A/N: A bit scrambled and written in the 15 minutes before my statistics class, but here we have it.
He was beautiful in a broken way, Sirius mused as he and the rest of the Marauders enjoyed a hot summer's day on the beach next to Remus's parents' house, a rare occasion when he was allowed friends over. His beauty particularly shone in the summer when his skin turned nut-brown from the sun, causing his silvery scars to stand out even more, a highway system across his flesh that spoke leagues of his adventures and misfortunes. James and Peter were not-so-secretly jealous of Remus's ability to tan without effort, they who could only burn and freckle later; Sirius liked it. It matched the gold of his eyes in a companionship unlike any other and removed years of age from the young man's sixteen-year-old body simply by warming his skin tone.
Remus was still impossibly skinny though, and his growth spurt last May had sent him shooting up to near six feet tall, all tan skin, sinewy muscle, and bone. Sirius supposed the wolf didn't want its host getting fat, to put on pounds that would reduce its ability to wreak havoc each month. It wanted to remain a lean, mean, killing machine so long as it had a say in Remus's metabolism. His weight certainly wasn't for lack of trying—something that Peter sure envied, Sirius noticed on more than one occasion. He'd seen their friend devour plate after plate of food on a regular basis, consuming thousands of calories that were all promptly burned off on the rising of the full moon. But Sirius liked him skinny, could not imagine him any other way.
But there was strength in him yet, Sirius knew even as he watched him lose an impromptu wrestling match in the sand with James, sending both of them out into the surf laughing. Sirius knew that when the moon was filling up, so did Remus's strength (and temper) and one would be wise to stay in his good graces. Sirius did not quite manage to do so one month and ended up pushed against a wall getting the tar beaten out of him by a young man with animal strength. He'd lived, of course, and healed, and grew to respect both man and beast more for it. On normal days like this, the middle of the month, Sirius was aware that Remus was holding back on several occasions because as Remus grew, so did the wolf and its power in him.
He knew Remus thought his face too ugly to be handsome, but disagreed. It was full of sharp angles and fleeting shadows and the eye could not know where to rest until he opened those big, amber-gold eyes. It was an interesting face molded through the years by agony and countless transformations and yet still managed to have faint laugh lines around his mouth. It kept your attention and was constantly changing, much like the sea, with each phase of the moon.
His hands were perhaps Sirius's favorite though, as he watched them grab Peter's arm (James had the other) and toss him, previously dry, into the ocean with ease. They were just as scarred as the rest of him but someone were the most fascinating feature for Sirius. He caught himself watching him write in class, long fingers wrapped lovingly around his favorite quill as he quickly but effortlessly jotted down notes, the ink scrawl beautiful and elegant despite the speed they were written with. He could stare at his wrists for hours, how the tiny bones jutted out, barely covered by his skin, how each knuckle was prominent but not grotesque. They were an artist's hands not meant for the fighting and rough handling they were put through routinely.
His hair was beautiful, too, all sandy curls that were long in the fashion of boys for their day. The gentle curls hung around his shoulders when dry but now, soaking wet, stuck to his face and neck in a possessive grip Sirius envied. What he wouldn't give to lick the sea salt from his neck or even brush it away with his fingers, to watch the pulse quicken under his skin as he did so.
Sirius was startled by his thoughts when James kicked sand at his chest. "Are you just going to leer at us all day and come swim, you prat, or are Blacks afraid of getting their perfectly coifed hair wet?" he teased, and suddenly all three of them were upon him but as usual he could only focus on Remus.
The muscles in the Remus's chest tensed and released as the trio pulled him to his feet and he was slung over Remus's shoulder, eyes directed at his ass, his perfect, perfect ass…and then he was underwater, sea foam above him and sand below. When he surfaced he found himself face to face with a smirking Remus (a rare sight, surely, as the young werewolf was not a smirker by nature) who had his arms crossed over his chest. "You've been staring at me all afternoon," he stated, not a question.
"Yes."
Remus paused and swallowed and Sirius took the time to admire his adam's apple bobbing in his throat and snuck a glance at his sloping jaw line before he was redirected to Remus's eyes by an impatient clearing of his throat, but no words came.
"Are you asking me to stop?" Sirius asked brazenly, a challenge in his eyes, steel grey to Remus's copper-gold.
"Wouldn't dream of ruining your fun, Padfoot. But do try to blink every so often or someone will suspect we're up to something." It was very clear that Remus knew what was being suspected but he did not show evidence of caring and with that, he swam off like a fish. Sirius pouted and pursued at an admittedly slower pace and joined his mates deeper out in the surf, riding waves and laughing as they were pushed under, simply enjoying the company of his best friends and the boy he was hopelessly in love with, sneaking glances when he could and happy to be around him when he couldn't.
Summers at Remus's were the best.