Archive of Our Own

Fall into you is all I seem to do  
When I hit the bottle ‘cause I’m afraid to be alone  
Tear us in two is all it seems to do  
As the anger fades  
This house is no longer a home  

  Don’t give up on a dream  
Don’t give up on the wanting  
And everything that’s true  
Because I want you too  
Because I want you  

* 

The first time Sirius looked at Remus and really saw him, they were in the library, of all places.  

Remus was slumped over a table, cheek resting against his knuckles as he studied the open book before him, curls of sandy fringe falling over his eyes. His eyelids were drooping, but his amber irises were focused and alert as they scrolled back and forth across the page.

They had exams next week, so they were all tired from revising, even Sirius and James. But Remus always went above and beyond, didn’t he, always acted like he had something to prove. The weight of the moon was lashed across his sagging shoulders; fresh scars littered his skin like leaves, and still, he was in the library. Would be in the library, right up until Pince kicked him out. 

James and Peter were already up in the common room, having long given up on convincing Remus to leave. Sirius wasn’t sure why he didn’t go with them. Nowadays, he had just started liking the idea of being alone with Moony. Having those amber eyes looking only at him.

He had probably intended to muck around, pester Remus into relenting. But what he actually ended up doing was sitting quietly in the seat opposite, watching Remus read. At first, it was playful imitation: his own cheek comically smushed against his fist, face fixed in a snobbish approximation of Remus’ studious expression. But since Remus barely spared it a glance (spoilsport), Sirius lost interest quickly.

It wasn’t until a cough from elsewhere in the library startled him that Sirius realised he had dropped the act, and he had been openly staring at Remus for the past ten minutes. 

Remus still didn’t notice, at first. When his eyes finally flickered up to Sirius’ face, Sirius expected him to shy away, because Remus didn’t like people looking at him, did he. Sirius had never understood why. People were always looking at Sirius, and it had always made him feel good, for the most part. It was what people did with admirable, desirable things, after all.

But Sirius had never really experienced it from the other side, until then. 

When Remus didn’t shy away, it felt like a revelation. He returned Sirius’ gaze, curiously at first, and when Sirius flushed, Remus smiled. He looked so, so tired, and he smiled at Sirius like he couldn’t believe he was there. 

In the dark of his Azkaban cell, Sirius was still there. 

Sleep had become an abstract concept. Sometimes he lost track of whether his eyes were open or shut, since there was no tangible difference in what he saw. The gloom transcended the barrier of his skull, gathered in the hollows of its ever-growing gauntness. It no longer mattered whether he was technically awake or not. He was dead to the world regardless.

But sometimes, somewhere in that terrible, rudderless limbo, there was an image of home.

Not his parents’ miserable imitation of such. Not Hogwarts, much as the void within Sirius’ chest ached with remembered affection for it. Not even James’ house, his sanctuary and salvation from the tyranny of his own blood.  

No. Home was Remus, baby-faced and barely-scarred, smiling nervously at Sirius across their carriage on the Hogwarts Express. It was Remus in that awkward, gangly-limbed stage just after puberty, reluctantly chuckling at James hexing Peter’s hair green. It was Remus after he had grown into that body— after it had begun to suit him— lounging by the lake in the summer sun, long legs and sagging robes splayed across the grass. 

Home was Sirius in a different, divine sort of darkness. Eyes clenched shut, face smushed in pillows, actualising Remus’ image with clawing, grasping hands instead. It was stolen kisses in broom cupboards and under blankets and it was Sirius on his knees in quiet, cramped corners. It was Sirius’ teeth clamped in his bottom lip and it was Remus’ voice, low and demanding in his ear.

Let me hear you, love.  

Near the end, that had become more of a plea than a demand, hadn’t it?

Sirius’ regrets were endless, but that— hiding from Remus— was what plagued him the most. Though Sirius was also perversely grateful, since Remus hating him, thinking him a traitor, was a worse pain than the Dementors could ever hope to inflict, and without it, he suspected they would be able to take Remus from him completely. Better a tainted memory he could hold onto, than a pure one he could not. 

Sirius didn’t escape for himself. He never thought he’d agree with his parents about anything, but he knew now that he had never belonged in Gryffindor. Sirius had never been brave, or courageous, or anything other than a fucking disappointment to everybody who had ever known him. A wasted heir, a lousy brother, a useless friend, an absent lover. He was a coward at his core. His cowardice had hurt and killed the people he loved, and he deserved Azkaban for that alone.

He couldn’t delude himself into thinking redemption was possible, but maybe something could come out of his existence that wasn’t pure shit. For once in his pathetic life, he could offer the truth, if nothing else. 

He honestly never thought he would see Remus again. His first thought was, God, Moony looks old.   

His second was, God, he looks good.   

It took Sirius a while to accept that the man who tugged him into his arms for that all-too-brief moment wasn’t the same man from the fog that had lurked behind Sirius’ eyes for so long. It didn’t help that the desiccated hollow of the Shack could be mistaken for Sirius’ cell in the dark. Another hovel of memory and regret, full of whimpering and snarling jaws. It felt like Sirius might blink and wake up shivering at any moment.

It was only his anger, his determination to prove what was true, that kept him on his feet. And it was only when everything went wrong, when Sirius predictably failed and Remus became Moony right before his eyes— in his own arms— that he started to believe what he was seeing again. 

Still, Sirius wasn’t foolish enough to think his punishment was over just because he wasn’t in Azkaban anymore. He had spent his entire life trading one prison for another. The tomb of Grimmauld Place was a torture all its own, full of dark corners and whispering ghosts.

Remus’ arrival only made it worse. After such a dramatic whirlwind of a reunion, it was intensely strange how they now had absolutely no idea what to say to one other. The silence stretching between them rang like tinnitus in Sirius’ ears, a deafening distance even his father’s best Firewhiskey could barely dull. And in that space, the fog gathered again.

The irony was palpable. When Sirius was locked up, he dreamed of nothing but home. 

Now Remus was here, and he dreamed of it still. 

* 

Remus was not as surprised as he should have been when he heard Sirius had broken out of Azkaban.

He might even have laughed— a huff in his chest and a splash of Earl Grey over the pages of his Daily Prophet— because of course. Sirius had been doing what nobody else could since he was fifteen years old. Remus thought a part of him had always known they would meet again someday. 

Maybe that was why he was so upset with Sirius now. He never could just let things lie, leave Remus be. Anywhere Remus tried to run, Sirius would follow, whether Remus wanted him to or not. No was never an answer Sirius was satisfied with. Worse, it was never an answer Remus truly wanted to give him.  

Even now. Twelve years of silence, one hundred and forty-four moons spent alone, and it was like nothing had changed. Sirius sat in the kitchen of his childhood home, and though Remus— filthy half-breed such as he was— had never been allowed to cross this threshold as a teenager, he could still vividly picture the boy he had known living here. Could picture him slumped in this very same chair, contempt spilling from every sprawled limb, revelling in the disapproving sneers of his parents.  

Remus wasn’t sneering, and he wasn’t disapproving so much as he was devoid of approval for anything at all, yet he was somehow worse at being Sirius’ guardian than even Sirius’ terrible imitation of a family had been. It had barely been a week, and already Remus was uncertain how much longer he could do this for.  

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Sirius said, like he could read Remus’ thoughts. Like he knew Remus as well as he ever did. 

“I know,” Remus said, even though he didn’t. “But I want to.” 

“Why?” 

Remus said the truest thing that sprung to mind. “I want to help you.”  

Sirius scoffed. “Always the Good Samaritan, eh, Moony?” 

Remus tried not to flinch. He still wasn’t used to hearing his old nickname. His mind had recategorised it as dead a long time ago. Dead as his friends. Dead as Sirius should have felt to him. Dead as Remus had wished he himself was. 

“You were never uncharitable, yourself,” Remus said. 

“Please. I was a selfish bastard.” 

Remus shook his head, but he didn’t talk about the myriad ways Sirius had made Remus feel like he wasn’t utterly alone. He didn’t recall the night Sirius had introduced him to Padfoot, one of only a handful of times in his life Remus had allowed anybody else to see him cry.

He didn’t talk about how it had felt when Sirius Black, who could have had anybody in the world, had chosen Remus Lupin, despite Remus Lupin being so pitifully undeserving of it. 

Instead, he kept his eyes on his own hands as they toasted the bread and fried the eggs and dabbed the grease from the bacon with a folded up sheet of kitchen paper. He had been doing things the Muggle way since moving into Grimmauld Place. Sirius had approved, assuming Remus was posthumously insulting his parents. Remus hadn’t corrected him.  

When the breakfast was made, when Remus had finally run out of things to do, he put the plate down in front of Sirius. Sirius picked up his fork, but didn’t begin to eat, staring down at the food as though something were written upon it, expression unpleasantly blank.

There were many new lines marring his face. New hollows in his cheeks and bags under his eyes. Exhaustion festered in all of it, every dip and groove. Remus couldn’t look for too long without feeling the urge to curl in on himself. He used to have a recurring nightmare where he would wake up after a moon to find he had bitten Sirius, accidentally turned him. It was somehow always worse than the ones where he simply ripped him apart.  

Remus realised there was washing up he could be doing. He went to the sink, turning his back to Sirius, and started running the hot water. 

“Not even sure what you’re doing here, to be honest.” Sirius’ voice was quiet, hard. “Dumbledore doesn’t trust me to make my own fucking breakfast?” 

“He thought you might like the company,” Remus said, immediately wincing. “As well as the help. It’s going to be a big job, getting this place habitable for the Order.” 

“He doesn’t trust me. Thinks I’m gonna do a runner.” 

“Partly,” Remus allowed. “I’m sure you can understand his concerns.” 

“Where would I even go? I’ve been dead for twelve years.” 

Remus squirted washing up liquid into the sink, swirling the water until it started to froth. Sirius summoned the Firewhiskey and it came, despite the resistance charm Remus had encased it in earlier.

Figures. He should have thrown it out. Should have thrown all this out, a long time ago.

“The world moved on without me,” Sirius said hoarsely. “Now I have nothing.” 

Remus didn’t say Harry, or Order. He didn’t say me. He reached for the dirty frying pan and submerged it in the water, plucking the scourer from the draining board.  

“Say something.” 

When Remus didn’t, there was an abrupt, unpleasant screech as chair legs scraped violently across the floor. Suddenly Sirius was next to him at the sink, close enough Remus could smell him: cigarettes and soap and the Firewhiskey and something else he couldn’t describe as anything other than Sirius. There was so much memory, so much history, in that scent alone.

Remus breathed shallowly, despite his abrupt need for more oxygen. 

“Say something,” Sirius repeated. It sounded like his teeth were gritted. 

“What would you like me to say?” 

“Fucking— anything!” 

Remus started to wash the frying pan, but Sirius grabbed his arm, stilling him. 

“Anything.” Sirius’ voice trembled slightly. “I just can’t stand this weird… civil bullshit anymore. Just— yell at me, tell me you hate me, punch me in the fucking face, I don’t care. Just give me something real, Moony. Anything. Please.” 

Remus looked at his own scarred flesh bulging between Sirius’ tattooed fingers. Sirius’ nails were bitten down almost to the quick. It looked like they had peeled off completely at some point. Maybe dragged from their beds by the rough stone of Azkaban’s walls, or by Sirius’ own skin.

Before the Wolfsbane, Remus had lost his own fair share of fingernails. Once, after a particularly rough moon, Sirius had found one wedged in the flesh of Remus’ left shoulderblade. He had kissed the wound after plucking it free.

Remus suddenly wanted to hurl the frying pan through the window. 

“I have no right to hate you,” he said quietly. “You were innocent.” 

“But you didn’t know that.” 

“There were a lot of things I didn’t know.” 

Sirius let go of his arm. “You do hate me.” 

Remus shook his head, watching the bubbles of grease floating on the surface of the water. “I gave up hating you a long time ago.” 

“Because you moved on.” 

Remus wanted to laugh. Everything was always so simple to Sirius, so nice and neat and black and white. 

“Who is he?” 

“What?” The question caught Remus off-guard. He looked at Sirius without thinking, forgetting how close they were. 

He regretted it instantly. With his crisp clothes and cascading dark hair, Sirius looked every inch like the ghost he was. An unnerving meld of stranger and familiar, blue-grey eyes full of grief and mouth twisted with something like jealousy, old and haggard and broken and still so, so beautiful. Still so casually, unfairly gorgeous, even after suffering twelve years of a punishment so atrocious even Remus— who carried an entire lifetime of punishment on his shoulders— couldn’t begin to comprehend it.

It wasn’t surprising Sirius wore his scars better than Remus ever did, because he was always better than Remus at everything, but still. It felt like a cruel joke, like one of Sirius and James’ stupid pranks. Remus half-expected to wake up in his four-poster and hear them both snickering behind the curtains.  

It made Remus angry. Sirius had no right to be here, reeking of the past, stubbornly digging his way out of the mental grave Remus had buried him in. Messing with all the careful compartmentalisation he had done over the years to regain some semblance of sanity and self.

Remus did hate him, he realised. But only insofar as he hated this entire situation. He still hated himself more, his guilt and his longing and his weakness, his perpetual inadequacy. He hated the way things had never been as simple for him as they had always seemed to be for Sirius.

He hated that everything had changed, and yet nothing had. 

“That isn’t what I meant,” Remus said. 

“So there’s nobody?” 

“No.” 

“Never?”  

Remus wanted to snap that it was none of Sirius’ business. “Nothing serious,” he said instead. “Not since you.”

“Why?” 

Remus suddenly felt more tired, more defeated, than he could ever remember. “You know why, Sirius.” 

Understanding dawned on Sirius’ face. “You didn’t move on.” 

Remus sighed heavily. “Of course I didn’t.” 

Sirius smiled sadly. “Is it bad I feel relieved?” 

Remus had been relieved, too. He had seen the dot marked Sirius Black on the Map, and once again hadn’t been as surprised as he should have been. Then he had gone to the Shack and learned he was wrong all along— he hadn’t given his heart to an evil, traitorous bastard after all— and he had been so relieved, so deliriously happy.

Right before he had been unbearably crushed, because he was wrong all along, and he had let Sirius rot for twelve years.

Twelve. That was more than half of their entire lifetime, at the age Sirius went. Sirius had lost a full decade to that place. An entire youth, stolen. And Remus— 

Remus had no right to feel equally robbed. No right at all. His loss was nothing compared to everyone else’s. Sirius, James, Lily, Harry.

He turned back to the sink, scrubbing the pan so hard water sloshed over the counter, dripping onto the floor. 

Sirius touched his arm again, painfully gentle. “Moony.” 

Remus wanted to jerk away from the touch like a burn. He wanted to shove Sirius away from him as hard as he could. Shove him up against the wall, shove him down to his knees. He wanted to flee. He wanted to stay.

He stood there instead, scrubbing. 

“Come on, leave it.” 

For whatever reason, Remus listened. He braced himself against the counter; the pan slumped and disappeared into the suds. “I just don’t know what to say to you.”

“Say something real,” Sirius repeated with an edge of desperation. “Anything. Whatever you want.” 

“I’m sorry.” It was limp and worthless, but it was all Remus could think, and a strange relief to say it. “I am so, so sorry.” 

Sirius made a wounded noise. “Me too. God, Remus, me too.” 

“I did try to move on,” Remus confessed, wringing his damp hands against his jumper. “I really did. That was why I hated you, I think. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Not even because of what you— what I thought you did.” He laughed hollowly. “How messed up is that?” 

“Very,” Sirius said mildly. “I always knew you were just as fucked up as the rest of us.” 

“Was there ever any doubt?” 

“Well. You were always the sensible, well-adjusted one.” 

Remus snorted at the idea. “Then God help us all.” 

Sirius smiled ruefully. “Then again, they say it’s always the quiet ones, too. Guess we should’ve suspected Wormy from the start.” 

Remus’ guilt and anger threatened to overwhelm him for a moment. But Sirius shuffled forward, took him by the elbow, and Remus’ world zeroed in on that small, delicate point of contact. 

“Look at me,” Sirius said, making it sound like a question. 

Remus took a breath before turning to face him. Sirius’ eyes were shining like his namesake; Remus had to take another breath. 

“You were all I thought about, too,” Sirius told him. “I mean, I tried not to. Didn’t want those fucking things to take you from me, but I couldn’t help it. Even when I was Padfoot— except then I thought about Moony, instead of Remus.” 

Remus was surprised by his own smile. “Our canine kinship.” 

“Chasing rabbits through the forest.” Sirius briefly brightened, before his face once again became grave. “I lost so much. But they never got everything. Even after twelve years, there was still… so much of you.” 

Remus’ hand rose to Sirius’ face. He barely stopped himself from touching, but Sirius exhaled and turned his cheek into the hovering palm, clutching at Remus’ other elbow to keep it there. Sirius’ skin was warm, and his beard was deceptively soft. Remus lightly stroked a prominent cheekbone with his thumb.  

Sirius’ eyes creased shut. “Thought I’d die in there. Without you.” 

“I was with you.” Remus rushed to say it, knowing it wasn’t enough, not even close, but needing Sirius to know anyway. “You never left me.” 

“I wish I’d known.” 

“Me too.”

“Still not sure I didn’t die, sometimes. I wake up, and I can’t believe I’m not there anymore. Then I remember you’re here too, and it’s like— yeah, if I haven’t gone completely fucking mental, then I must be dead.” 

“You’re not dead.” Remus tried to lighten his tone, “And you’re no more mental than you’ve ever been.” 

It wasn’t true and they both knew it, but Sirius huffed a laugh, the first genuine laugh Remus had heard from him since he had arrived at Grimmauld Place. He thought of Sirius’ face on those wanted posters, twisted up in that sick, manic imitation of humour, and felt the shame acutely. That wasn’t Sirius. That had never been Sirius.  

“Not dead, then,” Sirius said, like he still didn’t believe it. “Just a complete failure. Didn’t even do the thing I broke out to do, in the end.” 

“Because you chose not to, not because you failed,” Remus reminded him. “You chose to honour your Godson’s request.” 

“Oh yeah. Why did we do that, again? That was really stupid.” A reverent expression came over Sirius’ face. “Harry’s really something else, isn’t he?” 

“He’s… remarkably resilient,” Remus agreed. “So headstrong, determined. He was a joy to teach, even with—” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.  

Sirius understood anyway. “He looks so much like him. He is so much like him.” 

Remus nodded. When he had awoken on the train, he had known instantly whose child was in the carriage with him. It had been profoundly bittersweet. “I suspect he’s tired of hearing it by now.” 

“Best not get them mixed up, then,” Sirius said, nervous, but with resolve. “If I’m gonna be a good guardian to him.” 

Remus felt something proud and protective stir inside him. Something he wanted to chase, if only to keep Sirius’ face alive and the bitterness from his voice a little longer.

“You’ll do fine,” he said, surprising himself, because he believed it. 

“Will you help me?” 

“Of course I will.” 

Sirius’ throat worked as he swallowed. “Will you stay with me?” 

Remus hesitated, but he knew what his answer was. It was the same answer he had always had for Sirius, and realised now he always would, no matter how much time was stolen from them. He had thought the distance too great, the hurt too insurmountable, but looking at Sirius now, the clarity was shocking.  

“Yes. I’ll stay.” 

The look Sirius gave him made Remus feel wholly weak. “It was you, too,” he said, suddenly agitated, tugging on Remus’ sleeves. “I broke out for you, too. Just didn’t want— couldn’t die with you hating me.” 

Remus’ breath punched him in the sternum. He didn’t think before stepping close, taking Sirius’ face in his hands. “You’re not dying. You’re staying here with me, where you belong.” He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, but his words were made fierce by the racing of his heart. 

Sirius’ face crumbled completely, then. “Remus.” 

“You taught me belonging, Sirius. Taught me where my heart lives, remember? I could never truly hate you.” 

Sirius made a sound not unlike a sob. His hands fisted in Remus’ jumper, used it to close the short distance between them. He kissed Remus without finesse, frantic and clumsy, as though terrified Remus would flee at any moment.  

Rationally, Remus knew he should. Whichever way you looked at it, it was a bad idea to do this so soon. Dread was warring with the joy inside him; desire versus sense, love versus fear. Remus knew this was foolish, inevitably set to invite further pain into his life.

But Sirius had always made a fool out of everyone, none more so than Remus. He had always been weak— so laughably hopeless— when it came to Sirius Black.  

So Remus gave in, of course he did. Slid his fingers up into Sirius’ hair and fell headfirst into the kiss. Letting it stay frantic, letting his blood rush as it will.

Sirius gasped against his mouth, surging forwards like a wave, rushing to devour him with hands and tongue and teeth. Remus was forced to take a step back to stay balanced, but his arms wound around Sirius automatically, pulling them flush together. Grounding them both.  

The surreality of that was palpable. Separated from Sirius for so long, and yet Remus still defaulted to muscle memory. Still knew this route so well he could walk it with unfocused eyes, even if there were new obstacles to trip over. Sirius’ body didn’t feel quite the same, since he was thinner than he had ever been, but it was still undeniably Sirius. Still the walking wet dream of Remus’ youth, broad shoulders and narrow waist and a tight, round arse that still perfectly filled Remus’ hands.

For a moment Remus worried he was being too familiar, moving too fast, but Sirius seemed equally unable or unwilling to slow down. He had always been shamelessly eager, a hurricane of reckless want, but now he touched Remus with a desperation surpassing anything Remus could remember. He was already tugging at Remus’ jumper; the second Remus’ shirt pulled free from his belt, Sirius’ hands were underneath it, on Remus’ bare skin.

His hands were cold, but that wasn’t why Remus flinched. The touch was real, the realest thing Remus had felt in forever. Bringing home to him that Sirius was here. Present, alive, in Remus’ arms.

It was so overwhelming Remus stilled completely. He broke the kiss and hung his head, struggling to catch his breath. 

Sirius’ breathing was equally laboured, loud in the quiet kitchen. “Moony?” He pulled his hands out from Remus’ shirt, taking hold of his jumper again. “Still with me?” 

Remus looked down into the minute space between their bodies. His tatty green wool against Sirius’ fine black silk. Sirius’ shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his tattoos were dark on his forearms, and the veins in the backs of his hands were bulging where he was hanging on to Remus.

Remus wondered how many times he had thought those hands over the past twelve years. How many times he had failed to resist thinking about them. How woefully unable he had been to just stop wanting the man who had betrayed him so terribly, regardless of how disgusted he had felt with himself.

It was as though Remus’ body had always known Sirius was innocent, even if his mind had not.  

“I just can’t believe you’re really here,” he said, voice cracking a little. 

Sirius chuckled weakly. “Welcome to my world, darling. You know… we don’t have to do this. We can stop.” 

“I know.” 

“We probably should.” 

“Yes.” 

“But we’re not going to,” Sirius said. His eyes were dark, a light flush was dusting his cheeks, and his mouth was red from kissing. Despite the anxiety Remus could see lurking under the surface, his desire was plain. He wanted Remus, badly.

It was just as devastating as it always was. In his fanciful, pretentious youth, Remus had often thought that to be desired by Sirius Black was the closest a mortal could come to knowing God.

He exhaled thickly. “No. I don’t believe we are.”  

Sirius smiled, and it was ever so slightly teasing. Remus was still trying to process that when Sirius’ mouth met his throat, tickling the skin with his beard, and every nerve in Remus’ body was lighting up at once. His hands clutched at Sirius’ waistcoat, rucking up that smart silk into two tight handfuls, and before he realised it, he was backing Sirius up against the wall.

Sirius gasped as his back thumped against the bricks, the sound becoming breathier, darker, when Remus hemmed him in, looming over him. Remus’ kiss was initially more deliberate, but it quickly unravelled into something equally all-encompassing as Sirius kept clawing for more.

Their hips pressed together, and suddenly Remus could feel the hard, tantalising line of Sirius’ cock against his thigh. He pushed against it automatically, and Sirius shuddered violently, head thunking back against the wall. 

“Oh fuck,” he said, like he was surprised. Like he hadn’t expected it to feel good, or he’d forgotten that it did. “Moony, take me to bed. Now.” 

The prospect made Remus’ head spin. He had to take a steadying breath before stepping back, offering Sirius a hand. Sirius took it, following Remus out of the kitchen, breakfast abandoned. 

The house passed Remus in a blur, a fogginess following him into the hall and up the stairs. He couldn’t quite trust this was about to happen, and yet he was adrift in need for it anyway, fragile with anticipation.

He had no space left to consider it odd that he was leading Sirius around here. The house was Sirius’ by birthright, but really, he was just as much a stranger here as Remus was. It felt right and good to take control of where they went, taking care of this for Sirius. 

He took them to the room Remus had been sleeping in. A guest bedroom, he had thought, since the décor was bland and functional. When Remus had arrived at Grimmauld Place, Sirius had made it plain he did not want to be involved in any aspect of house organisation, and so Remus had selected a room that seemed insignificant, not wanting to intrude on a space too full of memory. 

But when the door shut behind them, Sirius said, “This was my room.” 

Remus froze. “What?” 

“Yeah. Guess my mother must’ve cleared out my stuff after I ran away. Part of her mission to erase all trace of me from the family tree, no doubt.” 

Remus watched as Sirius drifted absently around the room. He felt awful. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I would’ve picked a different room.” 

Sirius shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I said go wherever.” 

“So where are you sleeping?” 

“Just a guest room. Didn’t fancy being in here.” 

The irony was perversely funny. Remus looked around the room too, trying to imagine a teenage Sirius living here. Lounging on the faded rug listening to Muggle records, slumped in the large bay window staring out across the street. Touching himself in the soft, squishy confines of the four-poster bed.

Sirius had given up so many things, when he ran away. Some of those things, Remus had believed him when he insisted he didn’t want them anyway: a title, an allegiance, a mark burned upon his skin.

Other things had been harder to accept. A home, a family, a legacy. Remus wasn’t conceited enough to think it had all been for him, but it had been enough for him that he had felt incredibly guilty, for a very long time.

Watching Sirius now, seeing the detached sadness on his face, Remus felt that shame all over again.  

“I’m sorry I brought you in here,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to— stay.” 

“What?” Sirius turned back to him, and his eyes widened. “No, hey.” He came back to Remus, pulling him close. “It’s okay, Moony. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care where we are.”

He grinned then, so suddenly Remus found it jarring. “It’s actually kinda hot, having you in my old room. I should’ve snuck you in when we were younger. Imagine dear old Walburga catching me getting fucked by a half-blood werewolf in her noble old house.” 

Remus frowned. “I suspect that wouldn’t have ended well. For either of us.” 

Sirius’ grin didn’t falter. Remus didn’t like it. “Do you remember the last time you fucked me?” 

Reluctantly, Remus nodded. As good as it had been (because it always was good, with Sirius) it had also been complicated, and the significance of the encounter had made the memory a fixation for Remus over the years. It therefore didn’t feel entirely pleasant to recall.  

“You were so wild that night,” Sirius said wistfully. “Even for you. God, I was bruised for days. I remember wishing you’d fuck me like that more often.” 

Remus predictably flushed, but he shook his head. “It wasn’t… okay, that I did that. I was angry with you. You wouldn’t talk to me.” 

The grin fell from Sirius’ face. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought—” 

“Don’t,” Remus said tightly.  

He took Sirius’ head in his hands, drew him back in. He wasn’t going to let Sirius hide behind bravado, but as present as the past felt right now, he didn’t want to focus on it anymore.

Thankfully, Sirius melted into him with a thick exhale, fingers tangling in Remus’ hair. The urgency had settled, replaced with something that swelled slowly between them. This kiss was full, and deep, and heavy with everything, all of it.

It was almost too much to hold onto, too big to process. Remus’ couldn’t seem to get all of Sirius into his arms, couldn’t find a point of satiation where it felt like he had enough of him, even with their bodies flush and his hands mapping every part of Sirius he could reach. He pulled Sirius’ hips tightly against his own, seeking something tangible. Needing to feel that undeniable evidence of their shared desire. 

They broke apart at the same time, panting.  

“God,” Sirius said helplessly. 

“Bed,” Remus managed. 

They moved ineffectually, reluctant to let any space get between them. When they finally reached the bed, Sirius fell onto his back, pulling Remus down on top of him.

They both gasped with the weight of it, the immediate severity of being horizontal and pressed together. Sirius writhed to arrange them how he wanted, tugging Remus up until they were fully on the mattress, wrapping his legs around him at the same time. Remus’ hips pushed forwards on instinct, into the tantalising clutch of Sirius’ thighs. Just to hear his breath catch, taste the control Sirius had given him.

Already their clothes felt like an annoyance he wanted rid of, and it filled Remus with warmth that Sirius’ nimble fingers were already working between them. The waistcoat came away easily, but Sirius soon lost patience with his button-down; Remus heard a couple buttons ping off and clatter somewhere across the room as Sirius yanked it open. With the clothes tossed carelessly onto the floor, Sirius set to tugging at Remus’ jumper, but the sight of Sirius’ bare torso made Remus still his hands. 

He pulled back and let himself look.

It was a bittersweet sight. In addition to several new scars, Sirius had tattoos Remus didn’t recognise, stark and striking against the cream of his skin. Sirius had always been wiry, made of lean muscle and sharp angles, but now his ribs were a little too prominent for Remus’ liking. He had more hair than Remus remembered too, a smattering of dark fuzz on his chest, curling around his nipples, meeting in a faint line that trailed down the centre of his taut stomach.

Remus’ mouth felt dry, looking at him. 

“Moony,” Sirius said uncertainly. 

Remus looked up, finding Sirius frowning at him, worrying his bottom lip.

He shook his head. “Gorgeous.” When Sirius exhaled through his mouth, he smiled, repeating firmly, “Gorgeous, Sirius.” 

Sirius still didn’t look convinced, so Remus surged up and kissed his mouth. Then kept kissing, pressing his lips to the hard line of Sirius’ jaw, the hollows of his collarbones, every single one of those ribs.

Sirius’ fingers threaded back into Remus’ hair as Remus descended slowly down his body. Tightening when Remus tongued at his nipples, pulling hard enough to hurt when Remus licked the skin just above the waistband of his trousers. 

When Remus looked up again, Sirius was wearing a different, better kind of frown, cheeks flushed and jaw slack. A tendon was bulging in the side of his neck from straining to watch Remus’ mouth, chin squashed against his chest in a way Remus found hopelessly endearing. His hipbones were hot and sharp under Remus’ palms; Remus could feel the tension Sirius was holding there, and he was itching to coax it out of him.

He laid one last kiss to the front of Sirius’ trousers, pressing his chin hard into the hot bulge of Sirius’ straining cock.

Sirius rewarded him with a throaty groan, hips stuttering up into Remus’ face. “God. Fuck.” 

“Still so articulate,” Remus teased, like he didn’t feel on the verge of incoherence himself. Like he wasn’t short of breath and hot all over because his face was buried in Sirius’ lap, overwhelming him with Sirius’ heady, tempting musk. Like he wasn’t so hard it was starting to hurt, aching in his own trousers, tempting him to rut against the mattress like a bloody teenager. 

Sirius’ grin was far more organic, now. “Thought you always liked my dirty mouth?” 

“Oh, I did,” Remus assured him. Then, quieter, “I do. In fact, it’s one of my favourite things about you. You’re so…” 

“Vulgar?” 

“Expressive,” Remus amended, laughing softly. He rested his cheek lightly against Sirius’ cock, exhaling deliberately hot into the fabric. “I like that you let me know what you want. What feels good.” 

“That certainly feels good,” Sirius said, aiming for wry, but Remus could tell his grin was barely surviving. “I’ll keep telling you. Shit, I’ll recite fucking poetry for you, if you want. Just don’t stop.” 

Remus couldn’t help but grin too, feeling almost giddy. Even in his wildest, most hopeful dreams, he never imagined he would get to have this with Sirius again. It was already hard to comprehend having Sirius returned to him— in Remus’ bed again— but to also have him here playful, grinning, acting so much like his old self?

Remus swallowed against the lump that formed abruptly in his throat. “Don’t stop what, love?” 

Sirius’ breath caught. “I— this.” 

“This?” Remus rubbed his cheek against Sirius’ cock, feeling it twitch behind the fabric. “Just like this?” 

“No, I want. In your mouth.” 

“You want me to put you in my mouth?” 

Sirius nodded frantically. “Wanna see it again. You always looked so fucking— pretty, when you were sucking me off.” 

“Oh,” Remus breathed.  

It took him a moment to move. His hands felt clumsy and uncooperative as they worked to get Sirius out of his trousers. When he tucked his fingers under the waistband of his trousers and underwear, Sirius took a deep breath. Remus waited for him to nod before he eased everything down. 

And then Sirius was naked.

Remus didn’t want to stare— he was still fully dressed, and he knew how vulnerable that would be making Sirius feel— but he simply couldn’t help himself. Every inch of Sirius was tantalising. Especially his cock, lying stiff and flushed on his stomach, already slick and shining with precome.

The sight had Remus pressing a palm against himself, rubbing through his slacks. He didn’t altogether realise he was doing it until Sirius made a plaintive noise, reaching for him. Remus eagerly ducked back down between Sirius’ legs, mouth watering already.

But Sirius grabbed his shoulder. “Can you— would you take off your shirt?” 

Remus obediently pulled off his jumper, the shirt along with it. The hushed, delighted sound Sirius made helped him feel slightly less self-conscious. He pushed himself up so he was sitting, legs bracketing Remus.

And then it was Remus’ turn to be looked at, relearned.

He tried to stay still as Sirius’ hands roamed over him. He had never been comfortable with his body— it was hard to be, when it so often wasn’t your own— but Remus knew it had still looked better the last time Sirius saw it. Age and transformations aside, he hadn’t been eating or sleeping well recently, and it showed.

Still, he bit down his shudders when Sirius’ fingertips traced over the new scars he bore, and when he saw Sirius looking sad, he rushed to kiss the frown from his lips. “It’s okay. It’s so much better than it used to be, with the Wolfsbane.” 

“Still,” Sirius muttered. “I should’ve been there for you. I hate that I wasn’t.” 

Remus smiled sadly. “I’m afraid Padfoot would have found it rather dull, since a sedated Moony is about as much fun as regular old me.” 

“You were never dull.” 

“That might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever received,” Remus said dryly. 

“Yeah? Try this one on for size,” Sirius said, suddenly breathless. He took Remus’ face in his hands. “I love you. I always have.” 

The world seemed to stop, shrink, for a moment. When Remus spoke, his voice sounded far away to his own ears. “I… don’t think that’s a compliment, exactly.” 

“I don’t care what it is.” Sirius tipped their foreheads together, so all Remus could see were Sirius’ gorgeous night-sky eyes. The colour of a bruise, of spilled calligraphy ink. “It’s the truth, and I need you to know it. I love you, Remus. I never stopped.” 

Remus could feel his face fighting to crumble. He clenched his jaw, blinking away the sudden blurriness in his eyes. “Never,” he echoed. It was all he could manage. 

Sirius smiled, the corners of it tight in his cheeks. He put his mouth to Remus’ ear, told him shakily, “I want you inside me.” 

“What about—” 

“I can’t wait.” Sirius’ hands dropped between them, hastily unbuckling Remus’ belt. “I need you now. Need to feel you now.”  

Remus groaned as Sirius’ hand slipped inside his open fly, drawing out his aching cock, working it slowly in a hot, tight palm.  

“Merlin, you’re so big,” Sirius breathed, eyes lowered and heavy. “I forgot. How did I forget?” 

Remus couldn’t speak. It had been so long since someone touched him like this, and it was Sirius— Padfoot— who was doing it. He let his forehead drop into Sirius’ shoulder, panting helplessly as Sirius stroked him.  

“This,” Sirius was saying when Remus regained his wits slightly. “I need this, Moony. Give it to me. Make me take it. Make me forget about everything but you.” He scraped his teeth over Remus’ skin, deliberately drawing out the word, “Please. ” 

At once, Remus felt something dark and danger-adjacent swell inside him. Something that was always lurking quietly, though it had been a long time since Remus felt it break through when the full moon wasn’t upon him.

Over twelve years of time.  

It didn’t surprise him. The only time Remus wasn’t suspicious of that feeling, repelled by it, was when it was pushing him into Sirius’ arms.

Maybe because Sirius had always loved that side of him. It had always been utterly flooring, that Sirius never shied away from those uglier aspects of Remus. Despite how numerous they were. How desperately Remus had wished he could tear them out of himself.

It was as though Sirius had always been determined to love Remus enough for the both of them. 

With a growl Remus couldn’t believe came from him, he shoved Sirius back against the mattress, kissing him roughly.

Sirius’ shamelessly excited moan was thrilling. As gratifying on its own as the arch of his back and the spread of his thighs coming up to bracket Remus’ waist. They both hissed as their cocks ground together, chafing against the clothes still clinging to Remus’ hips. Remus vanished the offending fabric from his body with a spell he thought he’d forgotten, barely mouthing the words before his magic complied. Like the strength of his will was that strong— or perhaps weak, against the force of his desire.

Either way, Remus was just as naked as Sirius and it was suddenly, intensely serious, both of them stripped completely, with absolutely nothing separating them.

Nothing left to keep them apart.  

The idea made Remus dizzy. “Turn over,” he said, even as he made it happen anyway, pushing Sirius over onto his stomach. “Spread your legs.” 

Sirius obediently pulled his thighs apart, giving Remus room to kneel between them. Remus dragged his palms down Sirius’ spine, sweat-damp already, until he once again had Sirius’ perfect arse in his hands.

It was the only part of Sirius that was soft, Remus thought wildly. The cheek muscles yielded beautifully in Remus’ grip as he spread them apart, drawing a tight, vulnerable sound from Sirius, muffled as he hid his face in the cradle of his arms.

Remus wouldn’t allow that for long. He would see Sirius— all of him— before the end. 

He knew the spells they needed, though he hadn’t had cause to use them in a while. Of course, he hadn’t remained celibate all these years, but his relationships had been few and far between, and always stubbornly casual, even when Remus hadn’t wanted them to be. Even when he had wanted to cross that line, fall into something deeper, he had never quite managed to feel the way he should. Always curbed by that gnawing, nonsensical feeling he was being unfaithful, somehow. 

It was only now he truly felt the weight of the Sirius-shaped anchor he had been dragging behind him. So much of Remus belonged to Sirius, so many of his Firsts. He was inexorably woven into the fabric of Remus’ being. It seemed laughably obvious now: of course, of course Remus couldn’t feel this way about anyone else. 

Inflamed, spell impatiently uttered, Remus leaned down and licked Sirius from his balls right up to the base of his spine. Lust stabbed him in the gut at the shocked sound Sirius made— the sounds Sirius kept making— high, exhilarated, bordering on whining, as Remus dragged his tongue up his cleft over and over again.

He had always loved doing this to Sirius. The filthy intimacy of it. How it made Sirius fall apart; how it made Remus feel powerful and penitent in equal measure. When Sirius’ thighs started to shake, Remus dug his fingertips hard into his cheeks, pressing them open obscenely wider, so he could fuck his tongue into Sirius’ hole.

Sirius writhed, his hips rutting against the bed.

Remus quickly pulled back, splaying a firm hand on his lower back. “Stop. You’ll come before I even get inside you.” 

Sirius turned his head sideways on the pillow. Remus was pleased to see him a total wreck— wild-eyed and flushed, hair stuck to his face— but he was grinning, too. “Best hurry up, then.” 

Remus slapped him across the arse, resulting in a full-bodied flinch. “Oh, fuck, do it. Do it, Moony—!” Another quick spell, and Remus was working two slick fingers into him, turning Sirius’ words strangled, “No, don’t— I don’t need— just do it now, need your cock in me now, please—” 

It took every last molecule of Remus’ dwindling self-control not to give in. Sirius was hot inside, impossibly tight. Knowing he would soon have that around his cock was making Remus feel borderline feral. But the idea of hurting Sirius (again, any more) was also something Remus couldn’t ignore, couldn’t bear. 

“Soon, love, I promise,” he said lowly, pressing a kiss to Sirius’ hip. “It’s been too long. You can’t take it yet.” 

Sirius swore in protest, but Remus only shushed him. He fingered Sirius carefully, thoroughly, entranced by the sight of Sirius’ arse flexing and clenching around his knuckles.

When the slide started to feel a little easier, Remus crooked his fingers— seeking, drawing from memory— and there it was, the spot that made Sirius’ whole body tense, made the pitch of his voice raise an entire octave.  

He kept the pressure there, rubbing relentlessly until Sirius spasmed, “Fuck, I’m—” 

Remus quickly pulled his fingers out, making Sirius hiss. But Remus had no capacity left for an apology. He cast the spell again, hastily stroking slick over his cock. 

He felt like a predator as he crawled over Sirius. Felt like the animal he was, hungry to mount the body beneath him, drunk on a wholly primitive kind of lust. He needed to reclaim what was rightfully his, what had always been his. Needed to be inside Sirius again, making love to him again, making him feel so good and so right it would drive out everything else, anything that wasn’t the pleasure only Remus could bring him.

The need was almost painful in its intensity. Which made sense, Remus thought wildly. It was a need borne of pain, bearing pain. Its back breaking under the weight of everything this meant.  

Sirius began to pant as Remus pressed him into position, spreading his knees between Sirius’ thighs until Sirius’ back was forced to arch, tilting his hips up to meet Remus’ cock. They both groaned as it rode into the cleft of Sirius’ arse, tensing with anticipation. Remus rocked back and forth a couple times, smearing the slick over his length, making sure Sirius was good and wet. 

Sirius shivered, pushing back against him. “Moony. Come on, put it in me.” His voice was hoarse, barely there. “Please. I need you. I— it hurts. I’m so fucking empty.” 

Remus’ stomach clenched, a jab of pain amongst the heat. “Oh, sweetheart.” He covered Sirius entirely, chest flush to back, pressing his face into Sirius’ hair. “You have me. You have always had me. I’m going to give you everything you need.” 

Sirius exhaled shakily, sounding almost panicked. “Remus,” he began, voice disintegrating as Remus rubbed the head of his cock over his hole, settling into place, pushing firmly. “Oh, oh fuck, Remus.” 

It took a moment for Sirius to open to him, still so tight. His body gave suddenly, and Remus sank halfway inside all at once, yanking a gasp from them both.

Remus didn’t— couldn’t— stop, but he forced himself to slow for the remainder, easing himself inside an inch at a time. Until, finally, his hips were flush against Sirius’ arse and Remus was encased completely in wet, trembling, breathtaking heat.  

He forced himself to still. Every cell in him was screaming to pull out and slam back in, but Sirius was trembling against him, forehead pressed to the pillow, hands clenched white-knuckled in the sheets.

Remus swept his hair to the side, burying his face in the hot crook of Sirius’ neck, inhaling deeply. God, he smelled absolutely incredible. Thick and heady and familiar, so achingly familiar.

He had to clench his eyes shut, mouthing at Sirius’ damp skin with abrupt desperation. They were already flush, skin sticking together, but Remus wanted them closer still. He slid an arm beneath Sirius’ chest, holding him tight against him as he pulled himself gently from his body. Halfway out, he stilled, letting them both breathe, before pushing back in.

Sirius sucked a hard breath, grabbing for Remus’ bracing hand on the mattress beside him. Remus tangled their fingers together, letting him squeeze as hard as he needed as he repeated the motion, building a rhythm with slow, steady rolls of his hips.

He had to grit his teeth to keep it measured. Sirius’ body clung deliciously to his cock, yielding a little more readily around it with each entry. Moulding to Remus’ presence until Remus felt wholly needed there, like he was leaving Sirius cruelly incomplete every time he pulled out.

Through the roaring in his ears, he heard Sirius calling out to him.

“I’m here,” Remus responded immediately, kissing every inch of Sirius’ neck he could reach. “I’m right here, love. I’ve got you.”

“You feel so good,” Sirius told him. Hushed, like a confession. “How do you feel so fucking good?” 

It might have been rhetorical, but Remus answered without thinking. “Because… it’s right.”

Sirius exhaled shakily, nodding into the pillow. “It’s been. I never thought we’d—” 

“Shh. I know.” 

“I’m so—” 

“I know, Sirius,” Remus said urgently. “I’m right here with you.” 

Sirius made a gutted sound. “Fuck me. Moony, fuck me. Fuck it all out of me.” He shoved himself back against Remus’ cock.

Remus gasped, reeling for a moment, before his hips reflexively snapped forwards, driving himself hard into Sirius’ body.

There was a beat where they both heaved for air. And then Remus pulled back and did it again, their skin meeting with a loud slap. For a moment he worried he was being too rough, but Sirius pushed up to meet him on the next thrust, taking him so deep Remus’ vision blurred, and he felt the last threads of his control snap.

He let his hips take over, pumping into Sirius harder, faster, deep. The sounds Sirius was making set him alight, but Remus knew he could make them more, better. He shifted his weight, changed the angle of penetration, and Sirius obediently fell apart, choking in his rush to voice his approval. Remus felt a delirious smile twist his lips; it had been so long, too long, and yet somehow it felt like no time had passed at all, because Remus’ body still remembered this. Sirius was instinctual to him, in a way no other lover had ever come close to being. He knew him in his bones, in his blood. There wasn’t a single inch of his body that didn’t ache with wanting Sirius. 

He fisted a hand in Sirius’ hair and tugged his head back, exposing a litany of filth and worship to the open air. “Ah— oh fuck, Remus! So good, it’s so good—” 

“Take it,” Remus demanded, pushing deep and stilling there, grinding almost cruelly. “Take it all. This is yours. You deserve every bit of this, darling.”  

He sank his teeth into Sirius’ neck. Deep enough to hurt, but not break skin. Just needed to anchor them both. Needed to remind Sirius he was pinned, and helpless, and under Remus, unable to do anything except feel pleasure. He had been denied it for far too long.

Sirius moaned loudly, brokenly. Remus hummed his approval, soothing the bite with his tongue. “That’s right, love. Let me hear you.” 

He released Sirius’ hair, hooking his fingers beneath Sirius’ jaw and pulling his face sideways, kissing him desperately, messily. A reflection of how he felt, but he kept his hips rolling steadily against Sirius’ arse, angling to hit that sweet, tender spot with every push. 

Sirius made a noise against his mouth, something between a laugh and a whimper. “God, Remus. You’re gonna make me come.” 

The idea brought forth a rush of heat, but also a pang of regret. Suddenly Remus wanted— needed to see Sirius’ face.

He pulled out, pulled away. Heard himself making mindless, soothing noises as Sirius whined with the loss, though he didn’t know who he was most trying to reassure. He urged Sirius to roll onto his back, and then he was there, stunningly undone, a mess of dark eyes and dark hair, looking up at Remus in unmistakable wonder.

The image blurred suddenly, but Remus still knew Sirius was reaching for him. He went more than willingly, because after all, he could never deny Sirius anything.

And after twelve long years, Remus could finally admit that he was sick of denying himself.

The heat of Sirius’ body welcomed him back with a kind of inevitability that stole Remus’ breath entirely, made him feel grounded and thrown at the same time. Like coming home after a long absence and forgetting the front step was broken, tripping headfirst over the threshold.  

* 

The last time Sirius looked at Remus and really saw him was far too long ago. Sirius couldn’t even remember it now, couldn’t recall any singular instance of connection before they started drifting apart.

Maybe there wasn’t one. After all, things didn’t often happen that neatly, did they, with clearly defined beginnings and endings. It had been a gradual unravelling, a slow progression from physical distance— doing their own individual work for the Order— to a distance with sentience, ripping them apart with suspicion and fear. 

Maybe he did have the memory, once. Maybe he had lost it in the fog of his dreams, left it behind in Azkaban. But all Sirius had now was an abstract sense of before. When he would look at Remus and see nothing but home, and Remus would look back at him and smile.

Remus wasn’t smiling now, but so much had changed since those simpler times, hadn’t it. Sirius still couldn’t look away, as hopelessly captivated by Remus’ face now as he ever was. He felt his mouth hanging open, felt his brow trying to crease his eyes shut, but he was being held hostage by Moony’s gorgeous amber eyes. Rich with hunger, a kind of empathy that left Sirius feeling utterly naked, utterly seen.

After being wrecked so completely by Remus’ rough, possessive fucking, Remus was moving inside him now with a reverence Sirius found somehow even harder to take. Each thrust deliberate, considered, hard and deep and lingering where Sirius was most sensitive.

It felt so good, it almost hurt. As though Sirius’ nerves had atrophied and Remus was shocking them back to life too soon, too fast. 

Mostly he felt full, in a way that had everything and nothing to do with Remus’ cock. Every stroke made him swell further, made his pulse thud as equally hard in his chest as it did in his own cock. Until Sirius thought he might burst open, unable to contain it all.  

For a moment he was terrified. Then Remus’ hand swept over his forehead, stroking his hair back from his face, and though Sirius was the one being exposed Remus was the one who looked vulnerable, almost frowning, like whatever he saw on Sirius’ face upset him.

But the expression reflected the desperation Sirius felt, and Sirius’ fear evaporated in the wake of that mutual understanding. 

Wanting to be mirrored entirely, he slid his fingers into Remus’ hair, pushing his fringe away from his eyes. They were wide— and wet, Sirius realised with alarm— but Remus quickly dropped his face into Sirius’ shoulder. He fumbled a hand between them to stroke Sirius’ cock, fucking into him harder, faster, and Sirius lost all sense as his orgasm kicked him unexpectedly in the gut.

It went on and on, wave after wave of something that was more relief than simple pleasure. Sirius almost didn’t know what to do with the feeling. It felt bigger than him, like it had existed before him, brewed slowly in some sad, dark place and was cresting now in the light, pulling him along for the ride. Sirius knew he was begging, but he didn’t know what for, and if he used words, he didn’t hear them.

He could only cling, reeling and helpless as Remus rutted into him erratically, coming inside him— fuck, Sirius had forgotten how good that felt— with a noise Sirius was pretty sure he had never heard Remus make during sex. He had only ever heard a sound like that come from Remus maybe twice in their entire lives, and neither time had been pleasant.  

It was a sob. Remus was fucking crying, breathless and hissing, like his teeth were gritted. His torso quaked rhythmically with it; with Sirius wrapped around Remus’ body and stuck together as they were, they shook together. If one were to step back, tune out a little, it would sound almost like laughter. 

“Remus?” Sirius rasped. “Hey, hey.” 

Remus’ face was still buried in his neck, and Sirius could feel wetness pooling in the curve of his shoulder. Something fierce and protective overwhelmed him, and he tightened his limp arms and legs around Remus, cheek pressed against his sweat-damp hair.

“Shh. Remus. It’s okay.” 

“I just—” Remus hiccupped. “I just missed you so much.” 

Sirius swallowed thickly, blinking hard at the canopy above them. He held Remus tight against his chest, murmuring soothing nonsense as he petted his hair. Letting him know Sirius was here, and he was in this with him.

It wasn’t enough, but it was all Sirius could do without breaking entirely. 

Lying here like this, he felt bathed in a surreal sense of deja-vu. The room was dark, and empty, and familiar in more ways than one. He hadn’t seen this view since he was a child. The last boy Sirius had held in this bed had been Regulus, and he had been crying, too. 

This house was cursed. Sirius was cursed for having grown up in it. Remus had never been the dark creature in their relationship. Remus was a blessing Sirius didn’t deserve and couldn’t possibly keep, and Sirius was foolish to feel anything other than dread right now.

But like so many things in Sirius’ life, loving Remus wasn’t something he had a choice in. 

Remus settled slowly, until they were just breathing, holding each other in a precious limbo neither wanted to leave. But the stillness grew heavy, and Sirius felt ancient now.

He carefully uncrossed his ankles from Remus’ back, letting his tired legs fall flat to the bed. They both made a noise of lament as Remus’ softening cock slipped out of him. Sirius’ arse felt tender and wet; it twinged as the muscle flexed, a developing ache Sirius knew he would feel later. He had always loved that, having that reminder of what they had done. Carrying Remus with him for long after the actual encounter.

It was a strange thing to feel nostalgic for, Sirius thought. He wanted to reach down and feel it— how Remus had left him so messy and pliant— reassure himself that Remus had truly been there. Now that the adrenaline was settling, the dark of his miserable old room was clouding in, whispering doubt into his head. Surely something so wonderful couldn’t be real. Couldn’t exist here, now, after everything. 

With a harsh breath, Remus rolled onto his back, trapping Sirius’ arm under his head. Sirius immediately missed his weight and warmth, the cool air stinging his damp, overheated body. But the side of Remus’ face he could see was beautiful, flushed and unguarded as he stared up at the canopy, lashes stuck together, breathing through kiss-plump lips. His sandy hair was tousled over his forehead, a shade darker than his stubble.

Sirius didn’t know when Remus had stopped shaving, but he found himself liking the scruff dusting his jaw. It suited him now. Neither of them were fresh-faced, anymore. 

Sirius tilted into him, pressed a kiss to Remus’ temple. “You’re still so good at that.” 

Remus didn’t answer right away, still gazing into nothing. “Hm?” 

“Buggering me,” Sirius clarified.  

“I— what?” Remus looked at him suddenly. Sirius could practically see his brain catching up to the words. “Oh.” It took another moment for the glaze to fade from Remus’ eyes. Then he smiled, a shy and tentative thing, like he wasn’t sure he should. “Well, you know. Like riding a bike.” 

Sirius recognised the Muggle expression. He had a vague inkling Remus had explained it to him at some point (it was like his motorcycle, except with more pedals and less flying), but Sirius wished, desperately, that he could remember exactly.

He knew the important part, though. You never forget. 

The irony made him snicker. “I missed you, too.” 

Remus inhaled slowly through his mouth. He turned towards Sirius, propping himself up on his elbow. His face was full of everything Sirius felt, which was as saddening as it was comforting. 

“What happens now?” he asked quietly. 

Sirius sighed. “I don’t know. Wanna go again?” 

“Of course, but that isn’t what I’m asking.” 

Sirius knew perfectly well what he was asking. He just didn’t have the answer. Or didn’t want to answer. 

“I don’t know, Moony,” he repeated. “I’m fucked up. I’ve been dead for twelve years and now I’m trying to adjust to being alive again.” 

“You haven’t changed that much.” 

Sirius laughed hollowly. “If only that were true.” 

“You’re still in there,” Remus said firmly. “I see you. You never could hide from me, Padfoot.” 

Sirius’ eyes stung, suddenly. “I don’t— know, what I’m doing. But I know I love you. That’s the best I’ve got, right now.” 

Remus visibly swallowed. “I love you, too.” 

He sounded fucking terrified. Looked it, too. Padfoot may have never been able to hide from Moony, but Moony was equally transparent— equally adored— under Padfoot’s gaze. That was also reassuring, but this time there was unbridled euphoria to drown out the sadness. 

Sirius slid a hand behind Remus’ head, roughly pulling him down, kissing him until they were both breathless. Chasing that feeling, really. He’d take whatever he could get, give whatever he could, for as long as he could. He was a mess, but he would do his best for Remus. 

Because Remus was home, and there really was no place like it, no place Sirius would rather be.