"Wrong, In All The Right Ways" for rsbigbang [2/3]

[museme87]

Title: Wrong, In All The Right Ways
Author: museme87
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating NC-17
Word Count: 22,353
Warnings: sex, canon-compliant character deaths, AU ending, language
Summary: After having been broken up for a year, Remus and Sirius are forced back together when their assistance is needed for an Order mission. The series of events that follow their reunion, coupled with their insecurities, send them spiraling towards certain disaster until one October night when the course of fate shifts for them alone.
Author's Notes: Written for rsbigbang. A huge thank-you to my beta, L, for going over this fic multiple times and for talking me off the metaphorical ledge during the writing process.



On Remus' bed, Sirius sits in pain, right hand cradling his damaged left. He moves it, testing just how much function he's lost, and quickly regrets it as a searing stab races up his arm. Sirius doesn't know what sort of spell Travers used and can only hope that the injury isn't so severe that Remus can't fix it. A trip to St. Mungo's at this point might be risky given that the Death Eaters know he's been injured.

"Alright there?" Remus asks, coming into the bedroom with his kit of plasters and salves.

"Managing."

Remus offers him a weak smile before dropping to his knees in front of Sirius to inspect his hand. Judging from the wincing, Sirius can tell that Remus doesn't like what he sees. And if Remus-who has spent the last fifteen years fixing himself up post-moon-thinks it's bad, then it must be.

"You're not going to have to cut it off, are you?"

"No, you're safe from that, I think, unless I really fuck up my wandwork. You're going to have to go easy on it, though."

"But that's my wanking hand," Sirius says jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood.

Remus glances up at him. "I'm afraid you're going to have to find someone to scratch your itch for you, then. Or make do with your right."

With the way that Remus is looking at him, Sirius feels the strong urge to kiss him, to apologize for everything he's said and done for the past year. He thinks back to the Killing Curse that barely missed Remus, thinks how Remus might not have been with him right now if it hadn't been for quick reflexes. Suddenly all this fighting seems so incredibly stupid. If nothing else, Sirius thinks they ought to work on mending their friendship; life's too short and uncertain to hold grudges.

An agonizing pain spreads through his hand, stopping any thoughts of making peace with Remus in their tracks. He tries to jerk his hand back from the cloth that Remus is using to clean the wound, but Remus persists.

"Oww! Bloody hell, Remus," Sirius hisses.

"Sorry, but it's probably best to do this part the Muggle way. Any variant on a cleansing charm will be too harsh on a cut this severe, I think."

The cleaning alone seems to take forever, only furthered by the sharp pains, twinges, and deep aches caused by the cloth and antiseptic. Remus tries his best to be gentle, and if it were anyone else attending to him, Sirius would have shouted obscenities already. Because it's Remus, however, Sirius resists.

"There, now for the charms."

The first of them, Remus explains, is to regrow the muscle tissue. He didn't explain, however, that it would hurt like hell. Before Sirius even has the opportunity to complain about it, Remus casts another series of charms-one minty cool, one that tingles, one that momentarily changes his damaged flesh turquoise. Finally, in silence, Remus spreads a salve across the significantly improved wound and wraps a bandage around it.

"That's the best I can do, I'm afraid."

"Thanks, Moony. Feels loads better already."

Sirius expects Remus to move from his kneeling position, but Remus remains at his feet. His hands slip firmly onto Sirius' thigh, and Sirius' breath hitches in response to the unexpected and intimate contact. He wonders what Remus is thinking, knowing full well where his own thoughts are drifting.

"You should stay here tonight," Remus says. "I'll worry if you go home, especially with your hand like that. I mean, I know the bed isn't as big as yours…I'll sleep on the couch, of course…"

"Moony?" Sirius calls, taking Remus by the hand.

Remus stands. "Hmm?"

"Shut up."

Sirius leans back onto Remus' bed, pulling Remus on top of him. Between them, a year has suddenly faded into nonexistence, anger and concern and accusations slipping away like sand through fingers. Sirius remembers this, remembers him, his lips finding their way to Remus'-always slightly chapped from worrying at them-his right arm circling Remus' neck.

Remus presses into him, and Sirius gives an involuntary gasp at the feel of Moony's cock gradually making itself known. When his lips part, Remus slips his tongue between them, exploring Sirius' mouth and drinking him in. Sirius pushes back against him-both tongue and body-his nerves buzzing with a pleasing sensation. He feels his own cock harden against Remus' thigh, and unashamed, Sirius wonders how they ever managed to quit each other for an entire year.

"Want you," Sirius mumbles, as Remus drops kisses along his cheek.

"Budge up, then," he replies before his teeth find the shell of Sirius' ear.

Sirius, relishing the feel of Remus nipping at his ear, finds it difficult to move at all. He whimpers, hand seeking out the strain in Remus' corduroys, and feels his cock twitch at the thickness and heaviness of Remus' own. There, he rubs, and Remus' hips jerk to push against his hand, seeking friction.

"If you don't stop that right now…" Remus threatens.

Sirius bites the flesh where neck meets shoulder, and Remus keens in response, making Sirius wonder if Remus hadn't wanted this all along. "What?"

"This will be a very…mmm…short lived-Sirius-ungh…liaison."

The prospect of all of this ending prematurely sends Sirius inching up the bed into a better position just as Remus had asked. Remus shifts on top of him, lips meeting in a fever and bodies aligning in a way that Sirius never quite appreciated before.

As Sirius takes Remus' lip between his teeth, Remus slides his hand between them, pushing up Sirius' shirt frantically as if to suggest that it's perfectly criminal that he's still wearing it. Sirius tries to take it off, but Remus' lips-relentless in claiming his own-make it quite impossible to get it past his chest.

They break-mouths kiss-swollen-long enough for Sirius to lift up to rid himself of the shirt and for Remus to do the same. And as soon as they take care of that business, their hands are on one another's zips, fighting their way through trousers.

It's Remus who achieves his goal first-and only because Sirius has a bad habit of foregoing pants-and he takes Sirius' hard length into hand. Sirius shudders at the touch, mouth dropping open as he takes in a sharp breath. As Remus strokes downward, Sirius releases the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding with a moan.

"God, don't do that," Remus begs with a tortured little laugh.

"Undoes you, does it?"

He nods where he sucks eagerly at Sirius' neck. "As does your saying stuff like that."

Remus' hips cant suddenly as Sirius draws out his length. He buries his head into Sirius neck, panting as silky smooth flesh meets silky smooth flesh. They rock against one another, whispering incoherent words at every grind of the hips. Remus whimpers Sirius' name, and Sirius returns it with equal passion.

Hands slipping down Remus' sides-muscles taut and bones ever protruding-Sirius pushes the corduroys and pants down over Remus' arse. Palms seek out Remus' cheeks, nails digging into firm muscle, and Remus shifts just slightly, encouraging Sirius further in his pursuits.

His finger seeks out Remus' entrance, brushing lightly against the tight pucker. Remus nearly jumps at the initial contact, but Sirius soothes him with his lips, with his tongue, with the friction of his cock. As Remus relaxes, Sirius teases him open.

It's not as if Sirius hasn't had men-or women-after his break-up with Remus, but those (often) one-night-stands had never measured up to this. Sirius' mind clings to an idea long since buried, that what makes this wholly different from anything else is the feelings he has for Remus. One feeling in particular, in fact-one that he still can't bring himself to come to terms with.

Love.

"What's wrong?" Remus manages through his panting under Sirius' ministrations. "You look…something. Off. Yeah. Oh fuck, yeah."

"Huh? Nothing. It's nothing."

He can't think about that-about that frightening word-now. This isn't love. This isn't anything. It's fucking, sure, but fucking doesn't have to mean something; he's done enough of it to know that much.

In wanting to bury these feelings surfacing inside him, Sirius withdraws from Remus-and Remus makes a disapproving noise at that. He moves them around, discarding Remus of the rest of his clothes and himself of his denims. Then, he lies back, legs spread open, inviting Remus to make him forget.

That's all the encouragement Remus needs, apparently, as he leans over Sirius to fetch a container of lube from his bedside drawer. He applies it liberally to both his fingers and his cock before grazing Sirius' opening with the slick digits.

Sirius squirms against him-waiting and wanting-eager to have Remus inside him after all this time. Two fingers press into him, and it burns. It's been some time since he's done this regularly. Sirius embraces the discomfort, though, embraces the foreignness invading him, welcomes this feeling back after all this time.

"Moony," he hisses, as Remus begins to pump and spread his fingers inside him.

As Remus hits his prostate, he nearly jumps, mouth momentarily hanging open as he lets the pleasure build around him. He forgets, now, that pesky word that's haunted him this past year, can only feel, not think.

What he feels is nothing short of heart-stopping.

"Give it to me, love," Sirius demands. "Hard."

"You're hardly prepared-"

"Remus."

That does it for Remus-the sound of his name, heavy and gravel-like across Sirius' lips. When he feels Remus pushing against him, his stomach tenses in anticipation before he remembers that tension doesn't quite work well for his. Remus must sense this tension, too, because he uses his free hand to rub Sirius' arm comfortingly.

Remus eases into him, Sirius holding his breath as he does. The feel of Remus buried inside him brings back so many memories, of stolen moments in abandoned corridors and late nights between the bed linens. In some ways, this feels like the first time-that sense of finally hanging heavy over them, that sense of so this is what it is to be complete. In other ways, it feels like they're picking up right where they left off-unintentionally sloppy kisses and awkward rhythm no longer an issue after all these years.

"I…" Remus begins, softly.

"I know," Sirius says. "I'm there, too."

This poignant moment lasts only briefly, giving way to more primal needs-heat, friction, tightness. Remus moves in him, drawing back and pushing in once more. Sirius remembers the steps to this dance as if it had been ingrained in him-perhaps they've done this so many times it has-and moves his hips to meet Remus' thrusts.

Sensations build, almost peak as Remus hits his prostate over and over again. But it's not enough, not quite how Sirius wants it. Even in his euphoria, even as he tries to push all thoughts of what this means from his mind, Sirius can't shake the feeling that this isn't likely to happen again; it leaves him feeling empty.

"Make me feel it, love," he begs. "For a week."

Remus' thrusts become slams, and Sirius' own movements become more frantic, trying anything to make himself feel more. Not long after his request, it starts to ache-the brutality of it.

It has Sirius moaning like a slag.

He reaches down between them, taking himself into hand. But before he even has the opportunity to get much of a stroke in, he's already coating Remus' belly with his come, already twitching around Remus' thickness.

"Oh bloody hell, Sirius," Remus whimpers.

No more than three thrusts later, Remus is spilling himself inside Sirius, Sirius relishing the feel of it. For a moment, they pant in silence, trying to reclaim their breath. He thinks about kissing Remus in this afterglow, but realizes that the moments for post-shag kissing passed ages ago. They're not those people any longer.

Instead, Remus withdraws from him, and taking his wand, mutters a quick cleaning charm. Without a word, they both settle into bed, but neither finds easy sleep this night.

~*~*~

When they wake, they don't look at one another.

As Sirius slips slowly from Remus' messy bed-state only made worse by their shagging-he wishes he had an excuse for his behavior last night. Booze, drugs, grief-anything. But like it or not, he had been in this right mind, had wanted it against his better judgment-had done it against his better judgment.

They can't excuse away their behavior, so they ignore each other.

Sirius seeks out his clothes that lie strewn on the floor, quickly grabbing his denims that still stink like sweat and earth from yesterday's battle. He thinks to take a moment to Scourify them, but he can't quite bear being starkers in front of Remus any longer than he has to. So he slips them on, flattens his hair with his hands, and then finds his shirt.

When he hears Remus sniff hard, he wonders if his ex-boyfriend is crying, is beating himself up over some stupid mistake of theirs. He does that a lot-blames himself for things that are always, at least partially, out of his control. If the sun failed to rise one morning, Sirius knows that Remus would somehow find a way to shoulder the responsibility for it.

He catches himself opening his mouth to apologize several times as he puts on his socks and seeks out his boots. His regret dies swiftly on his tongue, though, uncertainty telling him it's best not to say anything to Remus just now; he's already done enough damage.

The reasons for Sirius' guilt are simple. It all comes down to the feelings he's failed to come to terms with-doesn't want to come to terms with-and what that emotional denial has done to Remus as a result. Not for the first time, Sirius wonders if Remus loved him last year, if Remus had been waiting to hear those three words from him before he voiced the sentiments himself. And if that's the case-if Remus had truly loved him back then-then Sirius can only imagine what his lie about McKinnon had done to him.

By sleeping with Remus last night, Sirius can't shake the feeling that they've opened Pandora's box. What miseries fly out, he can't know for certain. What he does know, however, is that he's not sure he has the strength to acknowledge them.

After finishing with his boots, Sirius stands to make his getaway. As he turns the corner of the bed, he meets Remus-who looks equally troubled to have accidentally turned to face him-and feels his heart sink. Remus' own regret is written so easily on his face, and Sirius doesn't blame him for that. For as much as they needed one another in the past, what they did last night after abstaining for so long is a bit like a reformed dark wizard going back to the Black Arts; it doesn't take much to get pulled back in.

Sirius doesn't trust himself enough not to be taken again.

"I'll just be going," Sirius mutters, and it's a fight just to get those few words out.

"That would be for the best," Remus agrees in an almost whisper.

~*~*~

Sirius spends the majority of the day in his flat, nursing a bottle of Firewhisky. It's not until the Order meeting draws near that he stops and, stumbling, seeks out a sobriety potion tucked away in the cabinet of the loo. When he finally finds it, he only drinks half, figuring he'll likely need to be a bit pissed to have the courage to see Remus so soon.

In retrospect, Sirius thinks, as he Apparates into the yard of the Order's safehouse, he probably should have drunk the whole thing. He has nearly splinched himself judging from the foreign twinge on his forearm. Uninterested in examining his arm beyond a brief glance, he quickly makes his way into the house and seeks out a spot around an already crowded table.

"Mister Black, fashionably late as usual," Minerva says tersely, rolling her eyes from where she sits near Dumbledore.

He's sure that he would have some sort of witty comment to respond with if it weren't for the fact that he's slightly buzzed, his mind not quite as sharp as it ought to be. Instead, he blows her a kiss and takes the seat next to Lily. The moment he sits, he feels a sharp ache inside him and instantly regrets encouraging Remus to make him "feel it for a week." And judging from the way that Remus' cheeks are pink, he must know the cause of his discomfort.

"Now that we are all in attendance, let's get started, shall we?" Dumbledore begins. "In regards to your assignment in the west, Remus and Sirius, how did you fair?"

Sirius looks to Remus for help, unsure of exactly what to tell Dumbledore and what to hold back on; however, Remus refuses to meet his eyes. Left to his own devices, Sirius turns to Dumbledore and decides to explain it all. He doesn't have the mind tonight to keep his lies straight.

"We were attacked on the second night." And there is a collective gasp. "Bellatrix, Travers, Nott, the elder Avery…"

"Avery is dead," Remus adds. "I…killed him. And Travers has been blinded."

"Which was my doing."

"Nott Apparated as soon as he lost the upper hand, and we left Bellatrix there."

"You know what I've told you about survivors," Moody mutters, before Dumbledore waves him off.

"Sirius was injured," Remus explains, bite to his words at Moody's accusation. "Travers and Bellatrix aren't pushovers by any means, and we were at a distinct disadvantage."

"Yes, of course. You were both very fortunate to have had an opportunity to escape, and you did right by doing so," Dumbledore says. "I am not so much concerned about your being discovered as I am by what you saw, if anything."

Sirius tries to think back to that first night and says, with a touch of uncertainly, "Dolohov showed up. Bella met up with him not long after, but we couldn't see what they were exchanging. I assumed it was something important, though."

"Naturally. Lord Voldemort would not send Dolohov, Bellatrix, and Travers to the same location in a span of two days if he didn't think whatever message he was sending required the utmost protection. They are too valuable to him to risk."

Remus shrugs. "We know nothing else, though. It's not much to go on."

"We must maintain hope and perseverance."

Sirius wonders if Dumbledore even listens to what he says. Hope and perseverance? How long have they been clinging to just that? How many of their own have died in the name of protecting the future? Too many, in Sirius' opinion. The Prewitts, McKinnon, Meadows, Fenwick… And for what? The Order has gained nothing-not an ounce of good news or an advantage over the enemy-almost since they began really fighting a few years ago.

For an hour, Sirius listens to Dumbledore's ideas, to the next stages of the plan-a plan for what, Sirius has no idea, and he figures Dumbledore doesn't know either. He hears Moody bicker with McGonagall, Dodge throwing in his two Knuts here and there. And while he hears all of it, he doesn't absorb a thing. In his newly sobered state, his head begins to pound weakly, making it difficult to follow the conversation. So instead, he tries to focus his attention on sleeping Harry, nestled in his mother's arms, until Dumbledore announces that the meeting is over.

He doesn't rise from his seat right away, instead leaning over the arm of the chair to smooth his hand over Harry's unruly hair, smiling.

"You should have told us you'd been injured. What happened?" Lily asks.

"It wasn't such a big deal. Remus patched me up just fine."

"Still."

"Come on, Red," he says with a grin, "You've one baby to mother. You don't need to coddle the rest of us, now."

"And Remus? How did you two get along?"

"Did Prongs ask you to interrogate in his stead?" he asks, glancing over to where James is speaking with Emmaline. "It was fine."

She looks at him accusingly. "Why don't I believe you?"

He doesn't get an opportunity to answer that because Harry wakes up, snuffles turning into grumpy cries. Lily does her best to placate him-rocking him in her arms and cooing at him-but Harry is too upset for any of that. James, apparently sensing that it's time to go, breaks off his conversation and returns to Lily's side.

"I take it that's our cue."

"Yeah, sounds like it. It's a bit late for him. He'll go down just fine when we get him to his cot," Lily answers, standing and picking up Harry's nappy bag before turning her attention back to Sirius. "Don't think we're done with this conversation, Padfoot."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Of course not, sweetheart."

After saying a few goodbyes, Sirius follows the Potters outside. He gives Lily and Harry a kiss and claps James on the shoulder, begging them to take care and remember to expect him on Friday, before the couple Apparates home.

It's with some surprise that he realizes he made it through that meeting unscathed. That likely won't be the case on Friday, though, when he goes over to mind Harry for a bit. And as much as he would love to back out of the engagement now that he knows an interrogation is to come, he won't deny James and Lily a few hours away. It is their anniversary, after all, and while they can't really go out, dinner together at his place is something. Really, it's the least he can do for them.

The silence-brief after the Potters left-is suddenly broken by the sound of the screen door creaking open. Sirius turns, not at all shocked to find Remus joining him on the porch. And while he isn't shocked, he still isn't sure what to say to Remus, why it is that Remus is approaching him.

"Have a fag?" Remus asks.

Sirius rummages around in his pocket for his pack and, producing it, tosses it to him. "Always. But I thought you quit."

"It's just one of those nights," he says, shrugging. "You know what I mean."

He does. He's had too many of those nights over the course of the past few years, which has made it impossible to kick the habit. Though if he's honest with himself, he's never completely wanted to in the first place. Thick-skinned Remus with his even thicker walls, however, managed to quit; he's simply too good to let the hard things to get to him.

"Why am I under the impression that you're not here just to bum a fag?"

"I thought we might talk about last night."

"Why?" Sirius groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What? You want to keep silent about it? Because that's worked so brilliantly for us in the past."

While Remus' point is entirely valid, that doesn't mean he's any more ready to speak about what happened between them. It was such a stupid thing to do, such a caught-up-in-the-moment decision. They'd just battled Death Eaters, nearly lost their lives. Something like that would bring anyone together, especially the two of them who have been avoiding this tension-sexual or otherwise-between them for months. But Sirius never imagined it to progress past this morning.

"Can't we just…" He sighs. "Call it what it is?"

"What exactly is it?"

"A celebratory fuck?" Sirius suggests, unable to look Remus in the eye.

Remus nods solemnly. "Right then."

It takes a moment before Sirius realizes that Remus is walking down the steps to the sidewalk. With a mixture of panic and frustration, his heart constricts in his chest. Perhaps he shouldn't have sounded so casual; things are anything but casual between them. And maybe he shouldn't have called it a fuck because, if he's honest with himself, nothing he and Remus have ever done together could really be considered fucking. There was always something present between them-friendship or tenderness or that word that he refuses to think of. Last night was really no different.

He considers how immature it sounds-dismissing what happened between them. He's not a boy anymore; gone is the blissful naïveté that once permitted him to play fast and loose with lovers without fear of consequence. And yeah, maybe he and Remus are really broken beyond repair. Maybe things will never be what they were before. All Sirius knows is that they made progress last night towards something productive-not friendship, or love, or anything of such a serious stock. But it was something, and Sirius is struck by the desire to cling to it.

"What do you want it to be?" he calls, following Remus off the porch.

"I don't know."

But this isn't I don't know and more of Remus' patented I'm not going to answer that, you stupid sod.

"Moony," he says, taking Remus' wrist to stop his progress. "Please."

"I wasn't expecting us to get back together if that's what you're so concerned about. I'm not that naïve. Nor would I want to resume what we had."

Sirius can't pretend that the words don't cut him. Even though he feels similar sentiments, it hurts to know that Remus no longer wants him emotionally. Somehow it cheapens their previous relationship-tarnishes those memories that he still holds dear. Sirius wants desperately for Remus to take what he said back.

"Was what we had so bad?" Sirius asks.

"This isn't the place, Sirius."

"Then let's go somewhere. A pub maybe? Or that café just a few blocks over? I know you love their pastries."

"I don't think-"

"My treat."

Remus sighs, frustrated. "Why is this suddenly so important to you?"

"Because it's important to you. And you're right, we do need to talk about it. It's just going to fester between us otherwise, and I don't want that."

He looks at him, eyes narrowed. "Whatever this is-pastries, your treat-it's not a date."

"Not a date. That's fine."

"Then let go of my wrist. We're not holding hands."

Sirius does so, and Remus sets their pace down the sidewalk to the café they once frequented after Order meetings in the past. The familiarity of it all calms Sirius-the way Remus puffs on his cigarette, the stroll by starlight, the accidental bumps of shoulders and hands as they walk side by side. For a second, Sirius feels like he's living a different life with this man next to him.

"It wasn't, you know."

He looks over at Remus. "Hmm?"

"You asked if what we had was so bad. And it wasn't. Sometimes in those first few months I missed you so much I thought I'd stop breathing altogether."

The expression on Remus' face in one of uncertainty-should he really have admitted that sort of thing? In response, Sirius closes his eyes and reaches for a cigarette, suddenly needing desperately. He lights it with his Zippo-his favorite one he bought while visiting Remus over summer holiday before seventh year-and takes a long drag. Sirius considers whether or not he really wants to admit to Remus his own state in those first days after their break-up. Since Remus had, though, he feels he ought to as well.

"I cried."

"What?" Remus asks, startled.

"The night you packed your things and left the flat. I cried. I'd never felt so alone in my entire life."

"But you're the one who broke up with me. You're the one who was having a one off on the side. I thought you'd be happy with your new found freedom."

They ought to have gone to a pub, Sirius realizes, because he feels tonight's conversation would be a little easier to manage with another stiff drink. He should have known that his reasons for breaking up would come back to bite him in the arse. And he's not entirely sure that being honest from the beginning would have been any more painful than having to tell Remus now that he'd lied.

As they've arrived at the café, Sirius is spared a few additional minutes to get his story together. They sit in the corner-though they didn't have many options since the place is a bit crowded tonight-and their waitress comes to take their order. Remus spouts off something that Sirius, in his panic, doesn't hear entirely-though it definitely included the promised desserts-and when asked, Sirius says he'll just have whatever Remus is having. When the waitress leaves, Sirius feels Remus' eyes on him.

"Look, about my reasons," Sirius begins, ashamed, "they may have been a little more complicated than I let on."

"What do you mean? I don't see the complexity in shagging McKinnon."

Sirius hates how Remus keeps focusing on that. Hates it, but understands it to some degree. Remus has spent his entire life being told he's beneath people, especially where his lycanthropy is concerned. Of all the lies Sirius could have come up with, this is the one he shouldn't have chosen; Remus probably spent an obscene amount of time comparing himself with McKinnon and always found himself coming up short. For all that Sirius may have hated Remus' ability to make him feel that bloody word, he never wanted Remus to feel inadequate, never wanted to be just another one of those people.

"I never shagged McKinnon, Remus," he mutters.

"Please, you don't have to spare my feelings," Remus replies, voice less annoyed and far heavier with emotion that Sirius anticipated. "It's alright now."

"No, it's not. I'm telling you that I lied." Sirius looks up into Remus' shocked eyes. "I never slept with her."

"Why would you do something like that? If you wanted out, you could have just said so."

"No, I couldn't have. You would've wanted reasons regardless."

"So why then? Why did you break up with me? You said you'd suspected me as well, but…" Remus shakes his head, as if struggling to process Sirius' words. "Was that a lie, too?"

"In all honesty, that was mostly true. I did have my suspicions for a while, but it wouldn't have…that alone couldn't have made me break things off."

Remus' face falls, as he swallows the confirmation he'd likely feared for some time now. Sirius catches himself reaching across the table to place a comforting hand on Remus' arm but pauses and withdraws before Remus has the chance to shrug him off.

The urge to come clean about everything overwhelms Sirius. Pausing, he tests the words-the truth, the confession-on his tongue. Eight simple words: I think I was in love with you. His tongue rolls over the syllables, the voice in his head speaks them. They are not easy to say, and Sirius isn't ignorant to the fact that nothing will ever be the same after they leave his lips. For better or worse, he's going to do it, if for no other reason than to rid his conscience of this guilt.

"Forget it," Remus says, a sense of finality in his tone. "The reasons why aren't important. And if I keep…if we keep rehashing them, we'll never move on."

"Wait, you need to know-"

"I don't want to know. Knowing…it doesn't change what happened. It's what has happened that I need to come to terms with entirely. I don't care about your motivations, Sirius."

He's missed his chance. It's so bloody clear to him, and the moment he truly wants to do it, he can't. Despite how he tries, Sirius can't think of a way to get Remus to hear him out; he knows Remus too well to think that he'll actually give him the opportunity to say what's on his mind. Remus is just too stubborn like that.

"I'd like to apologize for last night," Remus explains, and Sirius is struck by the even, almost rehearsed, tone of his voice. "It only further complicated things between us."

"Then I'm sorry, too. I had my share in it, after all."

The conversation pauses there, as the waitress brings them their order. Sirius' nose crinkles at the sight of the tea Remus is so fond of-and that, personally, he feels tastes like piss. The cake, however, doesn't look half bad.

Remus digs in immediately while Sirius plays with his piece instead of eating it. His mind drifts to apologies, to what he could possibly say to make this all better. There's not much that can right this, though, and Sirius isn't even sure just how much of their relationship can be repaired.

Struck by that thought, he looks up at Remus and says, "About last night, where does that leave us?"

"What are you asking?"

"We've been fighting for bloody ever. We weren't…mates, really. But after last night, we're not not mates, if you understand me. I don't know what you want me to be to you anymore."

"Oh," Remus whispers, setting down his tea cup. "What would you like to be to me?"

That's not an easy question to answer by any means. Sirius doesn't know what he wants. He's afraid to let Remus get close again, afraid he might feel what he felt before. But he doesn't want to be enemies either. He certainly doesn't want to be carrying on in silence like they have been. But can they really go back to just friendship?

"I want to get along," he answers truthfully. "I want to talk to you, Moony. I don't want things to be awkward anymore, and if you're pissed off about something I did, I want you to say it to my face like you used to."

"That's fair. I'd like to go back to some semblance of normalcy as well. It's exhausting being this angry with you. But the sex…"

"Was…a mistake."

Remus nods. "Agreed. We should just forget it."

As he shifts in his seat, Sirius feels the ache inside him still-the reminder of Remus and what happened between them last night. Since he left Remus' this morning, Sirius has had to suffer this discomfort, and yet he doesn't mind it. It's a reminder that he was wanted by the man that he once was in love with. And it's strange how, just for an hour or so yesterday, the months of awkwardness, cold glares, and harsh exchanges collapsed. It's as if they managed to cheat time somehow, someway. Sirius doesn't know how to make sense of it; all he knows is that last night felt a bit liking coming home after a long, tedious assignment-glorious and familiar and everything collected into a few spare moments of his life.

It's a thought that gives Sirius pause. He wonders if this, with Moony, is something he'll be able to let go, something he'll be willing to forget. Part of him thinks not. Because, if Moony is home, what is he without him? Will be spend his life in restlessness, going from person to person with the lingering sense of wanting to be somewhere he belongs? But the other part of him thinks that getting hooked on Remus again might be as bad as returning to Grimmauld Place. The lies and silence and secrets make him miserable, as if he's trapped in his boyhood room. What's more, it's so hard to escape both Remus and that house. Though, maybe it's time to stop running and fighting and struggling. Maybe it's time to face the hardships of adulthood head on, like he never has before.

As Sirius looks over to Remus, ready to say something regardless of what that something is, the words dissipate. His Moony-and, yes, somehow Remus will always belong with him no matter what-looks anguished over this-his brow heavy and eyes tired. Sirius knows he's responsible for it-Moony's misery-and that's why his words fail him. He can't bear the thought of causing Remus any more pain.

"You're right," Sirius says, defeated. "Let's just forget it."

~*~*~

"You know when I said that you two should fix things, I didn't mean with your cocks," James chides, adjusting his tie in the bathroom mirror. "Words are usually the better bet."

Sirius throws him a two-fingered salute from where he sits on the bathtub's edge in James' bath. He knew he was going to be interrogated tonight before James and Lily left for their little dinner; however, no amount of preparation could have really prepared him for having his idiotic decisions shoved in his face. Yes, he knows he shouldn't have shagged Remus. Yes, he knows that shagging didn't fix anything between them. But it happened all the same, and he understands that he's going to have to shoulder the burden of those ruddy choices.

"I don't need a lecture from you, thanks ever so much," Sirius mutters.

"So you talked then?"

"Yes, we talked, alright?"

"And?"

"And nothing. We both agreed it was a huge mistake."

Adjusting his collar, James turns to look skeptically at Sirius, brow raised and eyes accusatory. Sirius doesn't like this expression-it makes him feel a bit like a child being questioned by a father-and diverts his gaze to one of those funny Muggle bath toys-rubby ducks?-on the floor.

"You felt something."

"Did not," Sirius retorts.

"Merlin's bollocks, Padfoot! We're fighting a war. If you feel something for Moony, you ought to tell him. Who knows how long we've got."

"Says he who was against our arrangement in the first place."

"Look, I was a giant wanker in school. And yeah, being pissed off about you and Moony and whatever it was you two got up to behind the bed hangings was not one of my finer moments." A pause and then, "You two are made for each other, you know."

As Sirius begins to tell James that none of matters, his eyes fall on Remus, who has appeared in the doorway with Harry clinging to him in a fierce little hug. Sirius' stomach knots up, and what he wouldn't give to be able to relieve the tension.

As if by some unspoken request, James drops the conversation about him and Remus. Whether he is more or less relieved about that, Sirius isn't sure. On one hand, James is an annoying berk. On the other, having to talk with Remus seems like an awkward, impossible challenge, which has only been made worse by his constant thoughts these past few days. Constant thoughts which led him to a long forgotten cupboard in his flat packed with the remnants of his and Remus' life together.

He knew it was a mistake, of course, to unearth the memories and mementos he'd long since buried-pictures and letters and a few, unbearably meaningful gifts they had exchanged. Sirius hadn't remembered how happy he'd been back then, in those early days when they were fresh out of school. But when he'd stared at his face in the photos, he'd been stunned by the happiness there. Nowadays, he doesn't smile like that. And when he thinks of how it'd all been because of Remus, he's struck by how stupid he'd been. But none of that matters now, he reminds himself, because what's done is done.

"I'll just go see if Lily is ready," James explains, looking between them before slipping out the door.

Sirius sighs. "How much of that conversation did you hear?"

"Enough."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault. He shouldn't be putting his nose in our business."

"As if that's ever stopped him before."

"Moooony. Kisses!"

Harry brings his stuffed Padfoot to Remus' cheek-and Sirius cringes-making small kissing sounds. When Harry gets older, Sirius is going to return this embarrassment twice over. However, Remus isn't fussed by it, and instead gives Harry a quick kiss followed by one to his stuffed toy.

"Kisses are very nice, aren't they, Harry?"

"Nice!" he squeals in a fit of giggles.

"Mummy tells me that Uncle Sirius is going to mind you while she and Daddy have dinner at Uncle Sirius' flat."

"Mummy go," Harry explains, nodding.

"And are you going to be a good boy?"

"Harry bad."

Remus' laugh that follows fills Sirius up inside-a laugh that starts as a snort before ringing out deeply. He remembers a time when Remus used to laugh like that because of him. And Sirius knows he shouldn't be thinking of the past. He's quickly discovering that the one thing he might want most is a terribly dangerous thing, indeed.

"Looks like you're going to have your hands full tonight."

Sirius stands and reaches for Harry, Harry eager to be held by him. "When isn't the Prongslet a handful? But we're going to have brilliant fun, yeah?" He pokes Harry in the stomach.

"It was a kind thing for you to do, Sirius," Remus says, smiling. "They need this."

If anyone knows that, it's Sirius, who has watched James and Lily holed up in this house for too long-movement restricted almost entirely save for the occasional meeting. They never have time alone anymore, never have the opportunity to just get away for a few hours and enjoy themselves properly. Having fought in this war for so long, they all feel a lot older than twenty-one, but two people who have shouldered so much responsibility at such a young age deserve to have a bit of quiet time together. Sirius was more than happy to offer his flat for a romantic night out-its walls warded against the darkest magic and offering protection of many kinds.

"They do," he agrees. "But what are you doing here? Lily didn't ring you because I'm watching the sprog alone, right?"

"Oh no, I was just checking in on them. There was a Death Eater attack in Winsford this afternoon, and it was just a bit too close, you know? I came as soon as I could."

"Thanks for looking out for them, Moony."

"You don't have to thank me. They're my friends, too." Remus pauses. "I thought something might have happened. I stopped at your flat, and when you didn't answer-"

"You went to my flat?" Sirius asks, surprised.

Remus looks a bit hurt. "Just because we don't sh-err, bake biscuits anymore," he explains, censoring himself in Harry's presence now that he's begun to repeat everything, "doesn't mean I can't care about you."

Sirius arches an eyebrow, amused. "Bake biscuits?"

"Oh shove off!" he shouts with a laugh. "It served its purpose, didn't it?"

"Gentlemen?"

Just then Lily appears in the doorway, a lovely sight clad in a little black dress that Sirius distinctly remembers from Lily and James' pre-marriage days. She's amused, and the smile on her lips only serves to make her all the prettier. If James doesn't enjoy himself tonight, he deserves to be smacked, Sirius thinks.

"We're going to leave. We'll be back by ten, as promised, Padfoot."

"Mummy! Mummy!" Harry shouts, reaching for her.

"There's a dear. Now be good for Uncle Sirius, okay?" She kisses his messy black mop of hair. "Mummy loves you and will see you in a bit."

"Don't worry about us," Sirius interjects. "We'll be just fine. Enjoy yourselves."

Lily winks at him. "Oh, I intend to."

After another peck to Harry's cheek, she leaves quickly, not wanting to upset Harry further than it already might. He fusses only for a few minutes, and Sirius' gentle bouncing soothes Harry's fat tears.

Twenty minutes into James and Lily's leaving, Harry has forgotten they've even left him behind, playing happily on the floor with his toys. Sirius watches on from the couch, quite proud of himself and his ability to keep things under control. Usually his Harry minding duties are a little more chaotic.

He thinks that having Moony around helps keep things in order-his former lover having a sort of knack when it comes to damage control. Sirius wonders, as his eyes fall onto Remus, why he's still here in the first place. Not that he minds, because he most certainly doesn't. However, it's strange all the same.

More often than he'd like to admit, Sirius has thought about what babysitting with Remus might be like. They broke things off soon after Harry was born and never had the opportunity to have the baby to themselves. But now, sitting in this living room among all of Harry's things, it feels pleasantly domestic. The fact that he's not bothered by it startles him a little, but Sirius is quickly coming to terms with the fact that he wants-or once wanted-something very akin to this with Remus. Not that they could have ever had it, but it would have been nice all the same.

"I ought to be going," Remus says, standing, and it pulls Sirius from his thoughts.

"Why? I mean, you've only just got here, and, well…"

"I never meant to crash your godfather-godson time. Like I said, just stopping by anyway." He shrugs. "It looks like you have plans after anyway, so-"

Sirius is caught off guard by that. Yes, he does have plans with someone after his minding duties are over. Not that the date particularly means anything to him. He only made it because he thought-knows-that he needs to move on in lieu of his discussion with Remus a few days ago. And nothing quite captures the spirit of moving on like a fuck.

"How did you guess? I don't remember telling you."

Remus' lips pull into a subtle, guilty smile. "Your shirt. You always liked wearing it when we… Well, anyway, I should be off."

As if spurred by his guilt, Remus doesn't even wait for Sirius' response before walking casually yet briskly towards the Floo. Immediately, Sirius jumps up to ask him to wait, but spills hot tea down his front in the process. A string of curses follow, stopping Remus in his tracks.

"Are you alright, Padfoot?" Remus asks, approaching him in concern.

"Hurts like hell," Sirius mutters before waving his still-bandaged hand. "This is apparently my week for injuries."

"Shit, let's get you to the loo. Lily probably has some dittany stowed away in there. Ought to clear the burn right up." Remus turns to Harry. "Harry, Padfoot and I will just be in the loo for a second, alright?"

"Pafoo ouchy?" Harry asks from his pile of toy Quidditch players, his bottom lip jutting out.

"Just a bit, Prongslet," Sirius says, pulling out his wand and flicking it to put up the child safety charm. "But I'll be just fine."

The fact of the matter is, Sirius isn't "just fine". Only, not for the reasons he initially thought. He stands against the sink, button-up unbuttoned, with Remus applying dittany to his front. As Remus' hand brushes his skin, he sucks in a breath, and it has a lot less to do with the coolness of the dittany and far more to do with Remus touching him.

The further Remus' hand travels down his stomach, the harder it is for Sirius to remember to breathe altogether. In an attempt to keep his hormones in check, he tries to focus his thoughts elsewhere. However, elsewhere is significantly less "elsewhere" and more concerned with other aspects of Remus-the fringe of his hair, the part of his lips, the way his muscles move beneath the thin cotton of his tee. And so much for controlling hormones because his denims are growing increasingly, uncomfortably snug.

"Remus?" he whispers, involuntarily licking his lips.

"Hmm?" And Remus sounds quite lost, himself.

"I've…not been burned quite that far down."

Sirius feels Remus' hand smear the dittany around his navel, almost unconsciously, before he snaps out of his daze and withdraws his hand slightly.

"Oh."

Just as Sirius realizes that Remus is not bothering to separate the short distance between them, he notices the subtle tilt of Remus' head. Perhaps he's reading too much into things. Perhaps he's simply caught up in the moment. Regardless of reasons, though, Sirius leans down towards Remus as Remus moves upwards towards him.

Their lips never meet, only graze past each other as Sirius catches himself near-kiss. His lips, then, brush Remus' stubbled cheek. And Remus, caught slightly off guard, falls against him. Neither moves, or thinks, or breathes for what feels like hours. Sirius can feel Remus' cock, half-hard, against his thigh, and he'd be a liar if he said that his hips didn't jerk in response to the sensation.

"I don't want to want this," Remus says, lips moving against Sirius' cheek.

"Me either," Sirius replies, hands finding their way to Remus' hips almost of their own accord. "Things were better before. Less complicated."

"Yeah."

And despite their agreement, despite the fact that neither of them claims to want it, both Remus' and Sirius' hips begin to slowly rock against each other's. Remus' hands-still covered with dittany-slip up Sirius' bare chest. And when their cocks align in that moment, Remus' head falls against Sirius' neck.

"Sirius," he moans, hips canting upwards. "Sirius, I…"

As much as it pains him to think it-and he only does because he hears Harry shuffling in the corridor-Sirius knows that they have to stop this. This is getting in too deep, getting too close to someone. It's one thing to want it, to feel it-the love he has for Remus-but another thing entirely to act on it. And acting on it now will only get them both hurt.

"We have to stop, Moony," he says, pushing Remus back gently.

Remus runs his hands over his face in frustration. "Yes, sorry. God, I can't believe that just happened."

"It's not a big deal." Sirius hopes he sounds convincing because he certainly doesn't feel the words himself. "We just…won't let it happen again."

~*~*~

Except that they do.

Two and a half weeks after watching Harry, two and a half weeks after promising they won't let themselves get caught up in any more moments, they lay in Sirius' bed together, naked and sated. Somehow it's a little less awkward this time around as they sprawl out, trying to catch their breath and cool their sweat-slicked skin.

Sirius reaches over to touch Remus' hand, squeezing it, before sitting up and rummaging around in his bedside table drawer for his pack of cigarettes. He lights it wandlessly, snapping his fingers in front of the end. Taking a long drag, the smoke fills his lungs, nicotine scratching the only itch that Remus couldn't manage himself.

"Want it?" Sirius offers, holding it out to Remus.

Remus shakes his head. "No thanks, Padfoot."

"You sound…" Sirius waves his hand about, as if trying to summoning the words from thin air. "You sound something. It's not content, whatever it is."

"I am content," Remus replies, his fingertips grazing Sirius' bare thigh. "How could I be anything but after that? It's just…we keep saying that we're not going to do this anymore, but before we know it, we're falling into bed with each other."

Sirius lays back down beside Remus, head propped up in his hand. They say nothing to one another for a long while-long enough for Sirius to finish off his cigarette-and only look into each other's eyes. After Sirius discards his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the bedside table, he lets his fingers sweep slowly along Remus' bare chest-Remus wiggling and huffing when his fingers brush light enough to tickle.

"Let's not fight this." Sirius kisses his forehead. "I'm tired of all this soddin' sexual tension between us, and I'm tired of having to pretend that I don't want you when I do."

"But we said we weren't going to get involved with each other."

"We're not getting involved. We're just shagging."

As if to somehow reinforce that those are two entirely separate concepts-and that one of them has all the incentives Remus could ever need-Sirius leans down to take the shell of Remus' ear between his teeth. Remus hisses, shifts so that he's facing Sirius, and runs his hand across Sirius' arse. As Remus' fingers dig into his arse cheek, Sirius moans into his ear.

"It doesn't have to be anything more than this," Sirius reassures him. "Just fucking around is all. We've done this before."

Sirius tries to forget that this is so much more than cold, meaningless fucking, that this is shagging with the man that he loves. As if tonight jolted his memory, Sirius recalls why they closed their relationship in seventh year, why they moved in with one another, why he gladly came home to Remus every night. What they had was special-a once in a lifetime sort of thing-and Sirius isn't going to fuck up this opportunity to have Remus again just because he has feelings to muddle things.

"What about everything else, though?"

"Like what?"

"Like the war. Like the fact that you think I'm spying for the enemy-"

"Oi, hey now," Sirius says, soothingly. "I don't think that anymore."

"I've done nothing to warrant your trust since then. Shagging can't fix what's wrong with us."

"So let's not worry about fixing it."

Remus rolls onto his back, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He runs his hands over his face in frustration, and Sirius dreads whatever it is that Remus is thinking. To comfort him, Sirius places soft kisses along his shoulder, pausing every once in a while to scrape his blunt teeth across the salty flesh.

"I love you," Remus whispers. "That's why I can't keep doing this." He turns to look at Sirius. "You made me fall in love with you, you selfish berk."

Sirius feels suddenly winded, as if he's received a blow to the stomach. Torn between wanting to search Remus' eyes and wanting to shut his own, he settles for staring at Remus' mousy brown hair splayed against the pillow. He tells himself that he shouldn't be surprised, that he'd wondered about this very thing ages ago.

But that had been altogether different, hadn't it? That wasn't knowing, just wondering. And as much as Sirius knows he returns the feelings, as much as he thinks he should feel overjoyed by knowing that his love is returned, Sirius has never been more frightened than he is in this moment.

"Say something," Remus prompts, voice small. "Please."

Unsure of what else to do, Sirius takes Remus' hand into his own, placing delicate kisses along his knuckles. "What should I say?"

"That you don't hate me for loving you. That you understand why this has to stop. I can't have you and not have you at the same time, Sirius."

Shifting so that his warm cheek rests against Remus' hand, he sighs, almost pained. "I don't hate you, Moony. And I do understand."

As Remus' eyes search him, Sirius wonders if he isn't waiting to hear something in return. Does Remus know? Has he known all along? While Sirius does love him, he wouldn't dare complicate matters any further than they already are. Three little words would have them both questioning where they stand even more than they are currently; three little words could be all the reason to return to what they'd left behind.

He can't voice them, for all that he wants to. Remus deserves better than what he can offer. He deserves someone who can love selflessly, who can love properly. Sirius can't give his entire self to Remus, mostly because he has too many demons that still hold him tight. And if nothing else, Remus deserves more than broken pieces of a lover. So Sirius remains resolved that Remus can never know.

Minutes pass as they lie there, looking at one another. Remus must realize that he isn't going to hear anything in reply to his admission of love because his lips meet Sirius' in what feels like a goodbye-long, slow, gut-wrenching.

Continue to Part 3