fic: The Love There That's Sleeping (HP; Sirius/Remus)
OMG you guys! I've had this story lingering around my hard drive for more than three years, two sections short of an ending. And last weekend, I said to myself, Self, you need to have fic to post for your birthday, and none of the other things you've got are near done! And then I said, this is probably your last chance to post HP fic before Deathly Hallows! And it makes me sad that it's been a year since I've posted any Sirius/Remus. So.
The Love There That's Sleeping
Harry Potter; Sirius/Remus; pg-13; 4,460 words
Remus looked like he had a secret, and Sirius desperately wanted to know.
Thanks to amberlynne for looking it over and helping out with the ending. Title from While My Guitar Gently Weeps.
~*~
The Love There That's Sleeping
"Oh, yeah, she wanted it bad. She was so tight and hot," James said nostalgically. "Really good with her mouth, too. Best summer of my life."
Remus wore an odd half-smile, one Sirius didn't like seeing on his face. It made him look old, bitter and full of self-mockery. Remus hated these bull sessions, and for once, Sirius couldn't blame him. This conversation couldn't possibly go anywhere good now that James was done spouting off. Sirius shifted uncomfortably as Peter laughed. He'd managed to keep his own exploits over the summer a secret from James even though he'd spent the summer at the Potters', and he didn't want that to change now. Sirius had prepared a few interesting stories of his own, changing minor details so no one would figure out what he'd really been doing, but he'd have rather avoided the whole thing altogether.
"Claudia Aikens," Peter began, but James cut him off.
"Mr. Moony, you've been remarkably silent so far. Please tell us you pulled this summer, and how often, and with whom."
Sirius relaxed, knowing the answer, because Remus's answer was always the same. No, none of your business, you shouldn't talk about girls that way, no wonder Evans wants nothing to do with you.
Remus was a bit of a prude, but he was their prude, as Sirius saw it, and he wanted to keep it that way. None of this sordid fumbling about in corners that always ended with sticky hands and a strange unsatisfied ache even after you got off. Not for Moony. He was too good for it, and even if he weren't (Sirius heard him sometimes, not that he listened specifically for the harsh sounds of Remus's breathing when he was having one off, but after all, they shared a room), he would never talk about it.
"Yes, actually," Remus said, and Sirius's world turned upside down.
"What was she like?" Peter asked.
"Hot. Tight. Willing," Remus said succinctly. "That's all you need to know." His lips twisted in distaste.
"Bit of a dog, was she?" Sirius asked, unable to stop himself.
"I believe that's your department," Remus answered, rising and heading toward the door, signaling the end of the conversation.
Last term, a lot of conversations had ended that way, and Sirius was sick of it. He'd fucked things up. He knew that. He didn't need Remus to keep rubbing his face in it, as if he really were a dog being house-broken. Especially since Remus insisted everything was fine, no hard feelings, Sirius. I know you didn't mean to almost have me put down like a rabid beast.
The thought of it still made Sirius's stomach clench in fear. He hadn't thought, and he certainly hadn't meant--and yet there it always was, hanging over them, how different things were for Remus.
Sirius followed him out, put a hand on his shoulder to keep him close. Sirius felt him tense, but didn't let go, his own body responding to the touch in ways that still startled him.
"Remus--"
Remus turned to face him. "I'm not angry with you, Padfoot." The nickname was a good indication Remus was telling the truth, and now he just sounded weary. Sirius thought the tension in Remus's shoulders might just be from that. The full moon had only been three days ago. "But I don't want to talk about it, all right?"
But Sirius had never been able to leave well enough alone. "Was it good?"
Remus stiffened up again. "What?"
"The sex. Was it good?"
"Sirius, please. I don't want to be having this conversation now. Or ever."
"You don't want to have it with me, or with anyone?"
"Sex?" Remus asked, eyes widening in either shock or fear or some combination of the two. Sirius wasn't certain. He did know that Remus was flushed, and his own face was burning, as well.
"This conversation!" And he would stop thinking about having sex with Remus any moment now. Because he didn't want to. Really, he didn't.
Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he'd start believing it sometime soon.
It wasn't normal to want to have sex with your mates. At least, James had never shown any indication of being interested in it, especially not once Piper Hensley had started following him around in third year. And all he'd talked about since fifth year was Lily Evans, the stubborn bint, even as he'd pulled half the girls in their year and the one below.
But Sirius wasn't interested in girls. After a few underwhelming snogs and gropes with the girls who were always sighing and flipping their hair in his direction, he'd started seeking out boys. The kind of boys who fancied other boys. This summer, he'd got quite an education, but when he wanked, instead of imagining any of the men he'd been with in the dark corners and smoky back rooms of clubs, he closed his eyes and saw Remus, face flushed, lips parted, and eyes heavy-lidded with desire.
"Oh," Remus said. Sirius wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking or if Remus really did look disappointed. "Well." Remus ran a hand through his hair. "With anyone, right now, actually. It's not--"
"If you say, 'it's not you, it's me,' I will hex your balls off," Sirius interrupted.
Remus grinned ruefully. "I was going to say, it's not any of your business. Really, Sirius, what are you on about?"
Sirius's answering laugh was a little embarrassed, though he thought he carried it off casually. "I just--I don't know."
Remus nodded, as if the whole conversation actually made sense; they'd had discussions that had made less, over the years, though never any that felt quite as important to Sirius as this one did. "Okay." He inclined his head toward the stairwell. "I'm going to the library for a bit, then."
"Right. Yeah."
"Okay," Remus said again, and then slipped off down the corridor, leaving Sirius standing there, wondering what the hell was wrong.
Sirius didn't go back to their room; he needed air, space, time to think, or maybe not-think. Either way, it was something he did best while flying.
He loved flying, had since he was six and his not-yet-estranged father had taken him for a ride on his new broom. The air whipping through his hair, the dizzy drop a dive, the visible curve of the earth falling away as they zoomed above it; everything else was so small and insignificant when he was flying, and even the laws of gravity bent to his will.
He had tried out for Quidditch but found it wasn't for him. The routine of practice, the required obedience to less intelligent authority, the fact that he had to share the Quaffle, and the spotlight, with someone besides James--all of it went against his nature. He'd found that being on the team sucked his joy right out of the game, and even worse, made flying into a chore. When he'd dropped out, McGonagall had taken him aside to find out why, but even she could see he wasn't suited for organized team sport. After his stumbling explanation--one of the few times he'd ever been rendered inarticulate--she'd simply offered him tea and biscuits before sending him back to the dormitory with a friendly pat on the shoulder.
He flew high above the Quidditch pitch as the sun sank below the horizon, he tried not to think about Remus with some girl, some stranger, tried not to imagine how Remus's face would look when he came, making those growling, grunting noises Sirius didn't listen to when they were in the dormitory, and certainly didn't play back in his head afterward while stroking his own prick.
All of this not-thinking about sex with Remus was starting to make his broom uncomfortable, even with the cushioning charm, so he returned to earth, still confused, and irritated about it.
When he got back to Gryffindor tower, James was cornering Lily on the sofa, quizzing her on her summer, and Peter was playing Exploding Snap with a pretty fifth-year whose name Sirius couldn't remember. Remus was nowhere to be found.
Sirius slipped up the stairs to their room and was half-undressed when Remus said, "Hey."
Sirius started and spun around. "Hey. What--"
Remus's head poked through his bed-curtains, and he said, "Can I show you something?"
Sirius nodded, intrigued.
Remus climbed out of bed with a sleepy smile that never failed to make Sirius warm, and knelt before his trunk. "Look." He pulled out a small box out, set it on the closed trunk, and tapped it with his wand, whispering an enlarging charm.
Sirius whistled. "A phonograph," he breathed. "But electronics don't work here."
"It's not electronic," Remus replied, smiling. He took a record from beneath his bed, slipped it out of its cover, and put it on the turntable. Then he reached over and turned the crank. "Mum got it for me. Don't tell anyone." He lifted the needle and placed it gently on the spinning black surface. There was a scratching noise, and then music filled the room.
"Cool," Sirius said. "Why are we keeping it a secret?" Not that he minded. He liked sharing secrets with Remus, who could be counted on to keep them. He liked that Remus still trusted him enough to share them.
Remus shrugged and ducked his head. "Everyone will want to borrow it and it's, it's pretty old. I don't want it getting broken." He smiled again, and patted the floor next to him. "It can be our secret."
Sirius nodded and sat down, palms a little sweaty at the sharing of secrets.
"Why are we sitting on the floor?"
"You know my mum's musical, right?"
Sirius nodded again, used to Remus's roundabout ways of getting to the point.
Remus lay back, crossed his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes as he spoke. "She plays the piano. Made me take lessons for years, but I was just terrible at it."
"You don't even howl on pitch."
Remus laughed, warm and low over the sound of guitars. "Yeah. But when you play music really loud, or it has a lot of bass, you can feel it in the floorboards. It vibrates. It's like your whole body is listening, absorbing the music, not just your ears."
"But these floors are stone."
"I know. I was just--"
"And you're not playing it loud," Sirius interrupted, lying back next to Remus, praying the music was loud enough to cover the sound of his heart beating. "We should try it in the broom shed."
Remus turned his head and smiled again, his eyes open now and lit with amusement or friendship or something. Sirius wasn't sure exactly what it was, but it made him want to lean over and kiss him. His lips were so close, so close. But Sirius couldn't do it.
"Not tonight," Remus said, but he smiled that smile and his voice was soft and husky, and hearing it felt like sitting in front of the fire downstairs, so Sirius didn't mind.
The music ebbed and flowed, fast then slow, guitars and voices, I look at the world and I notice it's turning, and Sirius thought, yes. He was noticing all sorts of things now, like the curve of Remus's upper lip, and the slope of his shoulder, and the scent of tea and autumn leaves that clung to him. And the promise of a next time, implicit in Remus's words, was enough.
***
Two nights later, under cover of James's cloak (nicked without permission, because Sirius didn't think he'd care, but worried if James knew what he'd been thinking about Remus, things would change), they sneaked down to the equipment shed, home of more trysts and furtive goings-on than the Astronomy Tower on cloudy nights.
The lock opened easily under his wand--Hooch never changed the spells--and he set about casting muffling charms on the walls and laying a scratchy old picnic blanket on the ground while Remus set the phonograph up and then shuffled through the records he'd brought.
Sirius looked at them over Remus's shoulder, eager to learn, to hear, to absorb, something that seemed so intrinsically Remus, something Remus hadn't shared with anyone else.
"That one," he said, recognizing the name of the band from the other night.
Remus smiled. "You have excellent taste, Mr. Padfoot."
He slid the black disc out of its sleeve and placed it on the phonograph carefully, long fingers pale against the dark vinyl. He lowered the needle at the outer edge and lay back, cradling his head in his interlaced hands.
"Lie back," Remus said over the hiss and scratch that heralded the music.
Sirius arranged himself on the blanket, close enough that he could have reached out and laid a hand on Moony's belly (where he was ticklish), but far enough away that he could turn his head and watch eagerly when Remus's eyes closed and he lost himself in the music, lips moving along with the lyrics, singing in a tuneless mumble.
The floorboards vibrated with bass and Sirius felt the music moving through him in ways he never had before, infiltrating his heart, pulsing in his blood. He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one hand, so he could look down at Remus, whose eyes fluttered open, and whose lips curved into a wide smile.
Sirius was going to tell him. No, he was going to kiss him. He let his head drop, his too-long fringe falling into his eyes, and licked his lips, nervous in a way he couldn't quite remember being before.
Remus reached up a hand to push at Sirius's fringe, the touch sending a buzz straight to Sirius's prick, and Sirius thought, He feels it too. He must feel it. Remus looked like he had a secret, and Sirius desperately wanted to know.
"I really like this song," Remus said with a lazy smile, and lowered his hand, as if he didn't feel anything at all except the vibration of the music in the floorboards. As if that were the secret he'd been keeping.
"Yeah," Sirius said, dropping back down onto his back, disappointed not only in Remus, but in himself. He should have been brave, should have taken the chance. There's always next time, he consoled himself.
And over the next few weeks, there were numerous next times, but he never quite worked up the nerve in the face of Remus' warm smiles and sleepy eyes. There was always that small voice in the back of his head murmuring, Don't fuck this up.
***
James dropped his stack of books and papers onto his trunk and then flung himself across the room to bounce on Sirius's bed. Sirius, who had been waiting impatiently for James--for Remus--to return from the prefects' meeting, scrambled to get out of James's way.
"Lily said yes, she said yes!" James chanted in time with his bouncing.
The utter improbability of his words penetrated the haze of Sirius's annoyance that Remus wasn't back yet, and he said, "Lily Evans said yes to you? Or did she just say yes in your general vicinity, to someone else?"
"She said yes to me!" James punctuated his words with bounces. He looked like an overgrown four-year-old on a sugar high. "We're going to Hogsmeade together this weekend! Lily! And me!"
His enthusiasm should have been contagious, and Sirius should have congratulated him, or at least mocked him for acting like he'd never been on a date before, but Sirius had been in a mood all day. All week, really, his nerves stretched and frayed like the cuffs of one of Remus's jumpers, like the blue one he'd been wearing earlier, even though there was a hole in the collar and the sleeves were starting to unravel. They were too long--Evans had knitted him the jumper last year as a Christmas gift (sending James into spasms of jealousy that only relented when Remus swore he didn't fancy her)--and Remus liked to curl his fingers up in the excess when he couldn't find his gloves.
"Good for you, Prongs," was the best Sirius could muster, and James was too excited to notice it was half-hearted at best. "Did you lose Remus along the way?"
James stopped bouncing. "Remus? Oh, I think he and St. Ives had some things to discuss about the Arithmancy homework. He'll be along."
Sirius grabbed the map and the invisibility cloak from James's chest of drawers. "I'm going to--" He jerked his chin at the door, and then swirled the cloak over his head; through it, James's puzzled expression was blurred, and Sirius hurried away before he could ask any questions.
According to the map, Remus and St. Ives were in the third floor Arithmancy lab, and Sirius was composing a lecture about how Remus should have come to him for help with the assignment rather than that poncy Ravenclaw who thought he was better than everyone else, when he arrived. He was getting ready to pull the cloak off so he could gesticulate wildly while he lectured--it was expected, and Remus always used to tease him that if they wanted to shut him up, they'd sit on his hands--when he heard muffled noises that did not sound like a spirited discussion of the first law of thaumaturgic energy.
The classroom door was ajar, and he eased his way around it only to stop short at what he saw.
Remus was sprawled in a desk chair, head thrown back, his left fist--wrapped in the overlong sleeve of his jumper--in his mouth, muffling the sound of his moans and ragged breathing as St. Ives knelt between his thighs, head bobbing up and down as he sucked Remus off, Remus's other hand tangled in St. Ives's dark hair like a huge, pale spider.
Sirius stood as if petrified, unable to look away as Remus came, thrusting up into St. Ives's mouth. He melted back into the chair as if his bones were made of jelly, and his sibilant sigh of contentment snapped Sirius out of his daze. He slipped out of the room, and pressed himself up against the stone wall of the corridor, jaw clenched to keep from screaming in rage. It didn't help that his prick was hard and demanding his attention, that he wanted to replay the scene over again in his mind while he wanked, inserting himself in St. Ives's place.
Over the rush of blood in his ears, he heard them mumbling--they must have been saying goodbye, because St. Ives came stumbling out a few moments later, still doing up his trousers, satisfied smirk on his face.
Remus followed a few minutes later. Even scourgify couldn't get rid of the lingering scent of sex in the air, and it clung to Remus like perfume, though even without it, the sleepy satisfaction on his face, the loose-limbed way he walked, would have given him away.
Sirius took a deep breath and forced himself not to move as Remus walked by him, closer than St. Ives had. Close enough that the cuffs of his trousers brushed the hem of the cloak. Sirius froze, eyes closed and breath held, silently praying, don't let him notice me, don't let him notice me, but of course that never worked.
Remus stopped, eyes narrowed, hand outstretched, and grabbed hold of the cloak. "Sirius?"
Sirius straightened his shoulders and raised his chin as his invisibility was stripped away. Jealousy made him sharper than was wise. "St. Ives, Remus? I thought you'd have better taste than that." His mouth twisted in disdain.
"It's not really any of your business, Sirius, so don't bother giving it any thought at all." Remus dropped the cloak into a silvery puddle at Sirius's feet, and walked away, the thin line of his shoulders sharp and straight beneath his sweater.
For once, Sirius decided discretion was the better part of valor, and didn't follow.
***
The lights were out--it was past curfew--and Remus's bed-curtains were drawn when Sirius went back to their room, but he didn't let that stop him. He pushed his way through the heavy velvet and stared down at Remus, who was breathing evenly but wasn't asleep--Sirius could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands fisted in the coverlet.
"Remus, mate, look--"
Remus didn't open his eyes. "S'okay," he said. "I--It doesn't matter. Just--" He did open his eyes then--he looked young and worried, and Sirius understood, finally. It was the same look Remus had worn when they'd confronted him about being a werewolf.
"I won't say anything." Sirius felt awkward, unwieldy, in a way he rarely did. He felt like blurting out, I am, too, or, It's no big deal, but he didn't think Remus would believe him.
"Thanks." Remus smiled tiredly. "Good night." He turned onto his side, a clear dismissal if Sirius had ever seen one, and Sirius let the curtains fall back into place.
Sirius washed his face and brushed his teeth and climbed into his own bed, but he didn't sleep well at all. He was too busy trying to remember what Remus's face had looked like as he came.
***
"I can help you with Arithmancy," Sirius said, moving to block Remus's way out the door. "You don't need St. Ives for that." Or anything else, he thought fiercely.
"Sirius--"
Sirius shrugged a shoulder, aiming for casual. "It didn't look like you were getting much studying done the other night."
Remus sighed the sigh of the long-suffering, one Sirius recognized all too well--he'd been hearing it most of his life. "Okay," Remus said, turning and dropping his books onto Sirius's bed, accepting his apology. "Help me."
Two hours of quadratic equations and solving for x later, they were laughing together like nothing had ever been wrong, and Sirius congratulated himself on an evening well spent.
"Okay, I've had enough," Remus said, pushing the books away. "Why didn't I drop Arithmancy when I dropped Potions?"
Sirius leaned in, bumped his shoulder against Remus's, and gave him a sly smile. "Because you're a masochist?"
Remus's mouth quirked in a wry half-grin. "You could be onto something there, Padfoot." He yawned and stretched and jerked his chin at the books and scrolls scattered on the bed. "Thank you."
"Anytime. I mean it."
"I know." Remus gathered his belongings and dumped them onto the top of his trunk. He stood and stretched again, and Sirius could hear pop and crack of his joints, old before his time. He cocked his head, as if thinking, and the smile he gave Sirius then was young and full of mischief. "Come on," he said, picking up the satchel that held the miniaturized phonograph and all of his records, and headed for the door.
***
The equipment shed smelled of sweat and grass and damp, of rotting leather and other things Sirius preferred not to think about, but he forgot about that when Remus lay down next to him on the scratchy old plaid blanket, the music wafting over them like a cheering charm--Bowie first, and then T-Rex, but when Remus reached for Queen, Sirius shook his head and grabbed the Beatles.
When they'd settled in again, shoulder to shoulder, the air vibrating with music and something indefinable Sirius thought was lust or need or maybe even love, though he'd never say the word out loud, he raised himself up on one elbow and stared down at Remus, the way he had so many times before. The words rose in his throat, danced on his tongue, and he wanted to spill out all his secrets.
Remus's stopped mouthing the words and his eyes fluttered, confused. "What?" He rubbed a hand over his face. "Do I have something on my face?"
"Remus, I--" All the words drained out of him, leaving him speechless for one of the few times in his life. Nerves jangling like George Harrison's guitar, he leaned in, pressed his mouth against Remus's, hoping the words might translate from his tongue to Remus's without being spoken at all. His heart stuttered and sped up at the touch of Remus's tongue against his, and he made a soft, whimpering sound in the back of his throat at how good it felt. It was better than flying, and it made him want to do all sorts of unspeakable things to Remus right then and there, if Remus wanted to.
When he pulled back, Remus stared up at him, eyes glittering in the dimness, mouth slick and red from the kiss.
"Sirius? Is this some kind of joke?"
Sirius laughed nervously. "No, Remus. No joke.
Remus shook his head and pushed away, sitting up so he could change the record. "Have you finally gone mad, then?"
"Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I'm mad for you, Moony." He knew he was fucking it up, but he couldn't seem to stop talking now that he'd started, but none of the words he had were doing him any good. He grabbed Remus's wrist, felt the beat of Remus's pulse, rapid and steady, against his fingers as Remus reached for the record player. "And also this song. I'm mad for this song."
Remus stilled but didn't shake him off. He looked down, and Sirius followed his gaze, saw his own fingers wrapped around the bony circle of Remus's wrist like a bracelet.
"So it is some kind of joke." Remus's voice was soft, hard to hear over the music, and Sirius wondered if he was imagining the disappointment in it, hearing only what he wanted to hear.
"No," he said again. "It's really not. I wanted to tell you--I've been meaning to tell you--For a long time now--" He trailed off, shaking his head. He wondered what Remus was thinking, if he was trying to figure out some way to tell Sirius to bugger off without ruining whatever was left of their friendship. If kissing him again would be a mistake. If the Beatles ever would get back together, and whether he was John or Paul (Remus was definitely George). The song faded to its end, replaced by the hiss and bump of the needle, a sound Sirius would always associate with hope and heartbreak.
Remus looked up and smiled then, and Sirius's heart kicked hard against his chest, as if trying to escape. "Me, too," Remus said. He curled one long-fingered hand around the nape of Sirius's neck, warm and familiar and right, and pulled him down into another kiss. It vibrated through him like music, and he never wanted it to stop.
end
*
the sequel: I look at the world and I notice it's turning.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
The Love There That's Sleeping
Harry Potter; Sirius/Remus; pg-13; 4,460 words
Remus looked like he had a secret, and Sirius desperately wanted to know.
Thanks to amberlynne for looking it over and helping out with the ending. Title from While My Guitar Gently Weeps.
~*~
The Love There That's Sleeping
"Oh, yeah, she wanted it bad. She was so tight and hot," James said nostalgically. "Really good with her mouth, too. Best summer of my life."
Remus wore an odd half-smile, one Sirius didn't like seeing on his face. It made him look old, bitter and full of self-mockery. Remus hated these bull sessions, and for once, Sirius couldn't blame him. This conversation couldn't possibly go anywhere good now that James was done spouting off. Sirius shifted uncomfortably as Peter laughed. He'd managed to keep his own exploits over the summer a secret from James even though he'd spent the summer at the Potters', and he didn't want that to change now. Sirius had prepared a few interesting stories of his own, changing minor details so no one would figure out what he'd really been doing, but he'd have rather avoided the whole thing altogether.
"Claudia Aikens," Peter began, but James cut him off.
"Mr. Moony, you've been remarkably silent so far. Please tell us you pulled this summer, and how often, and with whom."
Sirius relaxed, knowing the answer, because Remus's answer was always the same. No, none of your business, you shouldn't talk about girls that way, no wonder Evans wants nothing to do with you.
Remus was a bit of a prude, but he was their prude, as Sirius saw it, and he wanted to keep it that way. None of this sordid fumbling about in corners that always ended with sticky hands and a strange unsatisfied ache even after you got off. Not for Moony. He was too good for it, and even if he weren't (Sirius heard him sometimes, not that he listened specifically for the harsh sounds of Remus's breathing when he was having one off, but after all, they shared a room), he would never talk about it.
"Yes, actually," Remus said, and Sirius's world turned upside down.
"What was she like?" Peter asked.
"Hot. Tight. Willing," Remus said succinctly. "That's all you need to know." His lips twisted in distaste.
"Bit of a dog, was she?" Sirius asked, unable to stop himself.
"I believe that's your department," Remus answered, rising and heading toward the door, signaling the end of the conversation.
Last term, a lot of conversations had ended that way, and Sirius was sick of it. He'd fucked things up. He knew that. He didn't need Remus to keep rubbing his face in it, as if he really were a dog being house-broken. Especially since Remus insisted everything was fine, no hard feelings, Sirius. I know you didn't mean to almost have me put down like a rabid beast.
The thought of it still made Sirius's stomach clench in fear. He hadn't thought, and he certainly hadn't meant--and yet there it always was, hanging over them, how different things were for Remus.
Sirius followed him out, put a hand on his shoulder to keep him close. Sirius felt him tense, but didn't let go, his own body responding to the touch in ways that still startled him.
"Remus--"
Remus turned to face him. "I'm not angry with you, Padfoot." The nickname was a good indication Remus was telling the truth, and now he just sounded weary. Sirius thought the tension in Remus's shoulders might just be from that. The full moon had only been three days ago. "But I don't want to talk about it, all right?"
But Sirius had never been able to leave well enough alone. "Was it good?"
Remus stiffened up again. "What?"
"The sex. Was it good?"
"Sirius, please. I don't want to be having this conversation now. Or ever."
"You don't want to have it with me, or with anyone?"
"Sex?" Remus asked, eyes widening in either shock or fear or some combination of the two. Sirius wasn't certain. He did know that Remus was flushed, and his own face was burning, as well.
"This conversation!" And he would stop thinking about having sex with Remus any moment now. Because he didn't want to. Really, he didn't.
Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he'd start believing it sometime soon.
It wasn't normal to want to have sex with your mates. At least, James had never shown any indication of being interested in it, especially not once Piper Hensley had started following him around in third year. And all he'd talked about since fifth year was Lily Evans, the stubborn bint, even as he'd pulled half the girls in their year and the one below.
But Sirius wasn't interested in girls. After a few underwhelming snogs and gropes with the girls who were always sighing and flipping their hair in his direction, he'd started seeking out boys. The kind of boys who fancied other boys. This summer, he'd got quite an education, but when he wanked, instead of imagining any of the men he'd been with in the dark corners and smoky back rooms of clubs, he closed his eyes and saw Remus, face flushed, lips parted, and eyes heavy-lidded with desire.
"Oh," Remus said. Sirius wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking or if Remus really did look disappointed. "Well." Remus ran a hand through his hair. "With anyone, right now, actually. It's not--"
"If you say, 'it's not you, it's me,' I will hex your balls off," Sirius interrupted.
Remus grinned ruefully. "I was going to say, it's not any of your business. Really, Sirius, what are you on about?"
Sirius's answering laugh was a little embarrassed, though he thought he carried it off casually. "I just--I don't know."
Remus nodded, as if the whole conversation actually made sense; they'd had discussions that had made less, over the years, though never any that felt quite as important to Sirius as this one did. "Okay." He inclined his head toward the stairwell. "I'm going to the library for a bit, then."
"Right. Yeah."
"Okay," Remus said again, and then slipped off down the corridor, leaving Sirius standing there, wondering what the hell was wrong.
Sirius didn't go back to their room; he needed air, space, time to think, or maybe not-think. Either way, it was something he did best while flying.
He loved flying, had since he was six and his not-yet-estranged father had taken him for a ride on his new broom. The air whipping through his hair, the dizzy drop a dive, the visible curve of the earth falling away as they zoomed above it; everything else was so small and insignificant when he was flying, and even the laws of gravity bent to his will.
He had tried out for Quidditch but found it wasn't for him. The routine of practice, the required obedience to less intelligent authority, the fact that he had to share the Quaffle, and the spotlight, with someone besides James--all of it went against his nature. He'd found that being on the team sucked his joy right out of the game, and even worse, made flying into a chore. When he'd dropped out, McGonagall had taken him aside to find out why, but even she could see he wasn't suited for organized team sport. After his stumbling explanation--one of the few times he'd ever been rendered inarticulate--she'd simply offered him tea and biscuits before sending him back to the dormitory with a friendly pat on the shoulder.
He flew high above the Quidditch pitch as the sun sank below the horizon, he tried not to think about Remus with some girl, some stranger, tried not to imagine how Remus's face would look when he came, making those growling, grunting noises Sirius didn't listen to when they were in the dormitory, and certainly didn't play back in his head afterward while stroking his own prick.
All of this not-thinking about sex with Remus was starting to make his broom uncomfortable, even with the cushioning charm, so he returned to earth, still confused, and irritated about it.
When he got back to Gryffindor tower, James was cornering Lily on the sofa, quizzing her on her summer, and Peter was playing Exploding Snap with a pretty fifth-year whose name Sirius couldn't remember. Remus was nowhere to be found.
Sirius slipped up the stairs to their room and was half-undressed when Remus said, "Hey."
Sirius started and spun around. "Hey. What--"
Remus's head poked through his bed-curtains, and he said, "Can I show you something?"
Sirius nodded, intrigued.
Remus climbed out of bed with a sleepy smile that never failed to make Sirius warm, and knelt before his trunk. "Look." He pulled out a small box out, set it on the closed trunk, and tapped it with his wand, whispering an enlarging charm.
Sirius whistled. "A phonograph," he breathed. "But electronics don't work here."
"It's not electronic," Remus replied, smiling. He took a record from beneath his bed, slipped it out of its cover, and put it on the turntable. Then he reached over and turned the crank. "Mum got it for me. Don't tell anyone." He lifted the needle and placed it gently on the spinning black surface. There was a scratching noise, and then music filled the room.
"Cool," Sirius said. "Why are we keeping it a secret?" Not that he minded. He liked sharing secrets with Remus, who could be counted on to keep them. He liked that Remus still trusted him enough to share them.
Remus shrugged and ducked his head. "Everyone will want to borrow it and it's, it's pretty old. I don't want it getting broken." He smiled again, and patted the floor next to him. "It can be our secret."
Sirius nodded and sat down, palms a little sweaty at the sharing of secrets.
"Why are we sitting on the floor?"
"You know my mum's musical, right?"
Sirius nodded again, used to Remus's roundabout ways of getting to the point.
Remus lay back, crossed his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes as he spoke. "She plays the piano. Made me take lessons for years, but I was just terrible at it."
"You don't even howl on pitch."
Remus laughed, warm and low over the sound of guitars. "Yeah. But when you play music really loud, or it has a lot of bass, you can feel it in the floorboards. It vibrates. It's like your whole body is listening, absorbing the music, not just your ears."
"But these floors are stone."
"I know. I was just--"
"And you're not playing it loud," Sirius interrupted, lying back next to Remus, praying the music was loud enough to cover the sound of his heart beating. "We should try it in the broom shed."
Remus turned his head and smiled again, his eyes open now and lit with amusement or friendship or something. Sirius wasn't sure exactly what it was, but it made him want to lean over and kiss him. His lips were so close, so close. But Sirius couldn't do it.
"Not tonight," Remus said, but he smiled that smile and his voice was soft and husky, and hearing it felt like sitting in front of the fire downstairs, so Sirius didn't mind.
The music ebbed and flowed, fast then slow, guitars and voices, I look at the world and I notice it's turning, and Sirius thought, yes. He was noticing all sorts of things now, like the curve of Remus's upper lip, and the slope of his shoulder, and the scent of tea and autumn leaves that clung to him. And the promise of a next time, implicit in Remus's words, was enough.
***
Two nights later, under cover of James's cloak (nicked without permission, because Sirius didn't think he'd care, but worried if James knew what he'd been thinking about Remus, things would change), they sneaked down to the equipment shed, home of more trysts and furtive goings-on than the Astronomy Tower on cloudy nights.
The lock opened easily under his wand--Hooch never changed the spells--and he set about casting muffling charms on the walls and laying a scratchy old picnic blanket on the ground while Remus set the phonograph up and then shuffled through the records he'd brought.
Sirius looked at them over Remus's shoulder, eager to learn, to hear, to absorb, something that seemed so intrinsically Remus, something Remus hadn't shared with anyone else.
"That one," he said, recognizing the name of the band from the other night.
Remus smiled. "You have excellent taste, Mr. Padfoot."
He slid the black disc out of its sleeve and placed it on the phonograph carefully, long fingers pale against the dark vinyl. He lowered the needle at the outer edge and lay back, cradling his head in his interlaced hands.
"Lie back," Remus said over the hiss and scratch that heralded the music.
Sirius arranged himself on the blanket, close enough that he could have reached out and laid a hand on Moony's belly (where he was ticklish), but far enough away that he could turn his head and watch eagerly when Remus's eyes closed and he lost himself in the music, lips moving along with the lyrics, singing in a tuneless mumble.
The floorboards vibrated with bass and Sirius felt the music moving through him in ways he never had before, infiltrating his heart, pulsing in his blood. He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one hand, so he could look down at Remus, whose eyes fluttered open, and whose lips curved into a wide smile.
Sirius was going to tell him. No, he was going to kiss him. He let his head drop, his too-long fringe falling into his eyes, and licked his lips, nervous in a way he couldn't quite remember being before.
Remus reached up a hand to push at Sirius's fringe, the touch sending a buzz straight to Sirius's prick, and Sirius thought, He feels it too. He must feel it. Remus looked like he had a secret, and Sirius desperately wanted to know.
"I really like this song," Remus said with a lazy smile, and lowered his hand, as if he didn't feel anything at all except the vibration of the music in the floorboards. As if that were the secret he'd been keeping.
"Yeah," Sirius said, dropping back down onto his back, disappointed not only in Remus, but in himself. He should have been brave, should have taken the chance. There's always next time, he consoled himself.
And over the next few weeks, there were numerous next times, but he never quite worked up the nerve in the face of Remus' warm smiles and sleepy eyes. There was always that small voice in the back of his head murmuring, Don't fuck this up.
***
James dropped his stack of books and papers onto his trunk and then flung himself across the room to bounce on Sirius's bed. Sirius, who had been waiting impatiently for James--for Remus--to return from the prefects' meeting, scrambled to get out of James's way.
"Lily said yes, she said yes!" James chanted in time with his bouncing.
The utter improbability of his words penetrated the haze of Sirius's annoyance that Remus wasn't back yet, and he said, "Lily Evans said yes to you? Or did she just say yes in your general vicinity, to someone else?"
"She said yes to me!" James punctuated his words with bounces. He looked like an overgrown four-year-old on a sugar high. "We're going to Hogsmeade together this weekend! Lily! And me!"
His enthusiasm should have been contagious, and Sirius should have congratulated him, or at least mocked him for acting like he'd never been on a date before, but Sirius had been in a mood all day. All week, really, his nerves stretched and frayed like the cuffs of one of Remus's jumpers, like the blue one he'd been wearing earlier, even though there was a hole in the collar and the sleeves were starting to unravel. They were too long--Evans had knitted him the jumper last year as a Christmas gift (sending James into spasms of jealousy that only relented when Remus swore he didn't fancy her)--and Remus liked to curl his fingers up in the excess when he couldn't find his gloves.
"Good for you, Prongs," was the best Sirius could muster, and James was too excited to notice it was half-hearted at best. "Did you lose Remus along the way?"
James stopped bouncing. "Remus? Oh, I think he and St. Ives had some things to discuss about the Arithmancy homework. He'll be along."
Sirius grabbed the map and the invisibility cloak from James's chest of drawers. "I'm going to--" He jerked his chin at the door, and then swirled the cloak over his head; through it, James's puzzled expression was blurred, and Sirius hurried away before he could ask any questions.
According to the map, Remus and St. Ives were in the third floor Arithmancy lab, and Sirius was composing a lecture about how Remus should have come to him for help with the assignment rather than that poncy Ravenclaw who thought he was better than everyone else, when he arrived. He was getting ready to pull the cloak off so he could gesticulate wildly while he lectured--it was expected, and Remus always used to tease him that if they wanted to shut him up, they'd sit on his hands--when he heard muffled noises that did not sound like a spirited discussion of the first law of thaumaturgic energy.
The classroom door was ajar, and he eased his way around it only to stop short at what he saw.
Remus was sprawled in a desk chair, head thrown back, his left fist--wrapped in the overlong sleeve of his jumper--in his mouth, muffling the sound of his moans and ragged breathing as St. Ives knelt between his thighs, head bobbing up and down as he sucked Remus off, Remus's other hand tangled in St. Ives's dark hair like a huge, pale spider.
Sirius stood as if petrified, unable to look away as Remus came, thrusting up into St. Ives's mouth. He melted back into the chair as if his bones were made of jelly, and his sibilant sigh of contentment snapped Sirius out of his daze. He slipped out of the room, and pressed himself up against the stone wall of the corridor, jaw clenched to keep from screaming in rage. It didn't help that his prick was hard and demanding his attention, that he wanted to replay the scene over again in his mind while he wanked, inserting himself in St. Ives's place.
Over the rush of blood in his ears, he heard them mumbling--they must have been saying goodbye, because St. Ives came stumbling out a few moments later, still doing up his trousers, satisfied smirk on his face.
Remus followed a few minutes later. Even scourgify couldn't get rid of the lingering scent of sex in the air, and it clung to Remus like perfume, though even without it, the sleepy satisfaction on his face, the loose-limbed way he walked, would have given him away.
Sirius took a deep breath and forced himself not to move as Remus walked by him, closer than St. Ives had. Close enough that the cuffs of his trousers brushed the hem of the cloak. Sirius froze, eyes closed and breath held, silently praying, don't let him notice me, don't let him notice me, but of course that never worked.
Remus stopped, eyes narrowed, hand outstretched, and grabbed hold of the cloak. "Sirius?"
Sirius straightened his shoulders and raised his chin as his invisibility was stripped away. Jealousy made him sharper than was wise. "St. Ives, Remus? I thought you'd have better taste than that." His mouth twisted in disdain.
"It's not really any of your business, Sirius, so don't bother giving it any thought at all." Remus dropped the cloak into a silvery puddle at Sirius's feet, and walked away, the thin line of his shoulders sharp and straight beneath his sweater.
For once, Sirius decided discretion was the better part of valor, and didn't follow.
***
The lights were out--it was past curfew--and Remus's bed-curtains were drawn when Sirius went back to their room, but he didn't let that stop him. He pushed his way through the heavy velvet and stared down at Remus, who was breathing evenly but wasn't asleep--Sirius could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands fisted in the coverlet.
"Remus, mate, look--"
Remus didn't open his eyes. "S'okay," he said. "I--It doesn't matter. Just--" He did open his eyes then--he looked young and worried, and Sirius understood, finally. It was the same look Remus had worn when they'd confronted him about being a werewolf.
"I won't say anything." Sirius felt awkward, unwieldy, in a way he rarely did. He felt like blurting out, I am, too, or, It's no big deal, but he didn't think Remus would believe him.
"Thanks." Remus smiled tiredly. "Good night." He turned onto his side, a clear dismissal if Sirius had ever seen one, and Sirius let the curtains fall back into place.
Sirius washed his face and brushed his teeth and climbed into his own bed, but he didn't sleep well at all. He was too busy trying to remember what Remus's face had looked like as he came.
***
"I can help you with Arithmancy," Sirius said, moving to block Remus's way out the door. "You don't need St. Ives for that." Or anything else, he thought fiercely.
"Sirius--"
Sirius shrugged a shoulder, aiming for casual. "It didn't look like you were getting much studying done the other night."
Remus sighed the sigh of the long-suffering, one Sirius recognized all too well--he'd been hearing it most of his life. "Okay," Remus said, turning and dropping his books onto Sirius's bed, accepting his apology. "Help me."
Two hours of quadratic equations and solving for x later, they were laughing together like nothing had ever been wrong, and Sirius congratulated himself on an evening well spent.
"Okay, I've had enough," Remus said, pushing the books away. "Why didn't I drop Arithmancy when I dropped Potions?"
Sirius leaned in, bumped his shoulder against Remus's, and gave him a sly smile. "Because you're a masochist?"
Remus's mouth quirked in a wry half-grin. "You could be onto something there, Padfoot." He yawned and stretched and jerked his chin at the books and scrolls scattered on the bed. "Thank you."
"Anytime. I mean it."
"I know." Remus gathered his belongings and dumped them onto the top of his trunk. He stood and stretched again, and Sirius could hear pop and crack of his joints, old before his time. He cocked his head, as if thinking, and the smile he gave Sirius then was young and full of mischief. "Come on," he said, picking up the satchel that held the miniaturized phonograph and all of his records, and headed for the door.
***
The equipment shed smelled of sweat and grass and damp, of rotting leather and other things Sirius preferred not to think about, but he forgot about that when Remus lay down next to him on the scratchy old plaid blanket, the music wafting over them like a cheering charm--Bowie first, and then T-Rex, but when Remus reached for Queen, Sirius shook his head and grabbed the Beatles.
When they'd settled in again, shoulder to shoulder, the air vibrating with music and something indefinable Sirius thought was lust or need or maybe even love, though he'd never say the word out loud, he raised himself up on one elbow and stared down at Remus, the way he had so many times before. The words rose in his throat, danced on his tongue, and he wanted to spill out all his secrets.
Remus's stopped mouthing the words and his eyes fluttered, confused. "What?" He rubbed a hand over his face. "Do I have something on my face?"
"Remus, I--" All the words drained out of him, leaving him speechless for one of the few times in his life. Nerves jangling like George Harrison's guitar, he leaned in, pressed his mouth against Remus's, hoping the words might translate from his tongue to Remus's without being spoken at all. His heart stuttered and sped up at the touch of Remus's tongue against his, and he made a soft, whimpering sound in the back of his throat at how good it felt. It was better than flying, and it made him want to do all sorts of unspeakable things to Remus right then and there, if Remus wanted to.
When he pulled back, Remus stared up at him, eyes glittering in the dimness, mouth slick and red from the kiss.
"Sirius? Is this some kind of joke?"
Sirius laughed nervously. "No, Remus. No joke.
Remus shook his head and pushed away, sitting up so he could change the record. "Have you finally gone mad, then?"
"Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I'm mad for you, Moony." He knew he was fucking it up, but he couldn't seem to stop talking now that he'd started, but none of the words he had were doing him any good. He grabbed Remus's wrist, felt the beat of Remus's pulse, rapid and steady, against his fingers as Remus reached for the record player. "And also this song. I'm mad for this song."
Remus stilled but didn't shake him off. He looked down, and Sirius followed his gaze, saw his own fingers wrapped around the bony circle of Remus's wrist like a bracelet.
"So it is some kind of joke." Remus's voice was soft, hard to hear over the music, and Sirius wondered if he was imagining the disappointment in it, hearing only what he wanted to hear.
"No," he said again. "It's really not. I wanted to tell you--I've been meaning to tell you--For a long time now--" He trailed off, shaking his head. He wondered what Remus was thinking, if he was trying to figure out some way to tell Sirius to bugger off without ruining whatever was left of their friendship. If kissing him again would be a mistake. If the Beatles ever would get back together, and whether he was John or Paul (Remus was definitely George). The song faded to its end, replaced by the hiss and bump of the needle, a sound Sirius would always associate with hope and heartbreak.
Remus looked up and smiled then, and Sirius's heart kicked hard against his chest, as if trying to escape. "Me, too," Remus said. He curled one long-fingered hand around the nape of Sirius's neck, warm and familiar and right, and pulled him down into another kiss. It vibrated through him like music, and he never wanted it to stop.
end
*
the sequel: I look at the world and I notice it's turning.
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Feedback is adored.
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