There were too many things he had lost. Innumerable sacrifices, ripped away like layers of carrion from his flesh. Parts of him that were, but would never be again.
James was the only one he'd ever wanted. When all his dignity and hope had gone, razed to the ground by the neon of the full, uncaring moon, James had been the first one to stand beside him. Through his darkest times, when his claws shredded at his own transformed person in a mocking semblance of self-revulsion, James had been his beacon of light through the darkness.
He thought that James had truly cared.
At the wedding, he didn't offer a speech accompanied with his toast of champagne. Instead, while they danced their nuptials away, red and black tangled in waves of fire and coal, he had led Sirius to the guest chamber and straddled his hips hurriedly on the pristine, white sheets of the bed.
Sirius. Now gone, poor Sirius. Three years of hurried fucks in Gryffindor dormitories, under the Quiddich stands, inside cramped broom cupboards, and Sirius had still thought that what they shared was real. Dependable. If Remus half-closed his eyes during sex, which he always did, he could easily pretend that it was James who was buried inside him, searching, who was digging his incisors into his collarbone, leaving brands of passion and possession. And if that never worked, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair to mess it always did the trick.
The wedding had ruined everything. He'd always been careful to be a quiet lover. In the six or so years they'd been sleeping together, (because really, who could call this twisted, one-sided love a relationship?) he had never said anything during sex, not a word of encouragement, passion, pleasure or post-coital murmurings of love. The only sexual vocabulary he'd ever developed was 'faster' and 'harder' through teeth gritted in pain. But that day, the image of James had burnt itself permanently into the back of his retinas. Even through tightly closed eyes, he could see the sickening white of the dress and the lilies in auburn hair, and he came with a harsh, strangled sob into Sirius' mouth, choking on James' name. The look in Sirius' eyes had said it all when words could not. Pain, betrayal, sadness, anger, all these things brought about on a single whispered syllable.
Remus shook his head, and continued thrusting into James. How fitting, that they should be doing this on Sirius' old bed in Grimmauld place. It was liberating, it was completing him, and James was still young, still in his prime as he fisted one hand into the sheets, while his other wrist cracked under Remus' heavy hand. James was beautiful, he was panting and moaning and the leg poised on Remus' shoulder was trembling almost violently. Surely he had never trembled as much when Sirius had had sex with him?
With a grunt, he came harshly into James, the sheer force sending sparks through his limbs and shooting stars through his vision. The smaller body beneath him tensed, arched and came, warm and young and nubile.
"Sirius."
The whispered name, like a blasphemy, cut through the air violently. Remus looked down, startled, and Lily's eyes met his own, heavy and lidded with tears and pain.
It felt like Remus was breaking, all over again.
