FIC: Do Wizards Dream of Magical Sheep? 7/? (WIP, Potterverse, Remus/Sirius)
Do Wizards Dream of Magical Sheep?
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Remus/Sirius
NC-17
Spoilers for all the books, up to HBP.
Summary: Set during HBP. Dead is dead, unless you're a wizard. Then things can get...complicated.
Notes: Slight modifications in time and space may have been made, altering this from the books. But if you can't tell, it's already an AU, so hey, make of that what you will.
Warnings: Hey, this is sort of dark. If you don't like dark stuff? Please dial a different number. :)
~*~
In the days that passed, there was a familiar sense of time slipping away, like it had been in Azkaban. Days melting into each other like ice cream drippings in a sleepy sort of trance, time disappearing in between naps and mouldering book pages and steaming plates of food left by invisible hands.
Only when Remus was there did he feel alive. As alive as he could be, anyway, when it was highly possible that he was anything but. It was difficult to think of it that way. He felt alive, felt human, could feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat beneath his hands at night when he woke from screaming dreams and needed to check, needed to feel some assurance of life, even one that might be false. It was easier to forget that he might be something made from diseased hands when Remus was with him in the dark, whispering things that would make even saner men blush stupidly and bury their faces in the pillows to hide their heated cheeks.
Falling into sex-induced forgetfulness was perfectly easy and Remus seemed to have no objections. Somewhere along the line, Sirius had handed Remus the reins to his sanity and trusted him to lead, and he'd done it with deft touches and a slick, hot mouth. If he'd wanted Sirius from the first moment he'd seen him, then he seemed determined now to make up for lost time. Or perhaps he simply wanted to glut himself on it, to take as much as he could before the morning he woke up with Sirius's hands wrapped around his throat.
Lovely thought, that one, Sirius decided sourly, flipping idly through one of the well-thumbed magazines Dumbledore had brought him. He could recite all of them word for word by now but that didn't matter so much as he was barely looking at it, still fuck-stupid with his head resting in Remus's naked lap while the other man stroked his hair.
It was these moments that made forgetting difficult, introspection between orgasms was not a friend of his. He flipped another page that he didn't really look at before pushing the lot off the bed with a sigh. "Not even sure why Dumbledore wanted to talk to me, brought me these. What with the whole 'might be evil' bit."
If there was one good thing about Remus, it was he never shied away from a topic of conversation, so long as it wasn't about the war. If Sirius wanted to speculate on his status as the walking undead or, once, whether Dumbledore had ever had his beard fall in the toilet when he leaned too far forward, Remus was there with calm deliberation, pointing out that Dumbledore was probably quite used to the beard by now and if not, he was an adept enough wizard that he probably knew several dozen good cleaning spells.
At this moment, he brushed his thumb tenderly under Sirius's chin, long, dark hair slipping between his fingers. "Why shouldn't he?" Remus murmured, "If it's not true, then he was doing it for a friend. If it is…you still have his memories, his feelings. It's hardly your fault if you're a shade."
Sirius sighed a little, tipping his head back into Remus's hand. Obediently, he slipped his fingers through the long hair again, fingertips rubbing gently against his scalp. "You're quite upfront about all this, you know."
"I suppose I am." His hand never stilled and Sirius luxuriated in the unaccustomed pleasure of it, half-hard and not nearly motivated enough to do anything about it. Softly, almost a confession, "Sometimes I hate you as much as I love you, for always leaving me the way you do."
"I never meant to," Sirius told him, sleepily.
"No. But you were still gone. And you'll leave again."
"Your positive attitude overwhelms me."
He could hear the tired smile in Remus's voice. "I can't help it. I think-" he hesitated. It was like he was forcing the words out, spitting them in poisoned bursts. "If I let myself believe, just a little, that I could really have this…I don't think I can handle it when it slipped away from me. Again."
Sirius didn't say anything, understood what Remus was saying entirely too well. In a moment like this the world was stable and good, and he could relax, let things seem almost normal and remember sitting in Gryffindor common room with his friends, holding his godson when he was born, flying through the velvety night sky on his motorcycle, the only memories of happiness left to him.
And then it would tilt and he would remember, the ground cracking beneath him and he knew there was a chance if he thought about it too much, let it shattered away and litter sharp-edged pieces of reason around him, that he would climb inside that shoe-lined closet and never come out again.
"I think I'm going insane," he told Remus suddenly, because it was one of those important things a person should share with the one buggering him. Fingertips on his cheek, scraping softly against the stubble that Sirius hadn't bothered to shave away today.
"I think you've been insane," Remus said, soft agreement in his voice. His touch never changed. "I don’t mind very much."
"Kind of you."
It was all right if Remus knew, he decided, probably had know for a long time and still wanted to sleep with him, so that was fine. And sometimes Remus would tell him he loved him. Not often and always in bed, but he did say it.
He wondered what he would have done if Remus had told him back then. B.A., Before Azkaban. He didn't know; he'd been a bit of an arsehole back in the old days. Could be that he still was.
"Remus, am I an arsehole?"
His fingers went still. Sirius shifted in his lap so he could look up at him. Remus was looking at him quite strangely. Probably thought it was part of the whole insanity thing.
"Am I?" Sirius persisted.
"In comparison to whom?" Remus asked warily.
"Oh, never mind." He snuggled back into his lap. After a moment, Remus resumed stroking
In a few minutes, he wouldn't be able to resist it anymore, would turn his head until he could feel the damp heat of Remus's cock against his cheek. Warm salt against his tongue and long fingers sifting through his hair, urging him wordlessly on and it wasn't difficult at all to part his lips and take him inside, sucking and licking until his mouth was spit-wet and swollen.
Tomorrow, Remus would leave again and time would melt like clocks and he'd eat and nap and wait.
Again.
~*~
Then there were some days that he didn't read at all. Today he'd spent hours staring at the cracks in the ceiling like a child would stare at clouds. Finding ragged edges of fraying drywall that looked like flowers or lions or his great Uncle Harold.
A water stain in the far corner of the room added to the game. If he lay on his back and tipped his head so that it was upside down, it looked quite a bit like a griffin eating a lolly. Or a teddy bear giving a blow job. Come to think of it, it could be a teddy bear giving a blowjob to a grif-
The crash at the fireplace behind him startled him into falling off the sofa, nearly knocking himself cold on the coffee table. Warily, he crawled around the sofa on his knees, peering around the edge to see Remus on the floor, dousing the fire with a clumsy wave of his wand as he staggered away from it and fell.
"Remus!" Sirius moved without thinking, already trying to help the man to his knees.
"Don't!" He almost fell as Remus pushed at him violently, lurching backwards in an awkward crab crawl until he hit the wall and finally lifted his head enough that Sirius could look him full in the face.
"Fuck!" Sirius whispered. Both of his eyes were blackened and swollen, thin rusty trails of drying blood at each nostril. His already well-worn clothes were spattered with blood, torn open to show stark welts beneath that were already scabbing over.
"No, I'm all right," Remus mumbled, holding up one shaking hand to keep Sirius back. "Just a little tattered at the edges, eh?" He laughed a little, choked on it with a cough and Sirius stood with his hands empty and helpless. Stupid, stupid, Sirius fucking Black, the useless ornament of the Order, maybe not even him at all and all he could do was stand like the worthless lump he was while Remus painfully cast a few healing charms on himself, his breathing easing after the third one.
"Bloody hell, Moony, where have they been sending you?" Sirius asked, swallowing back other words that wanted very much to be spoken, like fucking bastards can't even heal you before sending you back to me and a few other things that began with the word fuck. Wanted to swear the air blue if he couldn't whisper spells of his own.
"Doesn't matter," Faintly slurred, his pupils swallowing his eyes. Remus wet his lips, licking away the faint smears of crimson. "Come here?"
Sirius didn't even consider saying no, crouching down next to him and he yelped in surprise when Remus tackled him, pinning him down on the rug in front of the cold hearth.
One of these days when Moony held him down and had at it, he was going to find Sirius's arse gone and a set of canine teeth at his bollocks. But not this time, not with his already bitten and bloody fingers pulling at him pleadingly, fumbling at his belt so long that Sirius finally pushed them away and undid it himself, kicking his pants off and tilting his hips up when Remus crawled artlessly between his legs, almost falling on top of him.
A mumbled spell that he felt go through him, slick and hot, and trust Remus to know a dirty little charm like that, perverted soul that he was showing himself to be. He didn't say anything, couldn't, not with Remus's bruised face over him and his mouth wet, cock already nudging its way inside. Sirius arched up into it, hissing at the abrupt entrance. Mouth against his mouth, too-hot and coppery-warm, Remus's breath was a low whine at the back of his throat and Sirius thought he could taste the need in him in the slippery curl of his tongue.
Surprisingly gentle for all that, more tender than Sirius could really take. He didn't know where Remus had been or what he'd been doing, but he could fairly well fucking guess who'd been involved, the same you-know-bloody-who that was responsible for him being here in this flat getting faint friction burns on his back. It should hurt, he thought, it should hurt for Remus to want him like this. For him to need whatever pathetic comfort Sirius could offer.
"Should hate me, you rotten fucking bastard," Sirius gasped, kept his eyes open, focused on the ceiling and the stain that wasn't a griffin. "Should…ah!...should hate me, oh, fucking god, that's…you should…"
"I can't," Breathed against him, into him. Remus fucked him slowly, slid bloody fingers over him that left crimson trails on his skin but it was cleaner than he felt inside.
Bruised and battered, the both of them, Remus's swollen eyes closed above him, his face tight and pained and, God, lovely. He'd never imagined any of this, never had a daydream and midmorning wank with this face in mind, and that was fine, he didn't giving a damn about any of that, echoes of this were better than anything he could have dreamed anyway.
Sirius clung to him, wrapped the cobwebs of sanity around him and begged him for more.
~*~
A shower could only help Remus's appearance so much but at least he was clean, plasters taped neatly around his wounded fingers and over the various other scratches no longer hidden with ragged clothes. He'd let Sirius help, sitting quietly on the bed while each cut was gently cleaned and bandaged. They were bites, Sirius noted with narrowed eyes, peeling the paper from the Medi-Witch Inc. bandages and carefully ringing his fingers with them.
There wasn’t a thing he could do about Remus's black eyes without a wand. He did bite the end of his nose though, just to hear him yelp in pain and pay him back with a smack on the back of the head.
And it was entirely Remus to insist on getting dressed afterwards. The bastard was even wearing shoes.
Insanity wasn't contagious, was it?
"You are aware that today is your birthday?" Remus asked lightly, interrupting his speculations on whether daftness could be transferred with a handshake or if it was more of a sexually transmitted sort of thing.
It made Sirius blink, frowning as he tried to remember if Remus was right. "Is it? I'm not sure if it counts, I was gone for most of the last year."
Remus gave him a faint smile, wincing a little as it pulled on his cut lip. "You don't get to shave off time that easily."
"That's friendly," he snorted. "You'd think I'd get some sort of bonus on it, aside from this lovely rent-controlled holiday home."
"I don't have much in the way of a gift for you," Remus said, "But I can do this one thing. Come on."
Sirius followed him warily out to the sitting room, taking the time to wrap a towel around his waist because even he wasn't nutters enough to get dressed when the possibilities of more sex were right in front of a person. At Remus's gesture, he settled himself on the window ledge and Sirius watched mutely as Remus flicked the curtains back and raised the pane.
The sun was only just setting, crimson and gold spilling over the horizon. It was cold outside, colder than he'd expected and his breath clouded around him, smoky air and the smells of London like an embrace from an old friend, like that day in the shrieking shack when he'd been in someone's, Remus's, arms for the first time in twelve years.
Sirius leaned out as far as he could without even a warning hand on his shoulder, sunlight falling on his face and he laughed, breathing in the bitingly cold air. He watched the sun sink away and bury itself behind the neighbouring buildings, leaving him in shadow and only then did he slowly slip back inside.
The click of the window lock made him wince and he wished suddenly that he'd waited, taken a moment to feel the crisp night air while he'd had the chance.
His face felt damp, far too cold to be sweat and he realized with some embarrassment he was crying. He swiped at his cheeks roughly with the back of his hand, muttering hoarsely. "Moody would have your arse made into a rug."
"Dumbledore is slightly more understanding. I'm sure I'll only get the 'terribly disappointed' speech."
"Yeah," His chuckle sounded suspiciously watery and Sirius took a moment to breathe, willing it back to normal. "That was…" He meant to make a joke, let it die on his tongue. "Thank you," he said finally, softly.
"Please, don't thank me for that," Remus told him roughly. "Just…don't." He took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself. "Well, shall we see what they left us for dinner?" he said with shaky brightness. "I know for a fact that dessert-"
He broke off as Sirius came up behind him and pressed against him. "If you're worried about poor gifts," Sirius whispered, letting his lips brush the delicate edge of Remus's ear until the man shivered against him. "I can think of another one you could give."
His hands moved from their resting place on Remus's hips to his arse, squeezing suggestively.
Remus cleared his throat and stepped away, his eyes low. "I can't."
"You can't," Sirius repeated flatly.
"No, I-" Remus tore his hand nervously through his hair, damp tufts standing in awkward angles. "It's not about wanting, I could…it's just that I'd never be able to get the scent off of me. They'd know."
"They?" Sirius repeated slowly, dawning awareness rising in him along with his voice, "They?" He looked at Remus through narrowed eyes as the man muttered a particularly foul curse under his breath. "Who the bloody hell is 'they'? Tell me that Dumbledore doesn't have you-"
"In any case," Remus interrupted him loudly. "I do have one more gift for you. From," he smiled crookedly. "Well, I'm sure you can guess who it's from." His robe was still crumpled into the corner where they'd tossed it earlier and Remus picked it up, pulling something from the inner pocket. It was a small box wrapped clumsily with bright paper and ribbons.
He offered it to Sirius, who didn't even look at it, glaring at Remus. Tired apology was in his dark eyes, pleading with him to let it go. Yeah, let it go. As the saying went whenever anyone spoke to Sirius, I can't tell you.
With a sigh, he took the package, peeling the paper back to reveal a box. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, one side blared, the other proclaiming it to be a daydream charm, guaranteed!
Remus smiled at his questioning look. "They were afraid you might be bored and thought you might like some entertainment. I gather that it was Ron who convinced them not to get you a book."
"I always did like that boy," Sirius murmured.
"There are three charges on that one, and you shouldn't have a problem using it through the wards."
He was admittedly impressed. "Tell them I said thanks, would you?"
Later, when he had Remus sprawled across the bed on his belly while Sirius knelt behind him, licking at the base of his spine and then lower, he listened to the increasingly desperate sounds that Remus was making with a certain resentful satisfaction.
"Don't-don't--" Remus's voice faltered and he was sweat-damp and shuddering, pushing back against Sirius's tongue.
"They can't smell this on you," Sirius lifted his head enough to say. "You should know that."
He worked a hand beneath Remus, wrapped it around his cock while he flicked his tongue against the puckered opening, laving at it until Remus whimpered and clawed at the sheets. Couldn't fuck him, maybe, but Sirius knew exactly what this little slippery touch felt like, used his tongue like he couldn't use his cock until Remus came over his hand in a rush of glossy wet heat.
Two days later Remus left, still faintly bruised at the eyes and that afternoon Sirius used the first of his daydream charms.
His first vision was of a lovely woman with shining blond hair and a simpering little smile, her old-style dress cut so that he could see the bare suggestion of the colour of her nipples. She melted away when he didn't seem properly appreciative and was replaced by a man in a pirate outfit who looked rather suspiciously like a werewolf of his acquaintance.
He woke up sweating and hard, jerking himself off with quick, rough strokes. He didn't bother with the rest of the daydreams. Why spend your time shagging a ghost when reality was worth waiting for?
But he did make sure not to change the sheets.
~*~
End part 7
Notes: I looked and looked, and couldn't find any reference to Sirius's exact day of birth. If there is one then...er...AU! ;)
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Remus/Sirius
NC-17
Spoilers for all the books, up to HBP.
Summary: Set during HBP. Dead is dead, unless you're a wizard. Then things can get...complicated.
Notes: Slight modifications in time and space may have been made, altering this from the books. But if you can't tell, it's already an AU, so hey, make of that what you will.
Warnings: Hey, this is sort of dark. If you don't like dark stuff? Please dial a different number. :)
~*~
In the days that passed, there was a familiar sense of time slipping away, like it had been in Azkaban. Days melting into each other like ice cream drippings in a sleepy sort of trance, time disappearing in between naps and mouldering book pages and steaming plates of food left by invisible hands.
Only when Remus was there did he feel alive. As alive as he could be, anyway, when it was highly possible that he was anything but. It was difficult to think of it that way. He felt alive, felt human, could feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat beneath his hands at night when he woke from screaming dreams and needed to check, needed to feel some assurance of life, even one that might be false. It was easier to forget that he might be something made from diseased hands when Remus was with him in the dark, whispering things that would make even saner men blush stupidly and bury their faces in the pillows to hide their heated cheeks.
Falling into sex-induced forgetfulness was perfectly easy and Remus seemed to have no objections. Somewhere along the line, Sirius had handed Remus the reins to his sanity and trusted him to lead, and he'd done it with deft touches and a slick, hot mouth. If he'd wanted Sirius from the first moment he'd seen him, then he seemed determined now to make up for lost time. Or perhaps he simply wanted to glut himself on it, to take as much as he could before the morning he woke up with Sirius's hands wrapped around his throat.
Lovely thought, that one, Sirius decided sourly, flipping idly through one of the well-thumbed magazines Dumbledore had brought him. He could recite all of them word for word by now but that didn't matter so much as he was barely looking at it, still fuck-stupid with his head resting in Remus's naked lap while the other man stroked his hair.
It was these moments that made forgetting difficult, introspection between orgasms was not a friend of his. He flipped another page that he didn't really look at before pushing the lot off the bed with a sigh. "Not even sure why Dumbledore wanted to talk to me, brought me these. What with the whole 'might be evil' bit."
If there was one good thing about Remus, it was he never shied away from a topic of conversation, so long as it wasn't about the war. If Sirius wanted to speculate on his status as the walking undead or, once, whether Dumbledore had ever had his beard fall in the toilet when he leaned too far forward, Remus was there with calm deliberation, pointing out that Dumbledore was probably quite used to the beard by now and if not, he was an adept enough wizard that he probably knew several dozen good cleaning spells.
At this moment, he brushed his thumb tenderly under Sirius's chin, long, dark hair slipping between his fingers. "Why shouldn't he?" Remus murmured, "If it's not true, then he was doing it for a friend. If it is…you still have his memories, his feelings. It's hardly your fault if you're a shade."
Sirius sighed a little, tipping his head back into Remus's hand. Obediently, he slipped his fingers through the long hair again, fingertips rubbing gently against his scalp. "You're quite upfront about all this, you know."
"I suppose I am." His hand never stilled and Sirius luxuriated in the unaccustomed pleasure of it, half-hard and not nearly motivated enough to do anything about it. Softly, almost a confession, "Sometimes I hate you as much as I love you, for always leaving me the way you do."
"I never meant to," Sirius told him, sleepily.
"No. But you were still gone. And you'll leave again."
"Your positive attitude overwhelms me."
He could hear the tired smile in Remus's voice. "I can't help it. I think-" he hesitated. It was like he was forcing the words out, spitting them in poisoned bursts. "If I let myself believe, just a little, that I could really have this…I don't think I can handle it when it slipped away from me. Again."
Sirius didn't say anything, understood what Remus was saying entirely too well. In a moment like this the world was stable and good, and he could relax, let things seem almost normal and remember sitting in Gryffindor common room with his friends, holding his godson when he was born, flying through the velvety night sky on his motorcycle, the only memories of happiness left to him.
And then it would tilt and he would remember, the ground cracking beneath him and he knew there was a chance if he thought about it too much, let it shattered away and litter sharp-edged pieces of reason around him, that he would climb inside that shoe-lined closet and never come out again.
"I think I'm going insane," he told Remus suddenly, because it was one of those important things a person should share with the one buggering him. Fingertips on his cheek, scraping softly against the stubble that Sirius hadn't bothered to shave away today.
"I think you've been insane," Remus said, soft agreement in his voice. His touch never changed. "I don’t mind very much."
"Kind of you."
It was all right if Remus knew, he decided, probably had know for a long time and still wanted to sleep with him, so that was fine. And sometimes Remus would tell him he loved him. Not often and always in bed, but he did say it.
He wondered what he would have done if Remus had told him back then. B.A., Before Azkaban. He didn't know; he'd been a bit of an arsehole back in the old days. Could be that he still was.
"Remus, am I an arsehole?"
His fingers went still. Sirius shifted in his lap so he could look up at him. Remus was looking at him quite strangely. Probably thought it was part of the whole insanity thing.
"Am I?" Sirius persisted.
"In comparison to whom?" Remus asked warily.
"Oh, never mind." He snuggled back into his lap. After a moment, Remus resumed stroking
In a few minutes, he wouldn't be able to resist it anymore, would turn his head until he could feel the damp heat of Remus's cock against his cheek. Warm salt against his tongue and long fingers sifting through his hair, urging him wordlessly on and it wasn't difficult at all to part his lips and take him inside, sucking and licking until his mouth was spit-wet and swollen.
Tomorrow, Remus would leave again and time would melt like clocks and he'd eat and nap and wait.
Again.
~*~
Then there were some days that he didn't read at all. Today he'd spent hours staring at the cracks in the ceiling like a child would stare at clouds. Finding ragged edges of fraying drywall that looked like flowers or lions or his great Uncle Harold.
A water stain in the far corner of the room added to the game. If he lay on his back and tipped his head so that it was upside down, it looked quite a bit like a griffin eating a lolly. Or a teddy bear giving a blow job. Come to think of it, it could be a teddy bear giving a blowjob to a grif-
The crash at the fireplace behind him startled him into falling off the sofa, nearly knocking himself cold on the coffee table. Warily, he crawled around the sofa on his knees, peering around the edge to see Remus on the floor, dousing the fire with a clumsy wave of his wand as he staggered away from it and fell.
"Remus!" Sirius moved without thinking, already trying to help the man to his knees.
"Don't!" He almost fell as Remus pushed at him violently, lurching backwards in an awkward crab crawl until he hit the wall and finally lifted his head enough that Sirius could look him full in the face.
"Fuck!" Sirius whispered. Both of his eyes were blackened and swollen, thin rusty trails of drying blood at each nostril. His already well-worn clothes were spattered with blood, torn open to show stark welts beneath that were already scabbing over.
"No, I'm all right," Remus mumbled, holding up one shaking hand to keep Sirius back. "Just a little tattered at the edges, eh?" He laughed a little, choked on it with a cough and Sirius stood with his hands empty and helpless. Stupid, stupid, Sirius fucking Black, the useless ornament of the Order, maybe not even him at all and all he could do was stand like the worthless lump he was while Remus painfully cast a few healing charms on himself, his breathing easing after the third one.
"Bloody hell, Moony, where have they been sending you?" Sirius asked, swallowing back other words that wanted very much to be spoken, like fucking bastards can't even heal you before sending you back to me and a few other things that began with the word fuck. Wanted to swear the air blue if he couldn't whisper spells of his own.
"Doesn't matter," Faintly slurred, his pupils swallowing his eyes. Remus wet his lips, licking away the faint smears of crimson. "Come here?"
Sirius didn't even consider saying no, crouching down next to him and he yelped in surprise when Remus tackled him, pinning him down on the rug in front of the cold hearth.
One of these days when Moony held him down and had at it, he was going to find Sirius's arse gone and a set of canine teeth at his bollocks. But not this time, not with his already bitten and bloody fingers pulling at him pleadingly, fumbling at his belt so long that Sirius finally pushed them away and undid it himself, kicking his pants off and tilting his hips up when Remus crawled artlessly between his legs, almost falling on top of him.
A mumbled spell that he felt go through him, slick and hot, and trust Remus to know a dirty little charm like that, perverted soul that he was showing himself to be. He didn't say anything, couldn't, not with Remus's bruised face over him and his mouth wet, cock already nudging its way inside. Sirius arched up into it, hissing at the abrupt entrance. Mouth against his mouth, too-hot and coppery-warm, Remus's breath was a low whine at the back of his throat and Sirius thought he could taste the need in him in the slippery curl of his tongue.
Surprisingly gentle for all that, more tender than Sirius could really take. He didn't know where Remus had been or what he'd been doing, but he could fairly well fucking guess who'd been involved, the same you-know-bloody-who that was responsible for him being here in this flat getting faint friction burns on his back. It should hurt, he thought, it should hurt for Remus to want him like this. For him to need whatever pathetic comfort Sirius could offer.
"Should hate me, you rotten fucking bastard," Sirius gasped, kept his eyes open, focused on the ceiling and the stain that wasn't a griffin. "Should…ah!...should hate me, oh, fucking god, that's…you should…"
"I can't," Breathed against him, into him. Remus fucked him slowly, slid bloody fingers over him that left crimson trails on his skin but it was cleaner than he felt inside.
Bruised and battered, the both of them, Remus's swollen eyes closed above him, his face tight and pained and, God, lovely. He'd never imagined any of this, never had a daydream and midmorning wank with this face in mind, and that was fine, he didn't giving a damn about any of that, echoes of this were better than anything he could have dreamed anyway.
Sirius clung to him, wrapped the cobwebs of sanity around him and begged him for more.
~*~
A shower could only help Remus's appearance so much but at least he was clean, plasters taped neatly around his wounded fingers and over the various other scratches no longer hidden with ragged clothes. He'd let Sirius help, sitting quietly on the bed while each cut was gently cleaned and bandaged. They were bites, Sirius noted with narrowed eyes, peeling the paper from the Medi-Witch Inc. bandages and carefully ringing his fingers with them.
There wasn’t a thing he could do about Remus's black eyes without a wand. He did bite the end of his nose though, just to hear him yelp in pain and pay him back with a smack on the back of the head.
And it was entirely Remus to insist on getting dressed afterwards. The bastard was even wearing shoes.
Insanity wasn't contagious, was it?
"You are aware that today is your birthday?" Remus asked lightly, interrupting his speculations on whether daftness could be transferred with a handshake or if it was more of a sexually transmitted sort of thing.
It made Sirius blink, frowning as he tried to remember if Remus was right. "Is it? I'm not sure if it counts, I was gone for most of the last year."
Remus gave him a faint smile, wincing a little as it pulled on his cut lip. "You don't get to shave off time that easily."
"That's friendly," he snorted. "You'd think I'd get some sort of bonus on it, aside from this lovely rent-controlled holiday home."
"I don't have much in the way of a gift for you," Remus said, "But I can do this one thing. Come on."
Sirius followed him warily out to the sitting room, taking the time to wrap a towel around his waist because even he wasn't nutters enough to get dressed when the possibilities of more sex were right in front of a person. At Remus's gesture, he settled himself on the window ledge and Sirius watched mutely as Remus flicked the curtains back and raised the pane.
The sun was only just setting, crimson and gold spilling over the horizon. It was cold outside, colder than he'd expected and his breath clouded around him, smoky air and the smells of London like an embrace from an old friend, like that day in the shrieking shack when he'd been in someone's, Remus's, arms for the first time in twelve years.
Sirius leaned out as far as he could without even a warning hand on his shoulder, sunlight falling on his face and he laughed, breathing in the bitingly cold air. He watched the sun sink away and bury itself behind the neighbouring buildings, leaving him in shadow and only then did he slowly slip back inside.
The click of the window lock made him wince and he wished suddenly that he'd waited, taken a moment to feel the crisp night air while he'd had the chance.
His face felt damp, far too cold to be sweat and he realized with some embarrassment he was crying. He swiped at his cheeks roughly with the back of his hand, muttering hoarsely. "Moody would have your arse made into a rug."
"Dumbledore is slightly more understanding. I'm sure I'll only get the 'terribly disappointed' speech."
"Yeah," His chuckle sounded suspiciously watery and Sirius took a moment to breathe, willing it back to normal. "That was…" He meant to make a joke, let it die on his tongue. "Thank you," he said finally, softly.
"Please, don't thank me for that," Remus told him roughly. "Just…don't." He took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself. "Well, shall we see what they left us for dinner?" he said with shaky brightness. "I know for a fact that dessert-"
He broke off as Sirius came up behind him and pressed against him. "If you're worried about poor gifts," Sirius whispered, letting his lips brush the delicate edge of Remus's ear until the man shivered against him. "I can think of another one you could give."
His hands moved from their resting place on Remus's hips to his arse, squeezing suggestively.
Remus cleared his throat and stepped away, his eyes low. "I can't."
"You can't," Sirius repeated flatly.
"No, I-" Remus tore his hand nervously through his hair, damp tufts standing in awkward angles. "It's not about wanting, I could…it's just that I'd never be able to get the scent off of me. They'd know."
"They?" Sirius repeated slowly, dawning awareness rising in him along with his voice, "They?" He looked at Remus through narrowed eyes as the man muttered a particularly foul curse under his breath. "Who the bloody hell is 'they'? Tell me that Dumbledore doesn't have you-"
"In any case," Remus interrupted him loudly. "I do have one more gift for you. From," he smiled crookedly. "Well, I'm sure you can guess who it's from." His robe was still crumpled into the corner where they'd tossed it earlier and Remus picked it up, pulling something from the inner pocket. It was a small box wrapped clumsily with bright paper and ribbons.
He offered it to Sirius, who didn't even look at it, glaring at Remus. Tired apology was in his dark eyes, pleading with him to let it go. Yeah, let it go. As the saying went whenever anyone spoke to Sirius, I can't tell you.
With a sigh, he took the package, peeling the paper back to reveal a box. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, one side blared, the other proclaiming it to be a daydream charm, guaranteed!
Remus smiled at his questioning look. "They were afraid you might be bored and thought you might like some entertainment. I gather that it was Ron who convinced them not to get you a book."
"I always did like that boy," Sirius murmured.
"There are three charges on that one, and you shouldn't have a problem using it through the wards."
He was admittedly impressed. "Tell them I said thanks, would you?"
Later, when he had Remus sprawled across the bed on his belly while Sirius knelt behind him, licking at the base of his spine and then lower, he listened to the increasingly desperate sounds that Remus was making with a certain resentful satisfaction.
"Don't-don't--" Remus's voice faltered and he was sweat-damp and shuddering, pushing back against Sirius's tongue.
"They can't smell this on you," Sirius lifted his head enough to say. "You should know that."
He worked a hand beneath Remus, wrapped it around his cock while he flicked his tongue against the puckered opening, laving at it until Remus whimpered and clawed at the sheets. Couldn't fuck him, maybe, but Sirius knew exactly what this little slippery touch felt like, used his tongue like he couldn't use his cock until Remus came over his hand in a rush of glossy wet heat.
Two days later Remus left, still faintly bruised at the eyes and that afternoon Sirius used the first of his daydream charms.
His first vision was of a lovely woman with shining blond hair and a simpering little smile, her old-style dress cut so that he could see the bare suggestion of the colour of her nipples. She melted away when he didn't seem properly appreciative and was replaced by a man in a pirate outfit who looked rather suspiciously like a werewolf of his acquaintance.
He woke up sweating and hard, jerking himself off with quick, rough strokes. He didn't bother with the rest of the daydreams. Why spend your time shagging a ghost when reality was worth waiting for?
But he did make sure not to change the sheets.
~*~
End part 7
Notes: I looked and looked, and couldn't find any reference to Sirius's exact day of birth. If there is one then...er...AU! ;)