Remus had arrived at the house one night, unexpected but not unwelcome. Sirius' place was empty, luckily for him. Tears were pooling around his large eyes, but his whole body was wet and glistening with droplets of rain. Wet, and quivering. Patches of milk-colored skin peek through the rags that were his robes. Blood, mixed with the rainwater, runs down the back of his neck and his leg.
"Left you, didn't he." The tone is blasé and indifferent. He hasn't let Remus in yet; instead, Sirius leans against the old doorway with his arms folded. Don't get me wrong, he loves him very much, but this time it had been Remus' mistake. For once, it wasn't Sirius who was at Remus' door, sobbing and drunk.
The last thing Remus needed was for Sirius to speak. His head hung low and heavy, like a bowling ball, useless. Fenrir's rumbling cackles echoed in his mind and he bit down on a plush lip, not daring enough to look Sirius in the eye. He doesn't push his way in; he's not that sort of person.
"Please, don't." His reply is stammered and clumsy. Sirius can see the faint outline of Remus' ribs through his torn robes. He remembers how he used to wonder about the boy's thin figure back in school. So delicate, he wouldn't be surprised if he could see his lungs through the skin. He used to think that Remus' organs and his insides would be just as beautiful as his outside.
"That's what I said to you, remember? Funny, when I was pleading with you, you just walked away." Now there was a hint of sadness, a hint of disappointment.
It hurt Remus. The tears come out faster. He still didn't look up, too afraid of the angry and dismayed expression he knew Sirius would be wearing. That always killed him, every single time.
Remus allows Fenrir's large, callused hand, dark with fine hairs, to grab onto his and lead him roughly into the murky cave.
Remus allows Fenrir's large, callused hand, experienced and hungry, to pin him down and pull at his clothes, or what remained of them.
Remus allows Fenrir's large, callused hand, smelling of dried blood, to travel down his smooth and hairless abdomen, towards the warm prize.
Remus allows all of this, and more. He throws his head back and lets out a raw, pleasure-filled cry, followed by a primitive grunt coming from Fenrir.
"You would know.. More than anyone. That I make many mistakes." His hand reached forward, grasped onto the corner of Sirius' robes, warm and smooth. He closed the space between them, and felt a shiver when his gentle arms wrap around his thin waist. Remus' forehead met Sirius' shoulder, and his own moved up and down as he cried silently. The door closed behind them.
"Next time, it won't be like this."
That's what he always said.