Fic: Keep Calm and Carry On for sea_shtick
Title: Keep Calm and Carry On
Author: crooked
Recipient: sea_shtick
Rating: R
Highlight for Warnings: *None.*
Word Count: 3302
Summary: Remus turns to routine and habit when Sirius shakes everything up - and, of course, Sirius shakes that up too.
Author's notes: I really hope you enjoy this, sea_shtick! And special thanks to my lovely beta, such_heights! ♥ (any mistakes left in are my own.) Happy Holidays, everyone :)
He does the same thing every evening: takes the long way home; walks through Whitechapel with his hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, the thin fabric not doing much to cut against the fierce chill; stops off for a cheese and vegetable pasty; smiles and makes polite conversation with Mrs Donnelly as he passes her open door in the corridor; reaches the door to his flat and slips inside with a quiet sigh.
The routine never deviates, not even the encounters with Mrs Donnelly because she is always there. They - these things, places, people - become the only constants in Remus’ life, and he clings to them with a fierceness that almost frightens him.
There was a time when the close of his day brought an excitement that he could barely contain. He’d never dream of taking the long way home then; it was Apparition or the Floo network, nothing slower than the speed of light. He had someone to return to, someone to creep up behind him and wrap his warmth around him. Someone was there to breathe against his ear, lips curled into a smirk Remus didn’t need to see to know existed. Sirius didn't live with him, but he spent more time at Remus’ flat than his own. He was always there, without fail, when Remus came home from work.
It’s fucking cold out there, Padfoot, he’d say.
S’pose it falls to me to warm you up, then, Sirius would answer, hands already pushing inside Remus’ jacket and beneath his jumper.
They’d end up tumbling onto the couch, into the bedroom, pressing against the narrow strip of wall beside the door because it had been a bloody long day, and tea and beans on toast could wait. Sirius, England’s most impatient bloke, would take his time, slowly undressing Remus, touching his skin and leaving invisible fingerprints everywhere. He’d wait until Remus was begging for more than the soft strokes of his fingertips, and then Sirius would dip his head and kiss him: lips, thighs, belly, hips. He left no part of Remus untouched, so that he was trembling by the time Sirius would actually start fucking him.
But that all came to a stop two months ago. Remus doesn’t get fucked over the back of the sofa or up against the bathroom sink anymore. He eats his pasty, makes a pot of tea, smokes a fag on the fire escape, and tidies up his already immaculate flat just to keep his hands and mind occupied.
Then he goes to sleep, and Remus wakes up to do it all over again.
Except for the one day when the universe has other plans for him.
Sirius has no reason to be in Whitechapel, not since the breakup. (The breakup, mind, that Remus still can‘t figure out. Things weren’t ideal, and they had both changed since the war intensified. Maybe there were prolonged periods of silence, uncomfortably awkward moments in which neither knew what to say, so nothing was said at all. And perhaps they didn’t kiss as much, touch as often, or make love like they used to; that didn’t stop Remus from reeling when Sirius was waiting on the top of the stairs, a box full of the things he kept at Remus’ next to him and a sheepish expression on his face.)
So he is the very last person Remus is expecting to see in queue at the counter in the pasty shop. He panics, that feeling of dread and ‘oh fuck I can’t let him see me’ that a person gets when seeing an ex. Remus turns on his heel to leave, but it’s too late.
“Remus?” Sirius calls out, and Remus turns to see him heading out the door. He’s got a paper bag in his hands, the bottom stained with the telltale signs of grease and the juices from the pasty. Remus can smell it; it’s cheese and vegetable.
“Sirius, hi!” he says with more false exuberance than he was aiming for. “What are you doing around here?”
It’s not as if they’ve not seen each other at Order meetings and one very awkward dinner with James and Lily and Peter and his new girlfriend. But Remus is always able to avoid this, talking to him face to face, so now he feels like his heart is beating so hard against his ribcage that it just might burst.
“I, uh, well,” Sirius starts. He pauses, looking up, and Remus makes the fatal mistake of looking back at him. He’s still beautiful, of course, and Remus doesn’t know why that surprises him. Sirius was a beautiful eleven-year-old boy when they first met on the train (though Remus didn’t think of him in those terms yet); he was beautiful when he sat pressed close to Remus, chewing nervously on his lip as he looked from Peter to James and back to Remus, blurting out that they knew his secret and, no, they didn’t care; he was beautiful when Remus swore under his breath, finally at his breaking point, and grabbed the tail of Sirius’ tie to pull him in for their first, awkward kiss; he was beautiful when he told Remus that he needed to be with him; and he was even beautiful when he broke Remus’ heart five weeks ago, just three months after they’d left Hogwarts, and told him it just wasn’t working anymore.
Remus blinks, realizing that Sirius is just staring at him. He got lost in his thoughts, and he blushes softly. “I’m sorry, what? I… what?”
Sirius laughs, and Remus hates the way it still makes his stomach tie up in knots in the best way possible. “I said I was in the neighbourhood, but that’s a fucking lie.” He pushes the paper sack into Remus’ hands to fill up the few seconds of silence that have fallen. “This is for you. I was coming to see you.”
The words hit Remus in the face like a blast of cold air, but then he realises that it was just a blast of cold air as a bus drives past. “I. You- It’s bloody freezing out here, Sirius,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Let’s… we can go back to mine? I mean, it’s right here.”
Sirius’ expression is hard to read, but Remus is almost certain he sees a flash of excitement in his storm cloud eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s only sensible.”
“And I know how you strive for sensibility every day,” Remus retorts, rolling his eyes and grinning at him. Sirius laughs, and Remus is amazed at how easy it is to fall back into familiar and comfortable territory with him.
He isn’t entirely at ease, though, as they walk toward his flat. Neither says much to the other. Sirius keeps his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and Remus clutches the bag so tightly his knuckles turn a bit white. Remus’ flat has never seemed so bloody far from the pasty shop before now. He turns his head to finally say something to Sirius, to ask him exactly why he was coming to see him, but a clap of thunder sounds so loudly overhead that he jumps, subconsciously moving closer to Sirius.
Sirius laughs and opens his mouth to say something sarcastic, but the sky suddenly opens up and it starts pouring down rain. “Shit!” he spits out, and he takes Remus’ hand and starts off running down the street.
They’re breathless, soaked to the bone, and laughing madly once they finally duck into the shelter of Remus’ building. Sirius’ hair is like black ink running all over his face, plastered to his pale skin, and Remus knows he must look very similar to a drowned chicken himself. Their laughter dies down, and Remus realises that Sirius’ fingers are still linked with his. He pulls them away gently, his cheeks faintly tinted pink, and starts up the stairs to his third floor walkup.
Sirius stands close behind him as Remus unlocks his door. He can feel his breath on the back of his neck, cool on his wet skin. “Come in,” he mumbles, pushing the door open. He steps inside, peeling his wet coat and scarf off.
Remus takes out his wand to start drying his clothes, and he looks over to see Sirius standing just inside the flat. He’s staring at Remus, eyes fixed on him as he drips all over the root beer-colored shag carpeting. Remus suddenly feels like he’s naked under the intensity of that gaze, and a shiver runs through him that has nothing to do with the fact that he’s freezing cold.
“Sorry,” Sirius says, shaking his head and looking away. He must’ve seen the look on Remus’ face and realised he was staring. Remus doesn’t say anything in response. He just goes back to casting spells to dry his clothes, stealing glances at Sirius as he silently does the same.
“Do you want me to start a fire?” Remus asks, his voice sounding far too loud in the small, quiet flat. He looks over at Sirius, his hair sticking up like James’ due to a drying spell, and he laughs. “Yeah, I’ll start a fire. Do me a favour and put a kettle on.”
Sirius walks into the kitchen, and Remus takes a moment to stop and watch him walk out of the room. He knows exactly where Remus keeps the tea kettle, of course. He hears Sirius move about in the kitchen, and he still doesn’t know why they ever stopped being what they were.
Remus lights a fire in the hearth and goes into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and watching Sirius get out two mugs (Remus' favourite green mug with the chipped edge and the faded blue one Sirius always liked to use).
“Why are you really here, Sirius?” he asks. Sirius looks up, eyes looking a bit surprised at the question as he glances at Remus and then back down to the cook top.
He shrugs. “I suppose I just missed you.”
Remus takes a step into the small kitchen, his fingers playing with the edge of his shirt. “I missed your stupid face too,” he says, flashing Sirius a little smile. A silence falls between the two boys, broken moments later by the whistle of the tea kettle. Sirius busies himself making the tea, pouring heaps of sugar into his and just half a teaspoonful into Remus’ cup.
“Here,” Sirius says, handing the mug to Remus. Their fingertips brush, and Remus laughs.
“We’ve turned into a couple from one of those romance novels Mrs Pettigrew reads,” he says, shaking his head and pulling back his hand. “I mean, you know… if we were still a couple.”
Sirius sighs, looking down into his tea as if it holds the answer to some unasked question. “I was scared, okay? I know it’s a ridiculous excuse, but there it is.”
Remus cocks his head to the side, frowning at Sirius in confusion. “Scared of what, exactly?”
“Of this! Of us.” Sirius gestures wildly between the two of them. “We’re barely out of school, Remus, and I was keeping a toothbrush here and picking up milk for you when I knew you were low. It was just…”
“A bit overwhelming?” Remus helpfully supplies. Sirius looks up at him and nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know it was, Padfoot, but- Shit, I didn’t run out on you just because it was a little too much too fast.”
Sirius looks as if he’s about to bolt again, so Remus relents. “I’m just saying,” he continues, stepping a bit closer to Sirius, “that we had something really fucking good, and I didn’t know why it all came crashing down. It was confusing, and… and it hurt like hell, Sirius.”
“I’m sorry, Moony,” Sirius breathes, hastily putting his mug down, the tea sloshing over the edge and onto Remus’ table. He takes the tea from Remus and sets that aside too, pulling him into a tight embrace. Remus is stiff at first, but his arms soon wind around Sirius’ shoulders. He pushes his face against his neck and sighs, unable to stop himself from inhaling Sirius’ once-familiar scent.
Remus pushes away a moment later, though. “What does this mean, Sirius?” he asks, his hands still pressed flat against Sirius’ stomach. He simply can’t not touch him after so many weeks apart.
Sirius shrugs, and Remus frowns at him. “What? I mean, shit, Moony. I don’t know! It means I missed you, and I can’t stop fucking thinking about you, and you have to tell me that you’re not seeing anyone already because I’d die, you know, and… It means I fell in love with you a lot quicker than I thought I would and it scared me bloody fucking shitless, okay?”
Remus feels like Sirius has actually punched him in the stomach, the wind completely knocked from his lungs. He knows that he was falling in love with Sirius, and he knows that Sirius was in love with him. A bloke doesn’t live with someone for seven years without picking up some clues about his mannerisms. Sirius shows his love in nonverbal ways, not just to Remus but to James and Peter too: buying an expensive broom maintenance kit for James, just because, and leaving it on his bed without a note or explanation; fixing Peter up on a date with a pretty Hufflepuff that he’d had his eye on for some time but never revealing his hand in the affair; lingering behind the clusters of students leaving the pitch so he could link his gloved pinkie with Remus’, hands hidden by the billowy sleeves of their robes.
But to outright say it to Remus? Unheard of. Remus never really expected it from Sirius, coming from a family so dysfunctional and, well, fucked up as the Blacks. So as long as Sirius bought the brand of tea he knew Remus preferred or warmed the sheets with a flick of his wand before they crawled into bed, he had been satisfied.
“This is a really fucking good time for you to say something that comforts me, you know,” Sirius says, and Remus knows he’s been lost in his own thoughts again. He laughs and brings their mouths together for a kiss. Sirius’ moan tells him that he’s been comforted enough.
Remus pushes his hand into Sirius’ hair, fingers curling just so around the strands of black, and Sirius presses into him. They stumble back into the refrigerator, laughing against each other’s lips as magnets and little notes rain down to the floor.
“Fucking twat,” Remus says, a bit breathless as he pulls away, a grin on his face. “Why the fuck didn’t you just tell me you were scared?”
Sirius shrugs, peppering kisses all over Remus’ lips and eyelids and cheeks. “Because I’m Sirius Fucking Black, Moony. I run with a goddamn werewolf. I’m not supposed to be afraid of anything.”
He moves in for another kiss, but Remus holds him back with a hand to his chest. “Well, Sirius Fucking Black, how do I know you’re not going to take off again? I mean, it’s not like we were perfect before, and this war isn’t getting any better.”
“Because… I don’t know!” Sirius says, frowning. “I just told you I won’t, that’s how. I love you, okay? I’ve been miserable these past few weeks because I know I fucked up and… I just. I love you.”
Remus smiles, shaking his head because he knows that he should make Sirius suffer just a bit more, but he can’t bear it himself. “I love you, too, arsehole. You are, you know. An arsehole.”
“Yeah,” Sirius laughs, and he kisses Remus once he drops the hand separating them. “But I’m your arsehole. Again.”
The rest of the evening is spent in Remus’ flat, getting reacquainted with one another. They collapse onto the couch, limbs tangled together as they share the only beer left in Remus’ refrigerator and the almost-forgotten pasty. Remus blushes at the way Sirius can’t stop touching his face: fingertips tracing his lips, a thumb swept across his cheekbone, a nose nuzzled against his jaw. They fill each other in on the past two months of their lives. They kiss, they touch, they kiss a little more, and Sirius finally gets up and pulls Remus off the couch.
“I’m not that kind of girl, Mr Black,” Remus teases, pretending to hesitate as Sirius drags him down the hall toward his bedroom.
“I happen to know you’re exactly that sort of girl, Mr Lupin,” Sirius retorts, grinning. “Remember the night after we won the House Cup?”
“Oh, don’t you fucking dare!” Remus laughs as he finds himself pushed down onto his bed. “I was caught up in the spirit, okay?”
Sirius smirks down at Remus, crawling onto the bed and hovering over him. “So that’s what the kids are calling giving your mate a blowjob under the stairs these days? Huh.”
Remus shoves Sirius aside, moving quickly to straddle him and gain the upper hand. “Fuck you, Padfoot,” he says with a laugh, dipping his head to bite at Sirius’ lips.
“I was hoping you’d offer,” Sirius replies, arching toward Remus as he slips a hand beneath Sirius’ shirt, palm skirting along his belly.
Remus undresses Sirius then peels off his own clothes, and they fuck as if they’d not lost two months together, though Sirius’ hands clutch at Remus’ shoulderblades with a bit more desperation and Remus grips Sirius’ hips tight enough to leave faint bruises the next morning. It’s some unknown hour before dawn when they curl up together to sleep, skin slick with cooling sweat, invisible kisses and fingerprints pressed into pale skin as if reclaiming old territory.
Even before he opens his eyes late in the morning, Remus smiles at the warm body pressed to his back.
“So it wasn’t a dream?” he asks, twisting about so that he’s facing Sirius.
Sirius opens one eye and grins. His hair is spread all over the pillow, like black brushstrokes on a white canvas, and Remus thinks it’s ridiculous how much he’s missed the sight.
“It’s always a dream with me, baby,” he teases in a sleep-hoarse voice, winking at Remus. Sirius gets up and walks into the kitchen without putting a stitch of clothing on, and Remus knows he’s back.
“Make me toast,” he calls out, burrowing deeper into the bedclothes. Sirius grunts a response, but he returns with tea and toast for the both of them.
“I’m not your bitch, Moony,” he says, passing Remus a mug of tea.
Remus grins, biting a corner of toast. “Yes you are.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Sirius says, frowning as if just realising the fact for the first time.
Remus laughs, leaning over to kiss him, getting crumbs all over his lips. “You love it, though,” he mumbles against Sirius’ mouth, and he feels him grin in return.
Sirius curls his fingers at the back of Remus’ neck, their foreheads meeting gently. “Yeah, maybe.”
When Remus goes back to work on Monday, sweeping up in a small London barbershop, his routine remains generally the same: the long way home that he’s come to enjoy, a cheese and vegetable pasty, the small talk with Mrs Donnelly. He enters his flat and hangs his coat, as always, on the hook behind the door.
The only difference is that Sirius is there once more, the flat warmed by a fire he’d built in anticipation of Remus coming home. He kisses Remus as he unwinds the scarf wrapped tightly about his neck.
“It’s fucking cold out there, Padfoot,” Remus says.
“S’pose it falls to me to warm you up, then,” Sirius replies, and he can’t get Remus’ jumper off fast enough.
Author: crooked
Recipient: sea_shtick
Rating: R
Highlight for Warnings: *None.*
Word Count: 3302
Summary: Remus turns to routine and habit when Sirius shakes everything up - and, of course, Sirius shakes that up too.
Author's notes: I really hope you enjoy this, sea_shtick! And special thanks to my lovely beta, such_heights! ♥ (any mistakes left in are my own.) Happy Holidays, everyone :)
He does the same thing every evening: takes the long way home; walks through Whitechapel with his hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, the thin fabric not doing much to cut against the fierce chill; stops off for a cheese and vegetable pasty; smiles and makes polite conversation with Mrs Donnelly as he passes her open door in the corridor; reaches the door to his flat and slips inside with a quiet sigh.
The routine never deviates, not even the encounters with Mrs Donnelly because she is always there. They - these things, places, people - become the only constants in Remus’ life, and he clings to them with a fierceness that almost frightens him.
There was a time when the close of his day brought an excitement that he could barely contain. He’d never dream of taking the long way home then; it was Apparition or the Floo network, nothing slower than the speed of light. He had someone to return to, someone to creep up behind him and wrap his warmth around him. Someone was there to breathe against his ear, lips curled into a smirk Remus didn’t need to see to know existed. Sirius didn't live with him, but he spent more time at Remus’ flat than his own. He was always there, without fail, when Remus came home from work.
It’s fucking cold out there, Padfoot, he’d say.
S’pose it falls to me to warm you up, then, Sirius would answer, hands already pushing inside Remus’ jacket and beneath his jumper.
They’d end up tumbling onto the couch, into the bedroom, pressing against the narrow strip of wall beside the door because it had been a bloody long day, and tea and beans on toast could wait. Sirius, England’s most impatient bloke, would take his time, slowly undressing Remus, touching his skin and leaving invisible fingerprints everywhere. He’d wait until Remus was begging for more than the soft strokes of his fingertips, and then Sirius would dip his head and kiss him: lips, thighs, belly, hips. He left no part of Remus untouched, so that he was trembling by the time Sirius would actually start fucking him.
But that all came to a stop two months ago. Remus doesn’t get fucked over the back of the sofa or up against the bathroom sink anymore. He eats his pasty, makes a pot of tea, smokes a fag on the fire escape, and tidies up his already immaculate flat just to keep his hands and mind occupied.
Then he goes to sleep, and Remus wakes up to do it all over again.
Except for the one day when the universe has other plans for him.
Sirius has no reason to be in Whitechapel, not since the breakup. (The breakup, mind, that Remus still can‘t figure out. Things weren’t ideal, and they had both changed since the war intensified. Maybe there were prolonged periods of silence, uncomfortably awkward moments in which neither knew what to say, so nothing was said at all. And perhaps they didn’t kiss as much, touch as often, or make love like they used to; that didn’t stop Remus from reeling when Sirius was waiting on the top of the stairs, a box full of the things he kept at Remus’ next to him and a sheepish expression on his face.)
So he is the very last person Remus is expecting to see in queue at the counter in the pasty shop. He panics, that feeling of dread and ‘oh fuck I can’t let him see me’ that a person gets when seeing an ex. Remus turns on his heel to leave, but it’s too late.
“Remus?” Sirius calls out, and Remus turns to see him heading out the door. He’s got a paper bag in his hands, the bottom stained with the telltale signs of grease and the juices from the pasty. Remus can smell it; it’s cheese and vegetable.
“Sirius, hi!” he says with more false exuberance than he was aiming for. “What are you doing around here?”
It’s not as if they’ve not seen each other at Order meetings and one very awkward dinner with James and Lily and Peter and his new girlfriend. But Remus is always able to avoid this, talking to him face to face, so now he feels like his heart is beating so hard against his ribcage that it just might burst.
“I, uh, well,” Sirius starts. He pauses, looking up, and Remus makes the fatal mistake of looking back at him. He’s still beautiful, of course, and Remus doesn’t know why that surprises him. Sirius was a beautiful eleven-year-old boy when they first met on the train (though Remus didn’t think of him in those terms yet); he was beautiful when he sat pressed close to Remus, chewing nervously on his lip as he looked from Peter to James and back to Remus, blurting out that they knew his secret and, no, they didn’t care; he was beautiful when Remus swore under his breath, finally at his breaking point, and grabbed the tail of Sirius’ tie to pull him in for their first, awkward kiss; he was beautiful when he told Remus that he needed to be with him; and he was even beautiful when he broke Remus’ heart five weeks ago, just three months after they’d left Hogwarts, and told him it just wasn’t working anymore.
Remus blinks, realizing that Sirius is just staring at him. He got lost in his thoughts, and he blushes softly. “I’m sorry, what? I… what?”
Sirius laughs, and Remus hates the way it still makes his stomach tie up in knots in the best way possible. “I said I was in the neighbourhood, but that’s a fucking lie.” He pushes the paper sack into Remus’ hands to fill up the few seconds of silence that have fallen. “This is for you. I was coming to see you.”
The words hit Remus in the face like a blast of cold air, but then he realises that it was just a blast of cold air as a bus drives past. “I. You- It’s bloody freezing out here, Sirius,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Let’s… we can go back to mine? I mean, it’s right here.”
Sirius’ expression is hard to read, but Remus is almost certain he sees a flash of excitement in his storm cloud eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s only sensible.”
“And I know how you strive for sensibility every day,” Remus retorts, rolling his eyes and grinning at him. Sirius laughs, and Remus is amazed at how easy it is to fall back into familiar and comfortable territory with him.
He isn’t entirely at ease, though, as they walk toward his flat. Neither says much to the other. Sirius keeps his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and Remus clutches the bag so tightly his knuckles turn a bit white. Remus’ flat has never seemed so bloody far from the pasty shop before now. He turns his head to finally say something to Sirius, to ask him exactly why he was coming to see him, but a clap of thunder sounds so loudly overhead that he jumps, subconsciously moving closer to Sirius.
Sirius laughs and opens his mouth to say something sarcastic, but the sky suddenly opens up and it starts pouring down rain. “Shit!” he spits out, and he takes Remus’ hand and starts off running down the street.
They’re breathless, soaked to the bone, and laughing madly once they finally duck into the shelter of Remus’ building. Sirius’ hair is like black ink running all over his face, plastered to his pale skin, and Remus knows he must look very similar to a drowned chicken himself. Their laughter dies down, and Remus realises that Sirius’ fingers are still linked with his. He pulls them away gently, his cheeks faintly tinted pink, and starts up the stairs to his third floor walkup.
Sirius stands close behind him as Remus unlocks his door. He can feel his breath on the back of his neck, cool on his wet skin. “Come in,” he mumbles, pushing the door open. He steps inside, peeling his wet coat and scarf off.
Remus takes out his wand to start drying his clothes, and he looks over to see Sirius standing just inside the flat. He’s staring at Remus, eyes fixed on him as he drips all over the root beer-colored shag carpeting. Remus suddenly feels like he’s naked under the intensity of that gaze, and a shiver runs through him that has nothing to do with the fact that he’s freezing cold.
“Sorry,” Sirius says, shaking his head and looking away. He must’ve seen the look on Remus’ face and realised he was staring. Remus doesn’t say anything in response. He just goes back to casting spells to dry his clothes, stealing glances at Sirius as he silently does the same.
“Do you want me to start a fire?” Remus asks, his voice sounding far too loud in the small, quiet flat. He looks over at Sirius, his hair sticking up like James’ due to a drying spell, and he laughs. “Yeah, I’ll start a fire. Do me a favour and put a kettle on.”
Sirius walks into the kitchen, and Remus takes a moment to stop and watch him walk out of the room. He knows exactly where Remus keeps the tea kettle, of course. He hears Sirius move about in the kitchen, and he still doesn’t know why they ever stopped being what they were.
Remus lights a fire in the hearth and goes into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and watching Sirius get out two mugs (Remus' favourite green mug with the chipped edge and the faded blue one Sirius always liked to use).
“Why are you really here, Sirius?” he asks. Sirius looks up, eyes looking a bit surprised at the question as he glances at Remus and then back down to the cook top.
He shrugs. “I suppose I just missed you.”
Remus takes a step into the small kitchen, his fingers playing with the edge of his shirt. “I missed your stupid face too,” he says, flashing Sirius a little smile. A silence falls between the two boys, broken moments later by the whistle of the tea kettle. Sirius busies himself making the tea, pouring heaps of sugar into his and just half a teaspoonful into Remus’ cup.
“Here,” Sirius says, handing the mug to Remus. Their fingertips brush, and Remus laughs.
“We’ve turned into a couple from one of those romance novels Mrs Pettigrew reads,” he says, shaking his head and pulling back his hand. “I mean, you know… if we were still a couple.”
Sirius sighs, looking down into his tea as if it holds the answer to some unasked question. “I was scared, okay? I know it’s a ridiculous excuse, but there it is.”
Remus cocks his head to the side, frowning at Sirius in confusion. “Scared of what, exactly?”
“Of this! Of us.” Sirius gestures wildly between the two of them. “We’re barely out of school, Remus, and I was keeping a toothbrush here and picking up milk for you when I knew you were low. It was just…”
“A bit overwhelming?” Remus helpfully supplies. Sirius looks up at him and nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know it was, Padfoot, but- Shit, I didn’t run out on you just because it was a little too much too fast.”
Sirius looks as if he’s about to bolt again, so Remus relents. “I’m just saying,” he continues, stepping a bit closer to Sirius, “that we had something really fucking good, and I didn’t know why it all came crashing down. It was confusing, and… and it hurt like hell, Sirius.”
“I’m sorry, Moony,” Sirius breathes, hastily putting his mug down, the tea sloshing over the edge and onto Remus’ table. He takes the tea from Remus and sets that aside too, pulling him into a tight embrace. Remus is stiff at first, but his arms soon wind around Sirius’ shoulders. He pushes his face against his neck and sighs, unable to stop himself from inhaling Sirius’ once-familiar scent.
Remus pushes away a moment later, though. “What does this mean, Sirius?” he asks, his hands still pressed flat against Sirius’ stomach. He simply can’t not touch him after so many weeks apart.
Sirius shrugs, and Remus frowns at him. “What? I mean, shit, Moony. I don’t know! It means I missed you, and I can’t stop fucking thinking about you, and you have to tell me that you’re not seeing anyone already because I’d die, you know, and… It means I fell in love with you a lot quicker than I thought I would and it scared me bloody fucking shitless, okay?”
Remus feels like Sirius has actually punched him in the stomach, the wind completely knocked from his lungs. He knows that he was falling in love with Sirius, and he knows that Sirius was in love with him. A bloke doesn’t live with someone for seven years without picking up some clues about his mannerisms. Sirius shows his love in nonverbal ways, not just to Remus but to James and Peter too: buying an expensive broom maintenance kit for James, just because, and leaving it on his bed without a note or explanation; fixing Peter up on a date with a pretty Hufflepuff that he’d had his eye on for some time but never revealing his hand in the affair; lingering behind the clusters of students leaving the pitch so he could link his gloved pinkie with Remus’, hands hidden by the billowy sleeves of their robes.
But to outright say it to Remus? Unheard of. Remus never really expected it from Sirius, coming from a family so dysfunctional and, well, fucked up as the Blacks. So as long as Sirius bought the brand of tea he knew Remus preferred or warmed the sheets with a flick of his wand before they crawled into bed, he had been satisfied.
“This is a really fucking good time for you to say something that comforts me, you know,” Sirius says, and Remus knows he’s been lost in his own thoughts again. He laughs and brings their mouths together for a kiss. Sirius’ moan tells him that he’s been comforted enough.
Remus pushes his hand into Sirius’ hair, fingers curling just so around the strands of black, and Sirius presses into him. They stumble back into the refrigerator, laughing against each other’s lips as magnets and little notes rain down to the floor.
“Fucking twat,” Remus says, a bit breathless as he pulls away, a grin on his face. “Why the fuck didn’t you just tell me you were scared?”
Sirius shrugs, peppering kisses all over Remus’ lips and eyelids and cheeks. “Because I’m Sirius Fucking Black, Moony. I run with a goddamn werewolf. I’m not supposed to be afraid of anything.”
He moves in for another kiss, but Remus holds him back with a hand to his chest. “Well, Sirius Fucking Black, how do I know you’re not going to take off again? I mean, it’s not like we were perfect before, and this war isn’t getting any better.”
“Because… I don’t know!” Sirius says, frowning. “I just told you I won’t, that’s how. I love you, okay? I’ve been miserable these past few weeks because I know I fucked up and… I just. I love you.”
Remus smiles, shaking his head because he knows that he should make Sirius suffer just a bit more, but he can’t bear it himself. “I love you, too, arsehole. You are, you know. An arsehole.”
“Yeah,” Sirius laughs, and he kisses Remus once he drops the hand separating them. “But I’m your arsehole. Again.”
The rest of the evening is spent in Remus’ flat, getting reacquainted with one another. They collapse onto the couch, limbs tangled together as they share the only beer left in Remus’ refrigerator and the almost-forgotten pasty. Remus blushes at the way Sirius can’t stop touching his face: fingertips tracing his lips, a thumb swept across his cheekbone, a nose nuzzled against his jaw. They fill each other in on the past two months of their lives. They kiss, they touch, they kiss a little more, and Sirius finally gets up and pulls Remus off the couch.
“I’m not that kind of girl, Mr Black,” Remus teases, pretending to hesitate as Sirius drags him down the hall toward his bedroom.
“I happen to know you’re exactly that sort of girl, Mr Lupin,” Sirius retorts, grinning. “Remember the night after we won the House Cup?”
“Oh, don’t you fucking dare!” Remus laughs as he finds himself pushed down onto his bed. “I was caught up in the spirit, okay?”
Sirius smirks down at Remus, crawling onto the bed and hovering over him. “So that’s what the kids are calling giving your mate a blowjob under the stairs these days? Huh.”
Remus shoves Sirius aside, moving quickly to straddle him and gain the upper hand. “Fuck you, Padfoot,” he says with a laugh, dipping his head to bite at Sirius’ lips.
“I was hoping you’d offer,” Sirius replies, arching toward Remus as he slips a hand beneath Sirius’ shirt, palm skirting along his belly.
Remus undresses Sirius then peels off his own clothes, and they fuck as if they’d not lost two months together, though Sirius’ hands clutch at Remus’ shoulderblades with a bit more desperation and Remus grips Sirius’ hips tight enough to leave faint bruises the next morning. It’s some unknown hour before dawn when they curl up together to sleep, skin slick with cooling sweat, invisible kisses and fingerprints pressed into pale skin as if reclaiming old territory.
Even before he opens his eyes late in the morning, Remus smiles at the warm body pressed to his back.
“So it wasn’t a dream?” he asks, twisting about so that he’s facing Sirius.
Sirius opens one eye and grins. His hair is spread all over the pillow, like black brushstrokes on a white canvas, and Remus thinks it’s ridiculous how much he’s missed the sight.
“It’s always a dream with me, baby,” he teases in a sleep-hoarse voice, winking at Remus. Sirius gets up and walks into the kitchen without putting a stitch of clothing on, and Remus knows he’s back.
“Make me toast,” he calls out, burrowing deeper into the bedclothes. Sirius grunts a response, but he returns with tea and toast for the both of them.
“I’m not your bitch, Moony,” he says, passing Remus a mug of tea.
Remus grins, biting a corner of toast. “Yes you are.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Sirius says, frowning as if just realising the fact for the first time.
Remus laughs, leaning over to kiss him, getting crumbs all over his lips. “You love it, though,” he mumbles against Sirius’ mouth, and he feels him grin in return.
Sirius curls his fingers at the back of Remus’ neck, their foreheads meeting gently. “Yeah, maybe.”
When Remus goes back to work on Monday, sweeping up in a small London barbershop, his routine remains generally the same: the long way home that he’s come to enjoy, a cheese and vegetable pasty, the small talk with Mrs Donnelly. He enters his flat and hangs his coat, as always, on the hook behind the door.
The only difference is that Sirius is there once more, the flat warmed by a fire he’d built in anticipation of Remus coming home. He kisses Remus as he unwinds the scarf wrapped tightly about his neck.
“It’s fucking cold out there, Padfoot,” Remus says.
“S’pose it falls to me to warm you up, then,” Sirius replies, and he can’t get Remus’ jumper off fast enough.