fic: know that I need you I want you I'm dying for
Sirius- this new Sirius, that is, not the one he used to know, not the one he fell in love with- is thin. Not just his body, not just his cheekbones, not just the skin that stretches taut across his body, but everything.
Sirius is Thin. His body, his hair, his eyes. He has shrunk. He is thin in places Remus didn’t know you could be thin. His shoulders, his knees, his hair, his smile, those rare times he does. Sirius is thin right down to his very bones. Even his bones are thin. Remus thinks they might be birds’ bones, now. Thin and hollow.
Sirius would be like a bird except he can’t escape. He can’t fly away. If he is like a bird, he is one of those that cannot fly. A penguin or an ostrich. Remus wonders if the flightless birds still have thin, hollow bones. Remus isn’t sure. He isn’t an expert on birds. He never cared much about them, really, except when the wolf managed to capture one between its jaws.
Remus is not a bird. He is not even a wolf. He is scared. He is silent. He sits in meetings and stares and later, when everyone leaves and they are left alone, he pretends to read even though every sense is trained on the grounded bird in the room. Sirius always stays in the room with him, even when they don’t talk. Sirius hates being alone. Sirius lies in bed with him even though they try not to touch and occasionally he’ll whisper Remus? And Remus will whisper I’m here but they do not touch and they do not talk, other than the occasional reassurance that Remus has not deserted him, and Remus cannot fall asleep until Sirius’ breathing evens out. Remus stays still and he watches Sirius because that’s what he’s always done. He waits for Sirius. He’s always waited for Sirius, ever since he was 14 years old. Waited for him to make the first move, waited for him to say I love you for the first time, waited for him to ask Remus to move in with him. Remus always waits when it comes to Sirius.
Remus does not tell him that every time they pass each other without touching Remus has to bite back the desire to shove Sirius against the wall and kiss him like he used to be allowed to do. Sirius would probably break if he did. Sirius and his bird bones.
The wolf inside of Remus is angry. He is restless. He can smell his mate, can small Padfoot, can smell Sirius so close to him but he isn’t allowed to touch him. Remus falls asleep and dreams of all the things he wants to do, of pushing Sirius against the wall, undressing him with his teeth, of fucking him until he screams, and then when he wakes up in the morning he hurries out of bed without looking at the sleeping man beside him and goes into the bathroom and curls his fingers around his cock and pretends it’s Sirius’ long bird-like fingers because Sirius was always better at this anyway.
They make love one time. Remus is loathe to use those words because what he and Sirius have is no longer love but it sure as hell isn’t fucking, not like it used to be. It’s when Sirius comes to his flat and Remus reaches out to touch him one time, to pat his shoulder, and Sirius grabs his hand and kisses him (he tastes like stale air and dog and thinthinthin) and they have sex on the kitchen floor, if you can call it that, because Sirius keeps his eyes closed the entire time and even though he begs Remus to push a little harder Remus doesn’t because he’s terrified Sirius will break into a million pieces if he pushes too hard, so he fucks Sirius like he’s made of glass or something equally breakable. Then when they get to Grimmauld Place Sirius’ demons take over and Remus doesn’t touch him. They go out of their way not to touch each other.
And Remus is empty. Remus is alone. Remus goes to sleep and dreams of days when he and Sirius went out of the way to touch each other and when he starts to snore Sirius reaches for him, clutches him tight and sends thoughts at Remus asleep beside him.
I’m sorry. I don’t know how to show you that I need you. I still do. I never stopped. Moony wake up. I don’t know how to use words anymore. I don’t know how to tell you.
Remus sleeps and Sirius’ fragile birdy bones crack inside his skin.
Sirius is Thin. His body, his hair, his eyes. He has shrunk. He is thin in places Remus didn’t know you could be thin. His shoulders, his knees, his hair, his smile, those rare times he does. Sirius is thin right down to his very bones. Even his bones are thin. Remus thinks they might be birds’ bones, now. Thin and hollow.
Sirius would be like a bird except he can’t escape. He can’t fly away. If he is like a bird, he is one of those that cannot fly. A penguin or an ostrich. Remus wonders if the flightless birds still have thin, hollow bones. Remus isn’t sure. He isn’t an expert on birds. He never cared much about them, really, except when the wolf managed to capture one between its jaws.
Remus is not a bird. He is not even a wolf. He is scared. He is silent. He sits in meetings and stares and later, when everyone leaves and they are left alone, he pretends to read even though every sense is trained on the grounded bird in the room. Sirius always stays in the room with him, even when they don’t talk. Sirius hates being alone. Sirius lies in bed with him even though they try not to touch and occasionally he’ll whisper Remus? And Remus will whisper I’m here but they do not touch and they do not talk, other than the occasional reassurance that Remus has not deserted him, and Remus cannot fall asleep until Sirius’ breathing evens out. Remus stays still and he watches Sirius because that’s what he’s always done. He waits for Sirius. He’s always waited for Sirius, ever since he was 14 years old. Waited for him to make the first move, waited for him to say I love you for the first time, waited for him to ask Remus to move in with him. Remus always waits when it comes to Sirius.
Remus does not tell him that every time they pass each other without touching Remus has to bite back the desire to shove Sirius against the wall and kiss him like he used to be allowed to do. Sirius would probably break if he did. Sirius and his bird bones.
The wolf inside of Remus is angry. He is restless. He can smell his mate, can small Padfoot, can smell Sirius so close to him but he isn’t allowed to touch him. Remus falls asleep and dreams of all the things he wants to do, of pushing Sirius against the wall, undressing him with his teeth, of fucking him until he screams, and then when he wakes up in the morning he hurries out of bed without looking at the sleeping man beside him and goes into the bathroom and curls his fingers around his cock and pretends it’s Sirius’ long bird-like fingers because Sirius was always better at this anyway.
They make love one time. Remus is loathe to use those words because what he and Sirius have is no longer love but it sure as hell isn’t fucking, not like it used to be. It’s when Sirius comes to his flat and Remus reaches out to touch him one time, to pat his shoulder, and Sirius grabs his hand and kisses him (he tastes like stale air and dog and thinthinthin) and they have sex on the kitchen floor, if you can call it that, because Sirius keeps his eyes closed the entire time and even though he begs Remus to push a little harder Remus doesn’t because he’s terrified Sirius will break into a million pieces if he pushes too hard, so he fucks Sirius like he’s made of glass or something equally breakable. Then when they get to Grimmauld Place Sirius’ demons take over and Remus doesn’t touch him. They go out of their way not to touch each other.
And Remus is empty. Remus is alone. Remus goes to sleep and dreams of days when he and Sirius went out of the way to touch each other and when he starts to snore Sirius reaches for him, clutches him tight and sends thoughts at Remus asleep beside him.
I’m sorry. I don’t know how to show you that I need you. I still do. I never stopped. Moony wake up. I don’t know how to use words anymore. I don’t know how to tell you.
Remus sleeps and Sirius’ fragile birdy bones crack inside his skin.