrusts. Sweat pools on every joined surface, slick but not
cooling in the least. Remus feels himself sliding backwards on the desk as Sirius's pistoning
hips uptick in force, but Sirius draws him back flush with his hands on his shoulders. "Look
at me, Moony," he encourages, voice like gargled stones, and Remus obeys, tearing his eyes
away from those ungodly rings in his nipples, away from his own name inked just above one
of them, and into his eyes. Sirius moans, meeting them, he who has always had a fascination
with their goldenrod color, and his thrusts turn decidedly frantic.

Pleasure coils again, though it's never fully unwound, a tight, painful build deep in
him after two close calls. His cock is trapped between them as Sirius leans in to get a better
look at his face, and Remus knows he is lost to this, the swelling euphoria that bubbles with
each punch of the cock inside him. He needs to release, but after being denied twice, he's
afraid of a third, so he begs. "Mon étoile," he hitches, and Sirius's cock twitches mightily in
him at the name, "please let me come, let me please, Sirius." He babbles, runs headlong into
another string of praises that keens into a high-pitched whine when Sirius grabs his hips,
heedless of the First Bite mark stretching across Remus's torso like a brand, pounding into
him like a man possessed.

"Come for me, Remus," Sirius rumbles, and the employ of his name sends Remus
stumbling off the edge. His whole body pulls tight as the orgasm is ripped from him, and his
cock spills six thick strands of white between their stomachs in harmony with Remus's
convulsions. It's rare they actually crest together, but Sirius thrashes against him with a
broken cry of "Moony" on his lips, and Remus grinds down against him as the warmth fills
his body.

Driven by what external energy source, Remus cannot begin to fathom, Sirius pulls
out and hauls Remus into his arms like an oversized doll, their chests mashed together and
Remus's gangly limbs around his waist. He walks them, dripping sweat and lube and come
on the floor, down the long hallway to their bathroom. The garden tub fills for them readily,
steaming water scented with lavender and eucalyptus for muscle relief, and Sirius lowers
them both into it without dropping him, for which Remus is grateful. Two unplanned falls is
enough for one night, thank you.
He's never felt small, not since he was actually a small boy, but in the protective circle
of Sirius's arms in their enormous bathtub, he feels positively tiny. His knees are drawn up to
his chest as he curls into Sirius's front, each muzzy kiss planted to his sweat-soaked curls like
an affirmation of devotion. Sirius's legs cradle him on either side, encasing Remus in a cage
of him , the only one he's never minded being in.

An hour of indulgent soaking later finds them stretched across a pillowy quilt on the
beach, wrapped in luxurious, fluffy bath robes. Sirius's is spelled to the very threads to keep
out the winter's chill, but Remus's natural internal furnace has his own skin steaming where
it's exposed to the frozen late-November air. A cigarette passes between them, lazily handed
off with the brush of fingers as the tide ebbs a few feet away.
Sirius leans over and offers a slice of sausage from the plate between them, another
offering from their house as if in response to the subconscious will of its master. Remus takes
it happily, the greasy tribute a satisfying addition to the three others resting in his belly, and
he nips cheekily at Sirius's fingertips as he withdraws.

"You're wanting another go, then, Moony?" Sirius teases him lightly, his thumb
smearing more than clearing the splattered grease across Remus's lower lip.
"Oh I'm ‘Moony’, now, am I?" Remus taunts, not hiding how his legs instinctively
fall open at the prospect. At Sirius's pause of confusion, he elaborates. Sex always has made
him a bit dumb. "You've called me Remus twice in less than a fortnight." He takes Sirius's
lingering thumb in his mouth and revels in the quickening of his husband's breath, smokey
and visible in the night air.
 "Would you rather I called you Remus?" Sirius asks, pushing his thumb further into
Remus's mouth, tracing the sharp lines of his incisors before withdrawing to let him answer.

He's silent for a while, organizing his thoughts, smoking the stolen-back cigarette as
he thinks. Sirius has literally never asked him that -- in the middle of their second year at
Hogwarts, the name had caught on like wildfire between their three friends, and Sirius hadn’t
even thought to ask Remus if he liked it -- which had been typical of his brashness back then.

"Only two people still call me Moony," Remus reflects, his heart twisting just a little.
He finishes their cigarette and Vanishes it before crawling over and into Sirius's lap. His robe
hikes up on either side of his legs and he unties the belt holding Sirius's closed, feeling his
hardness against the curve of his arse. Perfect. He slides his hands under the protective robes
and around his neck, under his heavy, bathwater-damp hair, idly tracing the 'R.A.B.' at his
hairline without much intent.

Sirius kisses him, his tongue chasing the taste of the cigarettes and sausages on Remus
until he's left with nothing but the imprint of Sirius in his mouth. "Moony it is, then," Sirius
murmurs against his lips. Latin utters from one or both of them, it’s hard to say, and Sirius
lifts him up gently by his waist and seats him back on his cock in such a fluid glide, Remus
wonders if he ever left at all.

There's no rush in their resumed embrace, just feathery sighs lost to the sound of the
ocean, and when they meet their peak together once more, faces lined with pleasure all-
consuming, Remus stays seated, his face flush against the blue veins of Sirius's neck, content
to just be.
 Heatwave
Chapter 1
Remus went to sleep with a pale arm slung over his stomach and a slender ankle
hooked around the back of his knee, like always, but he wakes up alone and...hot.

Very hot.
He opens his eyes in miniscule increments to allow his sensitive irises time to adjust
to the late-morning sun, eyes that far preferred the moon's illumination in a dark forest to the
brashness of the day star. The window through which it streams has been intentionally left
ajar to allow the ocean breeze in -- a childhood proclivity of Remus’s that Sirius humors in
the summer months. There’s no breeze wafting in today, though, just the sound of the tide
lapping at the sands and the occasional seagull squalling nearby.
Sweat has soaked the sheets to uncomfortable moistness under his body and Remus
frowns -- it’s really hot. The thin, white shirt he sometimes sleeps in has gone nearly
transparent, matted to his sweat-damped chest hair, and the hand he rakes through his silvered
hair comes back decidedly wet. Ugh.
Sirius is missing from the dip in the mattress beside him, but a quick glance at
the tempus on their nightstand tells him everything he needs to know. It’s gone eleven
o’clock, and Sirius was due at Grimmauld Place for brunch with their godson half an hour
ago. His scent is still fresh in the room and when he focuses his sleep-muzzy senses, Remus
can still smell the smoke from their Floo downstairs. He’d left late, Remus notes with a wry
grin -- probably couldn’t decide what to wear, nevermind that he spent nearly thirty minutes
last night rifling through their wardrobe looking for something that Harry wouldn't balk at,
but would also rifle the posh sensibilities of their son-in-law and his cousins. Fifty-six years
old, and Sirius was still a terror.
Remus had been invited to brunch as well, of course, but after over six hundred full
moons -- one stopped bothering with specifics after a while -- they take a bit more time to
bounce back from. He's not a young man anymore, whatever Sirius may tell him, and his
aging body is still feeling the brunt of the Transformation now two days later.
He yawns, his jaw clicking and still feeling a bit too short, too human, and he
stretches, grimacing as his body peels wetly from the ruined sheets. Disgusting.

He taps a four-point rhythm on the limewood nightstand and three figures scrawl
across the surface for him in a modern, bold font: temperature: 33°C (91.4°F), wind: 0 kmph,
humidity: 91%. Remus groans, absolutely revolted by the weather readings, and attempts to
smother himself with a pillow. It only serves to make him hotter, but it smells so wonderfully
of Sirius that he endures the suffocating barrier for a moment longer than he normally would
before finally sitting upright.
 What a miserable day.

Even in the saturated embrace of July, as it was now, Seaford rarely got above
24°(75F) which was, in Remus's opinion, one of its many charms. Being a 'werewolf inferno',
as Sirius so delicately put it, meant he always motored along at a fevered temperature, so
East Sussex's ruinous, unforgiving winters were a fair trade-off for cool, comfortable
summers, but this… this was ridiculous. The Muggles were onto something with their Global
Warming, he was sure of it.

He stands to a chorus of popping joints, his limbs still not quite used to being back in
bipedal form. He’s not done a considerable amount of damage to himself this time, thanks to
nearly an entire side of beef eaten over the course of the day and his weekly course of
Wolfsbane. Though the potion allows him to retain his mind and thus stops the self-mutilation
he suffered through in his youth, the pain of the actual Transformation between man and wolf
drives him to rend his own flesh from the agony. Six hundred and some-odd moons, and it
never gets easier. Today, the deep bite marks on his wrist and shoulder no longer bleed, but
are red, scabbing, and bruised annoyances. His muscles are another story -- they’ll stay ripped
and soundlessly screaming for another day or two while his body tries to knit itself back
together.
Remus strips the soaked shirt from his back, shimmies out of the snitch-emblemed
boxers, and pads out into the humid hallway. Despite the temperature outside,
it still shouldn’t be so hot in here -- they were wizards, weren't they, and they’d only put
about a thousand-and-one bloody cooling charms on this place when they moved in.
He pauses at the top of the stairs and sighs -- that had been some thirty-five years ago
now, he realizes with a pang of misery that comes when one remembers just how old they
are. Grumbling to himself about aging people and aging spells and the absolute unfairness of
it all, Remus fetches his wand from the dresser before walking through the entire house. He
performs detecting charms in every corner of the house, each room revealing that yes, indeed,
there were once cooling charms here, but that they are no longer active.
Well, fuck.

He hauls himself to the kitchen where a large pot of tea waits under a stasis charm,
and there’s a note in Sirius’s slanting script spello-taped to his favorite mug: ‘Cooling’s
fucked. Gone to Hell. Bring you back a muffin. - XXX Pdft.’
Remus smiles, scoffing lightly at his prose. Hell, indeed. Even under Harry and
Draco’s tender, loving care, Grimmauld Place remains a place of bad memories for Sirius.
He’s admitted, under great duress, that it’s ‘not so bad now’, but denies it at every turn. Still,
anything for their boy.
The tea is scalding, but Remus endures the additional fire in his veins to drink it --
he’s not likely to put ice in it, after all, and it’s an integral part of his post-moon morning
routine: wake up, bemoan his existence, drink at least two cups of tea, shower, and then eat
whatever he can keep down. He decides to drink his tea while leaning into the open freezer -
- which still has working freezing charms on it, being a relatively new purchase -- and if it’s
a bit silly, well, it’s near boiling out, isn’t it? No one's around to see him, anyway. Dignity
preserved.
His two cups knocked back, Remus makes the laborious climb back up the stairs,
gripping the railing with slippery palms. Another spello-taped note greets him, this one stuck
to the glass of the shower: ‘Shower’s fucked, too. Old as Merlin’s saggy balls, sorry
Mooncake. Running so late. Will fix when I get back. - XXX Pdft.’

Remus sighs and splashes tap water from the sink onto his face and down his neck
but it's warm from the ambient heat and does very little to cool him down. He considers
crawling back into bed, but he’d be just as miserable -- if not more -- in a room without
moving air, so back down the stairs he goes, legs burning with each and every step.

He dithers around the first floor of the house before remembering, with a flicker of
joy and a brief berating of his senior moment -- the ceiling fan. Remus walks to the living
room with a bit more pep in his arthritic step and sighs in audible relief at the feeling of
circulating air.

Polaris Cove is powered entirely by magic, something Remus fought Sirius on

vehemently but eventually submitted to when Sirius pointed out that having electricity would
require a reliance on the Muggle world, which would then interfere with their wards, wards
that were critical to the safety of their boy. Not to mention, even well-integrated wizarding
homes still had weird stuff happening as electricity met magic, and they didn't need the added
fuss.

But the ceiling fan! The ceiling fan was a stroke of genius on Remus's part, if he said
so himself -- and he did -- powered by a modified pot-stirring charm, and has been in Polaris
Cove for two months.
It’s still hot, though, and he’s still sweating, even when sprawled out like a starfish
on the floor. He watches the ceiling fan spin tirelessly above him, blades soundlessly slicing.
It pushes the heat-swollen air around valiantly, but he gets no relief.
An hour later, Sirius steps gracefully through the Floo in a burst of emerald flames.
Remus hasn't moved from his spot, and his husband nearly trips over Remus’s endless legs
and swears colorfully as he hops one-legged to the side to avoid falling on him. “Warn a
bloke, Moony!” he cries, laughing, crashing into the sofa. Remus looks at him without
moving his head -- too hot to do that -- and graces him with the smallest of smiles. He's come
back smelling like Harry, mostly, and he's missed that.
“Cooling’s fucked,” he parrots the eloquently-worded note, not missing the
appreciative look Sirius casts his naked body.
 Relentless. It’s flattering.

“So it is,” Sirius agrees with a solemn nod. He holds up a brown paper bag that smells
of baked goods and ham. “Upped the ante as payment for my horrible magical oversight,” he
says, procuring two chocolate muffins and a ceramic bowl with chopped ham inside. Sirius
joins him on the floor, terribly overdressed in a black button-up and tight jeans that he’s
probably a little too old for. He kicks off his boots, sending them sprawling across the rug,
and pops a piece of ham into Remus’s waiting mouth with his fingers.

"How was brunch?" Remus asks lightly, biting back a grin at Sirius's annoyed tut.
"The boys are good, but Narcissa was a cow -- no surprise. She implied I was going
gray -- me! I'll bet under her potion-platinum she's got ugly wires." Sirius gestures about
wildly with his hands, his golden wedding band the only adornment he wears today. Remus
stuffs a large bite of muffin into his mouth to keep from laughing at the ridiculousness of it
all.
Sirius was going gray and has been for a few years now. His hairline was still the
noble, unwavering, regal line of the House of Black, but it definitely has a few bolts of white
running through it. Sirius has clung triumphantly to his long hair all these years and endures
Remus’s gentle teasing that it’s the last bit of pureblood fancifulness he can’t quite shake.

"It's more... silver, I'd say," Remus supplies, unable to hold back any longer.
Sirius squawks and snatches the half-eaten muffin from his clutches. "You're
supposed to be on my side, Moony!" He wags his left ring finger at him imperiously.
"Sickness, health, delusions of vanity!"
Remus laughs, his sides protesting the effort, but reaches over to link their pinkies
together, an old, familiar gesture they always circle back to. "Of course, my sincerest
apologies, Mr. Lupin. You are as handsome, nay, more handsome than when we first met.
You remain as radiant as the sun and Adonis himself would weep at your feet."

Sirius's jaw drops a little, his cheeks coloring a fetching shade of pink. He gets hold
of himself and replaces his stunned look with a triumphant smirk. "Too right, Mr. Lupin!" he
chirps, wearing his narcissism like a cloak.

With Sirius’s help, Remus makes quick work of the offerings, and licks the last bit of
chocolate crumb from his fingers. “Oi, Moony, dangerous waters you’re sailing towards,”
Sirius teases with just a hair of breathlessness as he reclaims the use of his hand.
Remus manages a wink, but even the idea of a snog in this heat makes him want to
bury his head back in the freezer, and he resumes watching the spinning of the fan. Right.
They need to put up the charms again, only...it had been a while. After a few seconds spent
in discomfort and wounded pride over a failed attempt to remember, he looks back at Sirius.
“Do… you remember how to do a cooling charm?”
“...”

“So that’s a ‘no’.”

“Not-- not a no , just a…” Sirius trails off, screwing up his face in concentration as
he desperately tries to recall something they learned over forty years ago. “Um… Well, I
could--”

“You are not casting a made-up spell in our house!” Remus cuts him short, eyes wide
but severe. Sirius was notorious for slinging Latin at-will when the proper incantation failed
him and had, over the course of nearly half a century of friendship, caused an excessive
amount of damage to life, limb, and property.

Sirius climbs to his feet with a sigh and no small amount of creaking knees and
brushes nonexistent dust from his jeans. “Fine , Professor Lupin, no made-up spells,” he
acquiesces, pulling a face Remus has seen a hundred times on his students. “Guess I’ll read
a book, ugh. Proper swot I am.” Sirius looks thoroughly disgusted by the notion of reading a
textbook at his age.

Remus, meanwhile, his belly full and feeling sluggish from the oppressive heat and
the amount of energy his body devotes to healing, dozes off on the floor.
When he wakes, the sun's glow in the house is warmer, mid-afternoon, and Sirius is
leaning against their unlit hearth with a book in his hands. He somehow manages to look cool,
despite inhabiting the same space as Remus. His hair is wet from a recent bath and he's
changed into weather-suitable casual clothing, but though Remus knows he has to be
sweating, his cheeks aren't flushed. 'Purebloods don't perspire ,' a 12-year-old Sirius had
sneered at him at the end of their First Year. He'd been a little shit then, still under his family's
influence with their fucked up blood purity ideals, and had picked up on Remus's insecurities
like a bloodhound, teased him for sweating through his secondhand robes. Remus smiles
faintly at the memory of the little scion who just wanted to be accepted.

He watches as Sirius reads up on climate charms again, delicate gold reading glasses
perched on the end of his beautiful, still-straight nose. Sirius's quick, gray eyes dart across
the pages and for a moment, he considers joining him in his research-- Remus feels the loss
of the knowledge more poignantly than Sirius, he knows, but consoles himself with what
he does know.

He knows that Sirius hates those damn glasses, that he made a huge fuss about them
when the Healers told him they were necessary for any sort of reading activity. He knows
that Sirius tried avoiding reading, after, which was ludicrous -- days spent squinting at street
signs and asking Remus for the latest news, still a stubborn child in his mid-fifties.
 He knows that, after he relented to the idea of wearing them, Sirius bought the most
insignificant pair he could tolerate and then spent another week trying not to cry because
even decades later, glasses equal Prongs to the lonely boy inside of him and he still misses
his brother.
He also knows that Sirius hates the ceiling fan. He's never said it out loud, but just
last week, Remus walked in on Padfoot chasing the thing until he fell over, dizzy and
disoriented and annoyed. Even now, he casts a reproachful eye up at the whirling blades,
clearly doubtful of their intent to remain affixed. Sirius doesn't know he knows, and it's a
memory Remus keeps as a private joy for himself.

He chuckles now at the memory and does not flinch under Sirius's imperious over-
the-spectacles gaze.

"What could you possibly find funny about a fan , Moony?" he asks, eyebrows raised
as he searches his face suspiciously. He's still so handsome, Remus thinks, admiring the lines
on his forehead as they deepen.
Remus grins, knowing he has to think quickly to get him off his trail. "My dad tried
doing the washing, once, when my mother was sick. He didn't quite understand why she let
it hang outside all day when he could just...let it spin, on the fan, for an hour or so." It's not a
lie, and the retelling brings a fondness to his heart he'd forgotten he could feel. For all of his
father's many faults, Lyall loved Hope until the day he died. "As you can imagine...soggy
knickers went everywhere," he finishes, basking in the soul-settling sound of Sirius's
laughter.
"No magic?" Sirius asks, shelving the book back onto their enormous shelves. He’s
put it in the wrong spot, but the tomes entomb their misplaced brother and resort themselves
dutifully within seconds.
Remus snorts. "No, almost never. Not around Mum, anyway. I used to think it was
because she was afraid of it, but now I think he just didn't want her to feel left out." He shrugs
stiff shoulders, his bare skin peeling away from the wooden floor with a painful schlick. It
stings like sunburn and he grimaces at the prospect of freeing the rest of his body. Perhaps
choosing to lie nude had been an error in judgment.
“I’m going to need a spot of help, here, Moonflower,” Sirius decrees. He gathers his
thick handfuls of wet, silvering black waves into his hands and ties them up with an elastic
while Remus watches him from his spot on the floor, smiling faintly. He is sweating, Remus
notes with pleasure, and drinks in the smell the fan wafts his way -- a sweaty Sirius is one of
his favorite scents.

“Moonbeam?” Sirius interrupts, removing the glasses from his face. He’s caught him
staring, by the smirk that curls his lips. Drat.
 Remus doesn't bother pretending he wasn't looking. Sirius knows what a staggeringly
handsome man he's aged into, for all of his insecurities about less-than-taut skin, slightly-
thicker waistline, and lines on his face that tell of a lifetime of mischief and laughter. Instead,
Remus yawns and twists his ankles and wrists, popping joints that never stopped aching. "I'm
too hot to even think about cooling charms. Who helped you with them last time?" he drawls
lazily, not very keen on getting up at the moment. It was only two days post-moon, after all,
and he was an old man...he was owed an ounce of laziness.
Sirius snorts at his slothfulness and pokes his side with a bare toe. "Mary," he answers
simply, and Remus smiles. Mary. He thinks back to the girl he knew in school, brown-eyed
and seppia-haired, ready for anything. She was an old woman now, like they were old men,
and he hasn't laid eyes on her since the fundraiser at St. Mungo's last November. They owl,
send photographs and talk about beach life, keep in touch more regularly now, and it felt
good to reconnect with one of the last of their generation.
"Well then, ask her round to help again." He knows his behavior is a bit ridiculous at
his age, but Sirius keeps him young.
"Oh, yes, right then, I'll just call round to Majorca and ask her to leave her sixteen-
hundred-and-four grandchildren to come all the way to skin-blistering East Sussex to help
the husband of her girlhood crush out up cooling charms because said girlhood crush can't
be arsed to get off the sodding floor. Is that it?" His volume pitches in a dramatic way with
each word and leaves Remus smiling like a love-struck idiot -- which, he supposes, he still
is.
"Yes, I think that just about covers it," he answers cheekily. He knows what's going
to happen before Sirius even moves, knows this man like the back of his own hand, and is
laughing through the stinging pain as Sirius lifts him off the ground. His arse cheeks and
thighs and back prickle from being unstuck from the wood, but he's shaking with the force
of his mirth in Sirius's strong arms.
He thinks Sirius is going to deposit him onto the couch or haul him upstairs,
something of that nature. He does not expect Sirius to flop him over his shoulder, his head
on-level with his phenomenal arse in those too-short linen shorts, and carry him out the front
door. Remus wiggles and protests his nakedness, though they live on a beach armed to the
teeth with Notice-Me-Not charms and protective wards, renewed every spring by their
godson. Sirius ignores him and trots straight out past their walk-up, over sandy dunes, and
right to the water's edge.
The sun is relentless in the sky, blisteringly white and unfettered by clouds. It dries
the sweat on Remus's skin, but does nothing to abate the heatstroke he feels is imminent.
Sirius skirts the foamy shore doggedly, Remus can see the waves lap at his feet. "Padfoot, I
really don't think you need to-- Hera's whorehouse!" Remus shrieks, completely undignified,
as he's slung into the surf.
 It's July and there's a heatwave, but the English Channel has never been the most
comfortable place for a swim. Cold saltwater envelops him and grips him tight, forcing the
air from his lungs and sending his heart rate skyrocketing beyond what his Healer would call
"an acceptable range". His limbs are leaden, heavy and slow, but only for a moment before
instinct and a lifetime of practice kicks in and he surfaces, swearing roundly, his hair plastered
to his skull and teeth chattering. "Sirius Black, you rotter!" he shouts, reverting back to his
original name out of shock, trying to seem menacing even though he knows he looks absurd.
Sirius is on the sand, hands on his well-defined knees as he laughs at the drowned rat
he married. The sound battles with the crashing of the waves but reaches Remus as he wades
to the shore with careful, purposeful strides. If Sirius sees him through his watery-eyed
guffawing, he doesn't show it, and yelps when Remus shakes his whole body, not unlike
Padfoot, flinging icy droplets onto Sirius's dry, warm clothes.
"Cooler now, Moony?" Sirius taunts, taking several quick, suddenly nervous steps
back. He's smiling like a schoolboy and Remus wants to wipe it off his face. He advances,
slowly, watching Sirius's eyes more than his feet. They are pale in the sunlight, the iris nearly
all-consuming as he squints against the sun, pupils contracted, and wary of the beast stalking
him. "Uh… Moony…" he stammers after many long seconds stretch between them. He
scuttles backwards on the sand a little more and Remus follows with a lupine grace he wishes
he'd had as a younger man.
Sirius swallows and Remus strikes. He lunges forward and grabs Sirius around his
middle and drags him across the sand, thrashing and laughing and swearing. "Moony,
Moonpie, Moonage Daydream don't do this -- don't -- no!! - ack, Moons over Miami, I've
just washed my own hair you absolute--!!!"
Whatever Remus absolutely was, he doesn't hear, because Sirius's protests turn into
yodeling barks and Remus has an armful of mostly-black dog, who is a lot slipperier than his
human alternative. Padfoot wriggles out of his hold and nips at Remus's heels, barking
incessantly as he kicks up sand. Remus's attack is weakened by fits of giggles -- there's a
glistening, fat strand of saliva over Padfoot's muzzle and he's absolutely covered in sand and
tiny pebbles by the time Remus sinks to his knees on the beach, out of breath.
Padfoot throws his head back and lolls his tongue out, red against gleaming white
teeth, laughing at Remus in his doggy way. "You still need another bath," Remus points out.
Padfoot is covered in seafoam and salt and sand, and when he Shifts back into Sirius, he is,
too.
Sirius pitches forward on his knees and kisses Remus soundly, hands on his arse and
pink tongue delving into his mouth. Remus, after a moment of surprised pause, pulls him
close by his hair and sighs happily against his lips. He tastes like toothpaste and sea salt, and
the soft puffs against his cheek have Remus reconsidering… he was cooler now, after all that.
Sirius’s lips quickly tempt him to sinful decisions, and before Remus can really decide, he’s
on his back in the sand with Sirius between his legs.

“Mmm,” Sirius murmurs against his thigh, lapping the salt from the soft hair that
grows in uneven patches around thick, overlapping scars. “Never properly greeted you after
the show I came home to,” he continues, chuckling darkly as Remus squirms below him.
The sand is white-hot under Remus’s back, but it pales in comparison to the coil of
heat pooling low in his belly as Sirius leaves sharp, wet sparks of pain on the tender skin as
his gentle ministrations turn hungry. Remus lets his legs fall apart, buries his fingers into the
sand to keep from grabbing hold of Sirius’s hair, and submits to the ravenous assault.
Sirius takes his time unraveling him, laves his tongue around the head of his cock
with intentional slowness, drawing out thick bursts of breath and yes please from Remus with
each minute that stretches between them. When he finally drags his pillow-plush lips around
his aching erection, Remus exhales his relief with the barest hint of a whine crackling
through. “Merlin, Sirius,” he whispers, grasping at the sand helplessly as Sirius devours
another several inches of him.
Sirius hums appreciatively at the praise and Remus spares a look down at him -- lips
stretched wide and perfect around his shaft, his nose nestled into his dark curls, his knees
braced wide and his linen-covered arse shoved in the air. His dark, wavy hair is wet and clings
to his head and shoulders, dripping rivulets of ocean water down his face and onto Remus’s
overheated skin to mix with the sweat and saliva, and when he flicks his eyes up to meet
Remus’s, he nearly comes then and there. He’s all his, Remus thinks, tracing every line on
Sirius’s face with his eyes and feeling, not for the first time, certainly, incredibly fortunate.

Sirius pulls back with a lewd pop and fixes Remus with an admonishing frown.
“You’re thinking too much, Moony,” he scolds, wrapping his hand around Remus’s cock with
a tut, stroking in a punishingly fast pace that has Remus’s breath leaving him in fast pants.
“I must not be doing a good enough job,” Sirius adds, smirking, before dropping back down
and swallowing his cock in one fluid movement.
Remus’s spine arches, a deep ache he feels in every torn muscle of his back, but the
pleasure coursing through him at the hot, tight squeeze of Sirius’s throat is enough to push
everything from his mind except for the low, happy rumbling of the ever-present wolf,
satisfied at this tribute. Sirius lets him thrust a little, fucking into his mouth with indulgent
undulations, and when Remus comes, it’s a sweet, gentle push over the edge that leaves him
flushed and breathless.
Sirius swallows his release with familiar gusto and climbs his way up Remus’s body
with only minimal joint popping, kissing Remus’s fluttering pulse point at his throat, the
sharp jut of his jaw, the corners of his mouth, his cheeks in such tender devotion, Remus feels
he may burst with emotion. Remus winds a lazy hand through the soggy tangles of his hair
and smiles as Sirius melts into the gesture, as malleable in his hands as putty. When Remus
raises his leg to press between Sirius’s thighs at the cock straining at his shorts, Sirius shakes
his head and rolls off to the side.

“Not all of us are licentious enough to get blown in broad daylight on the beach,
Mister Moony,” Sirius taunts, cackling at Remus’s offended shout and shielding his eyes
from the sand Remus shoves his way. “Yes, I think I’ll take my payment in the privacy of our
shower, ta very much,” he continues, getting to his feet and brushing sand from his clothes,
a gesture that is altogether fruitless. It gets everywhere.

“You mean the broken shower,” Remus points out, still stretched out in the sand,
trying to find the motivation to move, his already low desire to do anything productive today
even lower now that he basks in the afterglow of a Sirius-sponsored orgasm.

“Bollocks.” Sirius groans and looms over Remus, blocking out the harsh whiteness
of the sun with his body. “Alright, you layabout, you’ve cooled off, you’ve gotten a
phenomenal blowie, if I do say so myself, time to pull your weight around here!” He grabs
hold of Remus’s bony wrists and hauls him to his feet with sharp barks of laughter when
Remus protests. They wobble a bit, but Sirius's body is firm and strong enough to support
Remus's teetering bulk.

“But Padfoot, I’m so old,” he moans uselessly, knowing the smile on his face is giving
him away.
“Excuse you, you’re younger than me!”

“Exactly.”
Sirius gasps and swats Remus’s arse with a quick flash of his hand, looking truly
offended. “I beg your pardon, Moony Remus John Lupin, you did not just insinuate that I am
an old man!” His hands are overlapped at his throat and Remus laughs at the sight -- like a
fair lady clutching her pearls, he is, the very picture of indignant narcissism.

Remus leans in towards him and catches his face between his large hands, kissing the
scowling lips with his own scarred ones, laughing still against his mouth.
“It’s not funny, Moony!” Sirius shouts, pouting, an utterly ridiculous gesture for a
fifty-six-year-old man.
“Alright, alright,” Remus concedes, cooing, biting his bottom lip hard to keep from
bursting into laughter again, smothering his smile. “Here, as an apology… I will help you fix
the shower.”

Sirius snorts, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “So gracious of you, your highness,” he
mocks, but lets Remus lead him by the hand back into the house.
 Chapter 2

It’s hotter than Remus remembers, and even the gentle drip of his hair down his neck
does little to alleviate the suffocating heat that envelops him when they step through and
close the door. “And... I’ll help you with the cooling charms, I suppose ,” Remus adds with
a put-upon sigh. Nothing for it.
“Feeling generous, are we?” Sirius barbs with a laugh. “So? What’s first, then,
Professor?”

Remus rakes his eyes over Sirius’s body and then his own -- covered in sand, sea salt,
sweat, dripping messily on the floors, and considers the task at-hand. “As much as I am going
to loathe the clean-up, we should fix the shower, then the climate charms, and then ,” he says,
eying the still-there bulge at Sirius’s fly, “your payment.”
Sirius looks at him side-long, avoiding the heat of his gaze, and suspicions prickles
at Remus’s mind. What… was he up to? He raises a single brow, arched high on his lined
forehead, and waits for Sirius to come clean.
“So...I don’t actually need your help fixing the shower,” Sirius admits with a
marginally-guilty grin. “It was just a ploy to get you upstairs so you could fuck me. But!” he
interrupts Remus’s rude retort, “I do need you to do the cooling spells with me, and that’s
the truth!” Sirius drapes his hand over his heart imploringly, fingers brushing the inked
‘Moony’ lovingly, and smiles. “Stay here!”
Sirius runs up the steps with a spryness Remus envies with every fiber of his worn-
out being, and after a few minutes filled with muffled curses and the gentle push of magic in
the air, returns, soaking wet but victorious. “Shower is officially un-fucked!” Sirius declares,
hopping back down the stairs two at a time.

“You're going to break your neck doing that,” Remus chides, grinning to himself as
he remembers just how many times he told a young Harry the same thing.
“After all these years, you doubt my grace? Moony, you wound me,” Sirius cries,
neck unbroken and still attached to his shoulders. “And don’t you make another age joke, or
so help me, Godric, I will hex your balls off !”
Remus snaps his jaw shut with an audible click, covering said balls with his hands
protectively, just in case. He and Sirius stare each other down for several seconds, and Remus
knows that thirty years ago, they’d be up against a wall or thrown down onto the couch, and
though the memory of that hangs between them, heavy, sticky, hot like the air, he knows
that those days are behind them or at least reserved for very special occasions. Still, their
magics crackle together, a quick surge, half-threat, half-promise, Remus’s honey-scented
vying against Sirius’s leather-and-woodsmoke, and they exchange sharp smiles.

Sirius looks away first, and the wolf in Remus’s head rumbles smugly at the victory.
Remus watches Sirius for a second longer before Summoning his wand into his hand. “So,
husband, take me back to third year -- you remember, the last time you were actually taller
than me?” he teases, grinning affectionately at Sirius. “Charms with Professor Flitwick -- I
think we had it with Ravenclaw that year, didn’t we? Climate charms: cooling, heating, and
stasis. Educate me!”

Sirius laughs but clears his throat importantly, drawing his hair back up into a high
ponytail that must surely hurt his neck, Remus thinks but admires anyway, and Sirius readies
his wand. “First, young Mr. Lupin, you will address me as 'Professor Lupin' -- I know, it
might get confusing, but please do try your best,” he begins, falling right back into the posh
accent he had in their early years of school -- back before Remus had sullied it with his crass
vocabulary and his common use of contractions. “Now, normally I do not let my students do
magic while...so wildly out of dress code," he says, making a show of ogling Remus's sand-
coated nakedness, "but since you are my favorite student -- do not tell the others -- I suppose
I can make an exception.”
“Sirius!” Remus interrupts with a laugh, not entirely sure he likes where this is going.

Sirius tuts and wags his index finger at him in reproach. “Mr. Lupin, I have not given
you express permission to use my given name, that is most rude! Five points from Gryffindor,
I think, for your overstep.” With a flick of his wand, Sirius Transfigures a decorative glass
ball on the mantle into a tiny hourglass with rubies, which now have five missing from their
original tally of -- of course -- sixty-nine.

Remus frowns, opens his mouth to argue the harsh verdict, but clamps it shut at the
haughty look on Sirius’s -- Professor Lupin’s -- face. “Sorry, Professor,” he mutters, resisting
the urge to roll his eyes.
“All is well, Mr. Lupin. Now! Climate charms! In a large area like this, they are best
performed in pairs. There are a few schools of thought on which language works best for the
spell, but I have always favored Latin, seeing as how French is just…” he pauses, clearly
trying to find a polite word that a professor would say, and gives up, “Latin is just the better
choice! The incantation we will use is ‘frigus sustinent’ -- I trust I do not need you to say it
back to me?”
He was really getting into this. Remus just barely stops himself from rolling his
eyes again and nods. “Correct, Professor . I speak Latin, Greek, and French fluently."
Despite himself, he blushes, his mind filling with highly inappropriate imagery of him bent
over his professor's desk. Founders save him, Remus is certain he would not have survived
being Sirius's pupil.
 “Right, excellent, you are ever-so-bright, truthfully mis-Sorted, in my opinion. The
wandwork is a little tricky, so watch closely!” Sirius draws a complicated set of connected
symbols in the air and makes Remus mimic him ten times , which has Remus close to
snapping. His memory was jogged after the first flourish of Sirius’s wand, and he told him
as much, but Sirius was on a tear and clearly enjoying himself far too much in this role
reversal to let Remus out of it.
“Ah, excellent, Mr. Lupin! 10 points to Gryffindor, for your brilliance.” The hourglass
fills with ten additional rubies and Remus does roll his eyes this time, laughing. “Rolling
your eyes, Mr. Lupin! I thought you were a Prefect !" Sirius accuses, aghast.

"I wasn't a Prefect in third year," Remus reminds, not that it makes a difference.
"I think that warrants detention, Mr. Lupin. A lifetime of them, certainly -- with me,
of course -- make sure to wear something comfortable because you will be doing a lot of
bendi-- oomph!"
Remus hits him with a muffling hex, bright red and unfortunately, miserably hard
again.

Sirius's eyebrows shoot up and though his mouth is sealed shut, he somehow manages
to exude pure lust through just his eyes, trailing from Remus's blush face all the way down
to his cock and back up again.
Remus frees him from the hex but keeps his wand level. "Are you finished?"

"Oh, Moony , I never knew you had a professor kink!" Sirius says, wide-eyed and
smirking. "Who was it then? Who got you all hot and bothered in your little cottons, hmm?"
He crowds Remus's space and backs him against the banister of the staircase, sliding his knee
between Remus's thighs.

Remus scoffs and pushes him away, easily besting Sirius in the physical feat even in
his state of recovery. " No one ," he defends hotly.
Sirius is not convinced. He rounds on Remus again, trailing his hands down his chest,
curling his fingers against his narrow waist. "It was Professor Rohan, wasn't it? Big, fit man,
cultured, silver fox, bending over your shoulder to read your runes and telling you what a
good job you were doing, 20 points to Gryffindor , see me after class for
a special assignment, " He purrs the last against Remus's ear and he's wracked by a whole-
body shiver, goosebumps erupting across his skin in the few areas not swallowed by scar
tissue.
" No ," Remus insists, though he knows he's been caught. Professor Rohan was only
at Hogwarts for a few years to teach Ancient Runes at the intermediate level, but his imposing
presence, smelling of exotic, far-away spiced oils from his travels abroad had a young teenage
Remus spending a great deal of time with his bed hangings drawn. He got very good at
cleaning and silencing charms that year. Of course, the handsome man had been nothing but
professional towards his students, but that didn't stop a hormone-consumed Remus
from wanting.

Grinning victoriously, Sirius backs away with his hands up, palms facing Remus.
"Sure, sure, anything you say, love," he drawls, impervious to the daggers Remus is glaring
at him.

Remus wills himself calm again and lifts his wand. "Are we casting cooling charms
today, or do I need to impose on the graciousness of our godson?"
That takes the wind out of Sirius's sails and he sighs dramatically, grabbing his wand
from its usual place, wedged in the tie of his hairband. "Spoil sport," he mutters darkly.

Together, they make short work of the lower level, casting nets of spellwork that they
will go back over every day for a week, layering and layering magic until the seal is as tight
as their wards. They break so Remus can cool off again in the ocean, and when he comes
back inside, yawning and feeling magically drained, Sirius offers him another cuppa with a
Pepper-Up chaser.

"Ta," Remus says, smiling, the spicy zing of the potion leaving him feeling far more
refreshed than he'd felt all day. They didn't have a ton of the stuff on-hand, and Remus truly
doesn't like taking potions to rectify his post-moon troubles. Taking too much of anything
built up a tolerance, something that had been a very rude awakening when a pain potion he
slammed back after a bad moon in his early thirties didn't do a damned thing. Best to let his
body heal in its normal, accelerated way, nine times out of ten.

He feels his magic coming back to him in a steady trickle thanks to the Pepper-Up
and perhaps a little to Sirius's hand on his shoulder, faintly tingling, the smell of leather and
woodsmoke sneaking out from around him. Sirius had magical energy in spades, something
Remus has to begrudgingly attribute to his 'noble lineage'. And though Remus himself is a
powerful wizard despite having a Muggle mother, the full moons take a lot out of him and
large-scale magic like this is taxing.

"Shall I carry you up the stairs, my darling, for Round Two?" Sirius asks with a grin,
stretching out 'darling' with intentional saccharine stickiness.
Remus considers for a moment before nodding. "Ah, you'd best, I think. May not
make it up a third time." His pride, stubborn, mule-headed thing he acquired from his father,
used to keep Remus from letting Sirius help him. He'd reject any and all offers of help
walking, or eating, or even buttoning a shirt with fierce, sharp-tongued venom. It usually
meant he suffered far longer than was necessary, but age and nearly a lifetime of compassion
and love from his husband has tempered the deadly sin enough to allow Remus to admit when
he needs help.
 And now, facing off with the wooden steps on legs that still tremble a little even after
the potion, he needs it.

Sirius scoops him up effortlessly in his arms, his too-thin body no obstacle, and they
ascend the stairs together. Sirius's chest is warm and sweat-soaked at this point, but Remus
curls against him anyway, savoring the way he smells and the heart-warming feeling of being
taken care of.

Sirius deposits him safely on the top landing, and after a moment spent getting his
bearings, Remus helps him coat the second floor of their cottage in cooling charms. Sirius
races back down the staircase to the intricate knot of glowing magic affixed to the wall,
presses his palm against it, and Remus fair moans at the feeling of cold air surrounding him.
Finally .

Remus slumps against the wall with a grateful sigh and doesn't pay Sirius any mind
when he breezes past him and into their bedroom, ignores the sound of the shower starting,
content to just let the relief of being cool again wash over him. After several minutes of bliss,
he hears it, though -- just over the muffled roar of the shower, Remus's keen ears pick up the
end of moan. He lifts his head and inhales, rewarded with the smell of Sirius , in full bloom.

Smiling to himself, Remus hauls himself off the wall and slips through the
purposefully-left-open door of their bathroom. He finds Sirius in the shower, door wide open,
sitting on a marble bench he's enticed from the wall, legs spread and cock in-hand. His head
is tilted back against the marble tile, long, lovely neck on display, an unbroken line of soft
skin that draws Remus's eye down his tattoo-and-rune-marked chest, down his still-toned
stomach, and to the cock curving up from its nest of steel-gray curls.

Sirius doesn't flinch when Remus steps into the shower, but Remus can see the edges
of his cheekbones lift in a self-satisfied smile when Remus shuts the glass door behind him.
The water is warm, not their usual molten preference, and it easily rinses the sand and salt
from his skin. "Waiting for your payment, are you?" Remus asks, tracing a rune for health on
Sirius's bottommost rib.

He nods, hums a little in his throat, and spreads his knees further apart. Remus
chuckles, stepping between them. "And if I didn't come find you?"
Sirius's foot hooks around his ankle and Remus stumbles a little in surprise, his
rapidly-filling cock bumping Sirius's shoulder. "Knew you wouldn't pass up this Golden
Opportunity," Sirius assures, gesturing to himself in vain pride. "Just think, Moony,
you'll finally get to act out all your sordid little schoolboy fantasies."
When Remus tries to back away, cursing his name because of course Sirius hadn't
actually dropped the damn thing, Sirius catches him around the waist with a strong arm and
holds him fast. "You really should have told me sooner, Mr. Lupin -- we have a lot of time to
make up for," Sirius scolds. He moves his hand away from his own cock to encircle Remus's
loosely, trailing teasing fingers through the dark gold curls and along his length.

"Sirius!" Remus yelps, bracing himself against the wall with his hands over Sirius's
head.
Sirius digs his nails into Remus's side and tsks. "Really, Mr. Lupin, I had assumed
you were a fast learner."

Morgana curse him , he thinks viciously, but Remus responds to the words with a
blush and a helpless thrust into his fist. He bites his bottom lip and tries not to slip up again,
but Sirius's fingers are now stroking his balls and it feels terribly good.

"Now these detentions I mentioned...I think you should start by reciting the
incantations for climate charms in every language you boast of knowing." When Remus
doesn't start talking, he frowns and swats his arse with a quick shift of the arm looped around
his waist. "I am waiting ."
And so, Remus recites, throwing out versions of 'sustain cool', 'sustain temperature',
and 'sustain warmth' in every language he can think of, gasping them against the wall of the
shower as Sirius rewards him for his brilliance with steady strokes of his cock and flowery,
lavish praises. He really didn't think he'd find this all that alluring, but Sirius wears a power
trip beautifully and Remus is swept up in his storm.
Sirius coaxes him into his lap and into it Remus willingly goes, long limbs draped on
either side of his hips, knees bumped right up against the shower wall. Their cocks brush and
they share a stuttering moan as their bodies settle into the familiar groove of barely-there
rockings and surging nerve endings. Sirius leans forward and kisses the curve of Remus's
shoulder tenderly, his hands tracing scar highways down his back and spine. "So," he
whispers down his jutting collarbone, "how did you want your little fantasies to go, back
then?"

Remus tenses and scowls into his hair, about to protest, but Sirius cups his face and
kisses the scowl from his mouth. "Can you really be embarrassed, after all this time?" he
implores. "It's me , Moony, I'm not going anywhere. Tell me, I want to know."
A feathery sigh tumbles from Remus's mouth as Sirius finds the bite mark from the
moon and covers it with his lips, as much as he can cover, his human jaw no match for the
wolf's skin-rending maw. "Fine," Remus relents, believing him -- forty years in Sirius's arms
and never once has he been made to feel ashamed for what he wanted or how he wanted it.
Sirius wants to make him happy, wants to take away his pain and make him feel .
"But for the sake of my, haaa, fuck , dignity and ethhhhics, as a former professor, I
am imagining you and not Thomas Rohan, and I'm not thirteen," Remus specifies through
the cock-jolting sensation of Sirius sucking on his bite, eyelids fluttering shut as he lets
himself dive into the modified fantasy.

"My Charms professor, Professor Lupin, gives me detention because I'm a smart-arse.
I see him alone in his office and he's proper stunning, piercing eyes and long black hair shot
through with silver -- ow! This is my fantasy, stop that!" he berates, Sirius having
actually bitten him for commenting on the very-accurate description of his hair. " Anyway, he
tells me off for staring at him so much in class, for using his first name, for walking around
like a slag without my clothes on…"

Sirius hums happily against his skin and grabs his arse firmly, kneading each cheek
as he speaks. "You are out of uniform," he agrees.
"Y-yeah," Remus nods, starting to grind against him. "Says if there's something
I want , all I have to do is ask." He threads his hands through Sirius's hair and noses into his
neck, unable to keep away now that he can hear his heart racing, his blood pumping away
just under the skin.
"That is correct," Sirius says, and how he's able to keep up with his sodding accent,
Remus does not know. "So what is it you want, Mr. Lupin? Tutoring, books to borrow, extra
credit?"

Remus scoffs, like he would ever need extra credit, and nips delicately at Sirius's
neck. "Nothing like that, Professor," he purrs into his ear. He feels Sirius shudder below him,
feels his cock twitch against his and feels his fingers inch closer and closer to his cleft. "I'd
like you to fuck me, please, sir ."

Sirius clenches him tight and thrusts up against Remus with a moan. " Fucking hell,
d'you-- " he loses his control for a bit but gets it back quickly enough, clearing his throat. "I
mean… is that so? You want to sit in my lap? Ride my cock while I grade papers? Or do you
want my attention all on you so I can ruin you for other men?"

How quickly he's lost the modicum of control he had over this scenario, Remus
thinks, trembling in his lap. From cracking Sirius's tightly-held control to being turned into a
dribbling mess in the span of ten seconds, he urges his aching muscles into obedience to scoot
back towards Sirius's hands. "You've already ruined me, spend all night thinking about you,
never get any bloody rest," he breathes.
" Language , Mr. Lupin. My, my." Sirius leans back and catches Remus's mouth in a
painfully slow kiss. "Let me fuck those words right out of your mouth," he growls, and slides
two fingers past Remus's lips without preamble.
Remus gasps, shocked, but eagerly accepts the long, slender digits. He swirls his
tongue around them, between them, across the manicured nails, but eventually submits to
Sirius sliding them in and out, across his scarred bottom lip and nearly down his throat in a
punishing rhythm. When he finally pulls them away, Remus is rutting against him like a wild
animal, heedless of his protesting, more logical muscles, his cock leaving a rope of precome
behind on Sirius's stomach.

"That is better," Sirius decides, tracing his spit-slicked mouth with his fingers before
dropping that hand back to Remus's arse. They're not stupid enough -- or young enough -- to
accept saliva as lubricant, and Sirius breathes the spell into Remus's mouth that coats his
fingers and Remus's insides liberally, and when he slides both in at once, it's a gift, a special
treat, that has Remus moaning back into him. "Eager little slag, are you not? Do you shag all
your professors?" Sirius asks, crooking his fingers expertly and sending a jolt of toe-curling
pleasure down Remus's spine.
" No-o-o," Remus cries, rocking back onto his hand. "Just myself, thinking about
you." His thighs quake with the effort of moving, his feet are slipping on the tile of the floor,
and he can't quite ride him the way he wants. He takes his frustration out on Sirius's neck,
biting just above the pale blue veins, relishing the noises it coaxes from him. His tendons are
taught through his shoulder from working his fingers inside Remus at such an abnormal
angle, and Remus likes the way they feel bunched under his tongue, his teeth.
Sirius yanks his hand away and grabs Remus by the hips, lifting him up just enough
to hover over his waiting cock. "Lucky me, then." He lowers Remus down onto him without
much delicacy, throwing his head back to knock against the wall as he fills him up.

Remus sinks willingly, desperate to take in every inch of him. It's a familiar stretch,
his hole accommodating Sirius's girth and relaxing around him until he's seated, arse flush
against his strong thighs. This fullness is a sense of rightness , of belonging, of being loved
and cared for and wanted , and he knows this is where he's meant to be. He tries, valiantly,
to rise up and sink back down, but his muscles have knotted into noncompliance, screaming,
moon-shredded victims that they are.
"Not to worry, I've got you," Sirius whispers into his shoulder, back to his normal
bastardized accent. He adjusts his hold on Remus and, after a quick, pointed glare at the still-
gushing showerhead -- which then turns off -- braces his feet, raises Remus up and
fucks up into him.

It's like a bloody jackhammer, Remus has a moment to think before words melt away
into wanton moans that echo loudly against the marble walls. Sirius holds him secure without
digging his fingers in, just delving his cock into his body over and over again with purposeful,
powerful thrusts. Remus has nowhere to clutch other than Sirius's shoulders and hangs on for
dear life as pleasure devours him, swallowing him up from the inside out.

Sirius's breathing is heavy, labored, panting, its own echo in the shower enclosure,
but he doesn't let up. He's spent most of his adult life keeping fit for his own vanity and this ,
to be able to keep up with his husband's voracious sexual appetite, to whisk him to paradise
when his body won't cooperate. And it's paid off, Remus is lost to ecstasy, his post-moon
agony washed down the drain with the sand and sea salt.

Remus doesn't warn him about his orgasm, can't form the words with his moan-slack
jaw, but Sirius must feel it as his body tenses in anticipation of the summit, because he's
uttering, " Mon loup, je t'aime, Moony, fuck! " against his chest in great, choking gasps and
Remus feels him come, his cock pulsing into his deepest point. Sirius bites down on his
shoulder again and it undoes Remus, coming in hot spurts between them, trembling in the
aftermath.

The shower starts again and they share an out-of-breath laugh, stealing kisses between
exhales and tender caresses on the inhales. Sirius helps a stiff and exhausted Remus off of
his lap and cleans him carefully with the softest flannel, sets him on the marble bench -- now
equipped with a deluxe cushioning charm, blessed man -- and soaps up his short curls and
rinses the day's sins from his flesh with the humming of a tune that doesn't have a name but
has a permanent home in Remus's heart.

"I love you," Remus murmurs into his back when Sirius turns to clean himself off.
Sirius stills and looks over his shoulder at him, gray eyes devoid of their patented
mischief, and he smiles. Remus doesn't say it often -- he doesn't need to, Sirius takes his
affirmations of love in more physical ways -- but Remus knows he likes to hear it every now
and again. "Love you, too, Moony," he says, but then the wickedness is back. "That good of
a shag, was it? Ten points to Sirius ," he cackles.
Remus huffs a laugh and pinches his perfect, lovely, idyllic specimen of an arse and
delights in the yelp that echoes through the shower. Sirius towels him dry and wraps him in
a fluffy, oversized robe before carrying him to their bed -- when he refreshed the sheets,
Remus can only guess -- and laying Remus down with the utmost care.
"Get some rest, Moonlove," Sirius urges, crawling in next to him under the crisp, cool
sheets. "I'll clean up the disaster downstairs after a little kip," he promises, smoothing the
preloaded worries from Remus's face with feather-light kisses.

Remus nods noncommittally and falls asleep with a pale arm slung over his stomach
and a slender ankle hooked around the back of his knee, like always.
 Grow Old with Me

Chapter 1

They were not boys anymore.

The teenager Sirius sees in front of him now on the platform to the Hogwarts Express
is a far cry from the skinny runt he met on the train three years ago.
Remus had been a scrap of a thing, undersized, distressingly thin, and dressed in
Muggle clothing. His curls were cropped short and almost blond, something Sirius would
grow accustomed to seeing after a summer away, but didn't know it yet. That Remus had
been terrified and shy, quiet as he sat opposite a red-headed Muggleborn girl with a sharp
mouth, and he was so different, Sirius had been obsessed from the very beginning.
This Remus, he looks up at now, he notes with a mixed bag of annoyance and thrill.
He's shot up past Peter, past James, and now even Sirius over the span of two short months
and is all legs and jutting elbows. He has a new scar that looks like a bite mark, just there, on
the inside of his elbow as he waves at him in greeting. He tugs down his shirt sleeve nervously
and Sirius's heart twists. This Remus's voice cracks between the syllables of his name,
pitching into squeaky pre-adolescence before it drops to a warmer, rumbling timbre that has
Sirius questioning everything about himself.
 Chapter 2

They were not teenagers anymore.

The young man sprinting across the sand at the carefully-chosen stretch of private
beach in Cornwall, chasing down a lithe, giggling blonde, is not the awkward youth Sirius
fell in love with. Despite her significant head start, Remus catches Marlene around the waist
and hauls her over his shoulder with a victorious laugh. She kicks and punches futilely at his
firm, tan back and squeals as he pitches her into the surf.

He is still mostly sharp angles, but years of good, plentiful food and a rigorous
exercise routine that consists mostly of chasing Sirius around and pinning him up against
things -- not that Sirius is at all opposed -- has filled him out, given his figure some definition.
His shoulders are broader, now that they are out of their teens, and his hair falls in glorious,
golden curls to the tops of his shoulder blades. A golden god, in Sirius's eyes.
He catches him staring and licks his lips in a predatory way that has Sirius wishing
they’d come alone. He’s confident now, comfortable in his own skin in a way he’s never been
before. Remus crooks his finger and Sirius is practically putty as he hops up from the red
beach towel and into the waiting circle of his sun-kissed, nut-brown arms. He only reaches
the top of his chest, but the twelve freckles scattered on his neck are a landmark only he gets
to visit, dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses that have Prongs shouting about indecent
exposure from behind him and covering the emerald-green eyes of an infant under the giant
umbrella.
 Chapter 3

They were not young men anymore.

The man kneeling at the grave next to him in Godric’s Hollow is broken, hollow,
aching. Like him. He’s grayed prematurely, and even though they are only in their thirties,
the grief they have suffered feels enough for a lifetime. The hands covered in tiny knicks and
twisting scars trace the lines on the tombstone: ‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is
death.’

He says something, voice pinched and tired and grief-stricken, about reading
something similar at his mother’s funeral, years ago. Something from a Muggle religious
book that Hope was so fond of. Sirius has heard this story before, but lets him continue. It
brings him comfort, eases the grief. Sirius can give him that.
They return home to their seaside cottage and stare at each other from across their
breakfast table, cups of steaming tea in-hand. Their friends have been gone nearly ten years,
yet it seems like yesterday. Sirius pushes his long hair out of his face and rubs a hand over
his eyes -- Merlin, when did he get so tired? Remus takes his other hand and presses it to his
lips -- wind-chapped but warm, always warm -- kissing his shaking fingers with a reverence
Sirius doesn’t feel he deserves.
A boy, black-haired and copper-skinned appears in their fireplace in a rush of green
flames and for a moment, Sirius forgets. He feels it in his chest -- James -- but when those
emerald eyes light on his, he remembers and smiles. No -- Harry. Harry stumbles in, tracking
ash -- so clumsy, like his father -- and jumps into Sirius’s waiting lap. The head of a stately
woman with Sirius’s eyes and thick, dark curls -- his cousin, Andromeda -- pops into the
fireplace a moment later and bids them a polite hello, tells Harry to be good and that she will
send his birthday present by owl in the morning.

They pile together on the couch and the chill is chased away by the now-eleven-year-
old boy lighting up the room with his smile, his ceaseless chatter about all the fun creatures
he saw with ‘Auntie Andy’ at the zoo. Remus’s pinky wraps around Sirius’s from the back
of the couch, and they smile -- faces lined with memories and scars, but warm.
 Chapter 4

They were not young men anymore -- not just a dramatic statement this time, but the
truth.

They have aged -- even Sirius’s bones ache when he wakes up after the full moon,
having fallen asleep as Padfoot at Moony’s enormous side in front of the burned-out hearth.
He rises to his paws and whimpers as he works out stiff joints, but finds comfort in the
warm, human steady hands that run across his white-flecked back. He Shifts, and Remus’s
hand curls around his hip and pulls him close.

The chest he leans into is thinner, each rib sticking out further than it should,
threatening to poke through his scar-crossed skin. But the heart beating behind the cage is
strong and steady, and brings Sirius to wakefulness, to turning around in the embrace to cradle
the head with the graying curls that buries into his neck.
They’re far too old to be crashing on the couch -- that’s years behind them, but it was
the coziest spot to curl up as dog-and-wolf on the full moon. Remus must’ve been aware of
moonset, as his body lengthened back into a man, but was far too knackered to drag either of
them to a proper bed. Sirius doesn't mind -- if it saved Remus any trouble, he'd withstand a
little discomfort of his own.
Sirius is the first to stand and helps Remus up, supporting his teetering, entirely-too-
tall-what-do-you-even-call-this-height body with arms he is proud to say are still muscled,
however more lean than they were in his youth. He crosses the room to start the tea he knows
Remus is aching for and turns to watch as he re-lights the fire.
The glow chases the shadows from the gaunt angles of his husband’s face and it
warms Sirius from the inside. He sets the mug in front of him on the coffee table and tucks
up next to him, arm slung over bony shoulders that shiver despite his perpetual heat and the
furnace. Werewolves aren’t supposed to live this long, they both know that, but they’ve
defied the odds before. Remus is well past his ‘expiration date’, a dark joke even Sirius has
to laugh at now, but the Wolfsbane has been a godsend -- a word Remus taught him that now
even Sirius has started to believe in.
Remus falls asleep on his shoulder before he even drains his cup, and Sirius pulls him
closer. Forty years together, they’ve had, and he hopes for forty more.
 Let Us Share What We See

Chapter 1

They were not boys anymore.

The athletic teenager sending a Bludger hurtling through the sky into the nose of the
Slytherin Beater, Rabastan Lestrange, is a far cry from the slender lordling he met on the
train three years ago. That Sirius had been a polished, well-groomed, pureblood scion with
neat, perfect clothes that reeked of ozone, of scourgify. He was haughty and spoiled and had
been so painfully posh, to Remus’s crippling commonness, Remus couldn’t bear to talk to
him, in the beginning.

This Sirius is all Gryffindor bravado and leonine grace in the air as he does loop-de-
loops on his broom and flashes a wicked, gleaming smile at the red-and-gold stands -- at the
swooning girls, surely, and not at Remus -- when they win the match. This Sirius is shaggy-
haired and wild-eyed as he nearly crushes Remus in a sweaty, sky-damp hug on the Pitch, his
face flushed scarlet with victory, and maybe something else. He is warm and messy and
smells like the earth, somehow, no longer a lightning strike passing through but a tangible,
physical presence against his chest, as steady as the heartbeat that keeps the hellhounds from
his door at night, Remus’s lullaby when the nightmares come.
 Chapter 2

They were not teenagers anymore.

The young man dressed in a tailored, charcoal Muggle suit is solemn and sincere,
devoid of the jocularity that once followed him around like a chained pet. He has his arm
around him -- firm, steady, real -- and his fingers dig bracingly into his ribs, keep him on his
feet. The suit has seen many processions like this -- it is not their first funeral. It will not be
their last. Sirius follows Remus to his knees, does not complain when his fancy clothes get
sullied with the freshly-churned grave dirt. He's not the moody prankster Remus fell in love
with, but he is still so very in love.

He listens to him talk to his mother -- or to her headstone, simple, flecked, and gray
-- cracked-voiced and broken-hearted, and lets Remus sob against his hard, muscular
shoulder, streaking snot and salty tears on the fine cloth. He puts him on the back of his
motorcycle, ignores the cut-eyed looks they get from the staunchly Catholic mourners around
them who don't quite appro ve of Hope's son's lifestyle. They think she deserved better and
when Remus thinks of agreeing with them, he and Sirius ride and ride and ride on the back
of the bike until Remus remembers Hope loved him. Loved both of them. That he was
enough, for her. For him.
Sirius's limbs -- graceful, beautiful, and pale -- envelop him in a tender cage on their
cramped, tattered sofa. His lips, rose-petal pink and plush, tether him with kisses to his
mottled, tear-soaked cheeks, tie him to the realm of the living. His fingers, thin and elegant
and flawless, press a cigarette against his trembling mouth and holds it there for him while
he smokes.
This Sirius doesn't fully understand his soul-rending grief, not yet -- he doesn't have
a mother he would mourn, but he walks next to him through it -- this 'valley of the shadow
of death', or whatever it was the priest read over her casket. It was obviously meant to sound
hopeful, but Remus has never found comfort in the book of his mother's God. Sirius is with
him, he wards away the evils of his mind, and he comforts him against the crashing waves of
despondence. He is enough.
 Chapter 3

They were not young men anymore.

The grown man following him into his office with a minxy laugh is broad-shouldered,
deep-voiced, and has thighs the size of Remus's entire waist pushing between his legs
urgently as he reminds him, in a piss-poor attempt at a whisper, that they only have twenty-
five -- no, twenty- four minutes until Remus's lunch break is over. They'll have to be fast.
They crash against the over-stuffed bookshelves together -- silver-streaked tan skin
against pale, firm, perfection, and the hands dragging his camel-colored slacks down his
narrow hips are confident, comfortable, capable. There is no fumbling of youthful
inexperience or shy over-the-trousers petting, but a hot, needy press of a wet and willing
mouth that whisks him to gasping, sticky paradise.
He licks Remus's come off his chin with a practiced swipe of his tongue, glistening
pink in the lamplight of his office. He looks out of place in his fitted black jeans and leather
jacket, surrounded by half-graded rolls of parchment and carefully-sketched diagrams of
dueling positions, a sprawling ball of chaos that radiates energy as palms himself through his
open fly. He tells Remus to look at him, watches his eyes -- mercurial gray connecting with
honeyed amber -- and tempts Remus to tardiness with each passing stroke. When he peaks,
his head thrown back on his stubble-dotted neck is like art given life, and Remus doesn't want
to say goodbye.

He goes home to this Sirius, making the long walk to Hogsmeade to use the Floo at
the village post office, stumbling gracelessly through their hearth at Polaris Cove to a quietly
amused Sirius who knows Remus has never gotten the hang of the dang thing. He helps him
out of his houndstooth teaching robes and kisses away the frown lines that deepen the existing
wrinkles on his brow until Remus is pliant and soft, like melted chocolate in his arms, a far
more suitable companion for his husband than the fussy professor he arrived as.

There's a cake -- chocolate with strawberry cream, decorated lovingly -- with a candle,
and Sirius brings it to him on the couch with a smile that could power an entire Muggle city
block with its wattage. There's another kiss, a whispered 'Happy Birthday, Moonflower', and
his worry of his ever-nearing Expiration Date -- Sirius hates that joke -- is blown out along
with the candle, curling in the air and disappearing in the comfort of Sirius's embrace.

And later, with Sirius's wicked, sharp mouth searing lines of fire down his chest and
his fingers crooking just so inside of him, forty doesn't seem all that old.
 Chapter 4

They are definitely old men now, of that, there is no doubt.

Every time he wakes up, he's amazed. First, at the sheer fact that he's woken up and
not gone off to the Great Moonpalace in the Sky, but secondly because the god next to him
is still there. Still his.
They eat breakfast in the comfortable silence of people who have known each other
for longer than either cares to admit, their sixty years of familiarity stretching between them
in a distance that doesn't even seem that vast, truthfully. Only the lines on the high, noble
forehead across from him, furrowed above the delicate gold reading glasses perched on his
razor-straight nose as he reads an article about their boy's latest charity donation gives away
any indication of the passing of time. Well, that and perhaps the thin skin stretched taught
over the fine, fragile bones of his hands and the hair that, while still long and thick and full,
is in fact nearly as silvered as Remus's own. A few flecks of black still remain, holding
valiantly to youthful vanity, but they are fighting a losing battle.

Time once threatened to separate them, weeks spent apart doing separate missions,
undercover and covert, secrets eating away at the welds they forged in school. But time now
joins them as much as the golden bands on their fingers, as much as the runes on Sirius's
chest and the ones Remus finally allowed him to ink on his own on the scraps of skin not
devoured by scar tissue.

Some mornings, when the cold is so bitterly cruel that even Remus has trouble
maintaining his internal body heat, he wonders if the runes are the only thing anchoring him
to life's pier. He doesn't look to see if any still shimmer with their magical potential, can't
bear to see if perhaps he has been granted an extension based on magical power alone, but
he doesn't need to. Looking at the eyes -- still sharp, silver, cunning -- that still look at him
like he's the most wonderful thing in the world from over those glinting gold glasses, Remus
knows why he's still here.

Love is powerful magic. It can deny evil incarnate, stave off death, and breathe hope,
fragile and fleeting, into a boy who thought he'd live a life of loneliness as penance for the
monster lurking behind his eyes, bubbling into existence from beneath his skin with the
fullness of the moon. Eight hundred times, give or take a few dozen, love has seen him
through the pain, the gut-wrenching, bone-transforming agony, and while it has not always
been Sirius's love that wipes the blood and sweat from his skin and sings tender lullabies to
his scream-deafened ears, it is the love he feels now.
 Their pinkies are joined on top of the table -- scar-mottled tan curled around paper-
thin ivory -- and he feels Sirius's magic trickle through the bridge, warming his blood,
cushioning worn-down joints, and bolstering the beating of his weary heart.

Catching his eye, Sirius's mouth crooks in a familiar smirk and he folds his paper
promptly and drags Remus's hand to his lips, presses tender, marmalade-flavored kisses to
his fingertips, to the ring on his hand, to the now-rapid pulse at his wrist, making Remus's
tea slosh out of the cup as he sets it down with a gasp as his warmed blood begins to pool
elsewhere.

They end up on the couch, necking like teenagers, Sirius perched in his thin lap with
his hand around the both of them, coaxing worship and praise and promises of anything and
everything from Remus that feel like they've been ripped straight from his very soul. He
drinks them in, laps them up with his tongue from Remus's lips like they'll add years
to his life, and maybe they do, because when they crest and settle, boneless and flushed,
draped over each other like house cats in the sun-brightened room, Remus doesn't feel so
old.
 All Parts Summary

Nightmares and Shadows

Remus's first two weeks at Hogwarts were sleepless and, when he DID manage to
rest, were filled with night terrors that followed him into wakefulness. One night, the
nightmares stop.

Tight Spaces
Lyall Lupin would do anything to cure his son, and his attempts ranged from harmless
to downright terrifying. Years later, Remus still feels the impact of his attempts and has to
confront the panic attacks.
"Remus didn't want to go in the hole. You'd have to be insane to willingly agree to be
lowered into a 4'x4' concrete space and then covered back up with dirt. He protested and
pleaded and tried to reason with his dad that it wouldn't work and that he didn't want to be
buried alive."

The Valentine Moon

He's fourteen when he realizes.
He's always known, he supposes, in the back of his mind where he stores other
unpleasant thoughts (such as his fragile mortality, the ache in his bones, his mother's cough)
that he was a little different than the other boys. Lily's shy, questioning press of her lips to
his in the library in third year had unburied the Box. James's sloppy that-was-not-just-punch-
this-kid-is-bladdered kiss at last month’s Quidditch victory party had blown the dust off of
the sealed Box of Uncomfortable Thoughts, but Sirius has blown it wide open.

The Fight
Remus is at the end of his rope, between his friends ignoring him (Prefects give
detentions, after all) and Sirius acting like he was the only teenager in the world to have a
problem.
Chapter 1: Snarl

Chapter 2: Sirius

Red-Hot Poker
It's Sirius's sixteenth birthday and he wants to play strip poker. The Marauders oblige.

Antlers
 "He’d just allowed himself (or so he would insist) to be thrown by his scruff over
Moony’s shoulder when a horrible barking noise went up from a few meters off, following
by the panicked squeaking of a rat who was no longer having a good time."

Gold
"Goblins like gold, right, Professor Flitwick?"

Beautifully Broken
He knew Remus thought himself ugly and broken, but Sirius believed that being
broken was what made him beautiful. It's a short little story about the things Sirius finds most
beautiful about Remus.

Beauty is in the Breeding

Companion fic to "Beautifully Broken" in which it is Remus's turn to admire the
classic, timeless beauty that is Sirius Black.

Smoke Trails
Sirius has a surprise planned for Peter's 17th birthday, which has the littlest Marauder
ill at ease and Remus on high alert. Muggle cigarettes, fancy lighting tricks, firewhiskey, and
late-night confessions lead to spilled truths and hurt feelings.
Chapter 1: A Surprise

Chapter 2: The Moon

Chapter 3: Cigarettes

Chapter 4: Three-Legged Goose

Chapter 5: The Greenhouse
Chapter 6: Confessions

Frozen Morning in Waning Gibbous

He sat on a tattered puce armchair next to an equally tattered not-puce bed, looking
at his best fri-- no, his boyfriend, he mentally corrected himself with a satisfied grin, feeling
for a moment just the tiniest bit warmer. Remus was his boyfriend and he was sleeping
soundly despite the freezing temperatures. Any other day of the month and Sirius would
begrudge him for his success at sleeping, but this morning was Sacred. No one fucked with
Moony on the Mornings After, Sacred Vow.

The Scars
 "He wanted to remove every memory of pain and reminder of agony with new ones
of rapture and of pleasure and of him..."

Sirius and Remus spend the Christmas Holidays together at Hogwarts.

The Locker Room

Moony released the tight grip he had on his hair but continued to restrain his wrists.
“I’m a Prefect, Padfoot.” Sirius swallowed past the, he knew, unfounded and ridiculous anger
that rose in him at being told “no”, and tried not to feel too disappointed. Moony was right,
he was always right, they could-- “Not here.” ‘That’s more like it!’

Sirius supposed he must’ve visibly perked up because Moony released his wrists and
cupped his face in his warm hands. He kissed him softly, sweetly, on the mouth and then
between his eyebrows with a soft chuckle. Sirius watched him glance at the clocktower and
then back at him. “Prongs’ll be on the Pitch for at least another hour. Locker rooms ought to
be clear until then... "

The Shirt
Sirius has a fascination with Remus's chest. If it were up to him, Remus would never
wear a shirt.

Aureate
Three words, two months, and a page filled with superfluous, fanciful descriptions
threaten to keep them apart.
Inspired by: "Your Eyes" from RENT.

New Heights
Five times when Remus's seemingly endless growth spurts cause Sirius a variety of
problems, and one time when it actually comes in handy.

Chapter 1: Hemlines
Chapter 2: Mistletoe

Chapter 3: Tiptoes
Chapter 4: Showerhead

Chapter 5: Cigarettes
Chapter 6: Towering

To Love a Girl
 Lily is Remus's best friend in the entire world, so when something is off about her,
Remus is the first to notice.

Chapter 1: Fish & Chips

Chapter 2: Cider and Burgers

Chapter 3: Wards & Paint Spells

Twenty-Two
For Remus's twenty-second birthday, Sirius wants to give him something big.

The Violence
Are we not good enough?/Are we not brave enough?/Is the violence in our nature just
the image of our maker?/Are we not good enough?/Are we not brave enough?/To become
something greater, than the violence in our nature?/Are we not good, good enough?
Remus is done being a weapon of war.

Moonfever
It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. Remus knows it. Sirius knows it. But it makes them feel
something. Something other than the teetering, twisting, tortuous vacillation between heart-
breaking pain and mind-whiting fear. It's exciting. It makes their blood come alive. It's
everything. Maybe that's why they do this—play “the game”. It seems wrong to call it a
game, but... it is fun, there are rules, and there is absolutely a way to lose. Two ways to lose.
One's just more permanent than the other.
A yearning, profound (a love, unbound)

Remus wasn't too proud to admit he hated him a little, right now. Maybe even a lot.
Sirius could hide behind Padfoot in a way that Remus would never be able to. His canine was
a mad, slavering thing, his inner rage brought to the surface for a night every month,
uncontrolled. It was not a safe haven. It was not asylum. It was madness and cruelty, pure
and simple, and yet coming back to Remus, to his human self, was as shocking and miserable
as the initial change. But Sirius had been able to seamlessly shift between his two forms, like
water through a sieve, painless and carefree. Bastard.

Dominus
Love is powerful magic. It can burn away foolish, arrogant pride and coax out the
velvet softness behind fanged hubris. Love has a reputation for being light and soft and
gentle, something only found in the small space between lips, the sweet sighs before a
sunrise, or the silent smiles across a crowded room. But it's not—or not only. It's also in the
thud of a flogger, the zing of a whip, the sharp smack of a gloved hand on bared, reddening
flesh.

Lines
"As if feeling Sirius’s eyes on him -- and maybe he does, Remus just Knows Things
sometimes -- he looks over his shoulder with eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy. “We’re far too
old to be having morning sex and you know it, Padfoot,” he warns, his voice still gravely and
deep from slumber."
Chapter 1: Far Too Old to Be Having Morning Sex

Chapter 2: Have I Mentioned that I Don't Want to Go?

Chapter 3: This, Mr. Lupin, is Payback
Chapter 4: We are In Public

Chapter 5: I'm in Charge

Heatwave
"Remus strips the soaked shirt from his back, shimmies out of the snitch-emblemed
boxers, and pads out into the humid hallway. Despite the temperature outside, it still shouldn’t
be so hot in here -- they were wizards, weren't they, and they’d only put about a thousand-
and-one bloody cooling charms on this place when they moved in.

He pauses at the top of the stairs and sighs -- that had been some thirty-five years ago
now, he realizes with a pang of misery that comes when one remembers just how old they
are. Grumbling to himself about aging people and aging spells and the absolute unfairness of
it all, Remus fetches his wand from the dresser before walking through the entire house. He
performs detecting charms in every corner of the house, each room revealing that yes, indeed,
there were once cooling charms here, but that they are no longer active.

Well, fuck."
Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Grow Old with Me

A drabble series on getting older and being in love.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Chapter 3
 Chapter 4

Let Us Share What We See

A four-part series of drabbles from Remus's POV about growing older with Sirius,
from teenagers to old men. Companion fic to 'Grow Old With Me'.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Chapter 3
Chapter 4