Title: Pannuchios
Author: lmeden
Prompt Number: 106
Rating: R
Pairing(s): RL/SB
Summary: They are together now, for it is all they have left.
Warnings: Character death, Prostitution (not graphic), Lycanthropy, Drug use (not excessive! :D), Non-con (mentions only), Dystopia
Word Count: ~3000
Author's Notes: Dear prompter. Thank you so much for the intriguing prompt. It really captured my imagination. I hope that you enjoy this. I also want to thank my betas, eeyore9990 and pionie for their help with this. Your were both amazing and I don't think that I could have organized my thoughts without you. Enjoy!
The room is filled with gray-blue smoke. It obscures everything. The man in the doorway nearly chokes on it.
He manages to step into the room, and resist backing into the hallway. He feels his way into the room by memory, stumbling only slightly over the thick rugs piled on the floor.
As he breathes the smoke in, lassitude begins to creep over him. His arms feel heavy and dull. He feels his brain begin to slow, a thick miasma wrapping its way around first his senses, and then creeping into the cracks of his brain.
He pushes through it all, frowning.
He struggles through the smoke; struggles to take interminable steps forward. Then his fingers touch cold glass. He fumbles with the metal latch and swings the window out and open.
Remus leans out the window and over the small street, taking in deep breaths of the cold night air. He sighs as his mind clears and feeling returns to his fingers. He squeezes his thin shoulders through the small window until he is nearly a foot out.
The windows of his own room are locked shut. Clearing Sirius' room is the only freedom that he is allowed. He treasures these moments.
The blue smoke pours out of the room and over his shoulders. It curls in delicate swirls and arabesques just beneath him, before dispersing and fading into the night.
Remus stays as he is for long moments. He knows from experience that the room will take so long to clear. This particular client of Sirius' loves opiates, and by morning, the room is inevitably full of the smoke.
Finally, Remus turns away from the window toward where he knows Sirius will be – lying prone on the bed. He spots the other man quickly. Sirius is naked and one hand rests on his chest lightly. His hair, wet with sweat, spreads across the pillow in strands.
Remus walks over and settles onto the rumpled sheets - perching with his legs folded under him. Feeling the shift of the mattress, Sirius' eyes flutter and slip open.
Remus stares down at his oldest friend. The other man's eyes are dark - their hazel-gray cast seeming blue in the golden candlelight. Remus knows that his own eyes will have taken on an unnatural amber cast. Sirius stares at him dully for a moment before his eyes focus.
His pupils, stretched wide, slowly contract. His thin lips curve in a small smile and the corners of his eyes draw up. "Remus," he says huskily. He reaches a languid hand up - unfurling each finger as if the movement is foreign and unique. His fingertips brush softly across Remus' jaw.
Remus pulls back.
"Don't touch me," he says, voice thick with emotion. "Not now."
He gestures around the room, taking in the rumpled sheets that stand in foreign hillocks shaped by sweat, come, and passion. The slim glasses - half full of dark liquor - sitting on the single table in the room. A small bowl of light powder sits next the bed, still smoking softly with a dark blue smoke.
"Go take a bath."
Sirius smiles wider at Remus' command, his eyes sparking with delight. "All right, then."
He stretches each word out, elongating and deepening them. He rolls onto his side and pushes himself up, stretching. Remus watches the lines of his naked body as he moves. Soft red marks span his skin. But he is not cut, or even bruised.
He is beautiful; flawless.
Sirius stands slowly and saunters across the room, his bare feet soundless on the thick Turkish carpets. He disappears through a dark doorway across the room. A moment later, Remus hears water begin to run. He pulls his gaze away from the door.
He stares down at the bed. The sheets lay as immobile evidence of the nights activities. Vaguely repulsed, he stands and straightens his shirt. He doesn't want to sit there on top of another man's leftovers. And he can't just magic the sheet clean, either.
Hatred curdles in Remus' stomach at the thought of his own helplessness – his reliance on the whims and graces of others – but he pushes the feeling away. There is no sense bemoaning his fate now. He will have to wait until the sheets are taken away. He refuses to be bitter about it.
Sighing, Remus gazes at the glasses on the table. There is no wine left in the bottle, and he doesn't wish to touch the leftovers in the glasses. He wishes that there were some other place that they could go - that they weren't confined to these rooms, which reek of sex and shame.
He hates these rooms.
At least, he reflects, they are allowed to see each other.
Remus suddenly realizes how dim the room is. He glances around and finds the source of light - a small candelabra with two of the four tapers gone out. He walks over and slips one of the still burning tapers out, using it to light the various candles scattered around the room.
As the light spreads, all romance falls away from the room. The crimson sheets turn a bright and garish red. The smoke turns black, and the carpets are revealed as tattered imitations of opulence; hardly plush at all.
Before placing the candle back into its holder, Remus pauses. His hand quivers. Hot wax falls down the side of it and pools into the palm of his hand. He stares. He knows that the wax is hot - indeed, he can feel it throbbing up his arm. But he cannot actually feel the pain.
He feels so numb.
Slowly he places the candle back into its holder and sinks down onto the bed. It doesn't matter, does it, that he is sitting in some other man's come. He is wallowing in another man's sweat - his pure desire for Sirius tainted with desperation. But he doesn't move. He sits there and watches the pooling wax in his palm solidify.
There is suddenly a damp and chill hand on him. Remus starts, fear sending his heart racing and sending feeling rushing back into his limbs. He looks up. Sirius is gripping his wrist tightly; staring in alarm at Remus' palm.
Sirius' eyes are clear now, and his hair curls wet and loose around his neck. Remus can see that the shower has given him some clarity.
"What have you done?" Sirius whispers hoarsely.
Remus is startled. He hadn't expected such a strong reaction.
"Nothing," he says, and clears his throat, for his voice is oddly weak. "Nothing. The wax dripped."
"And you left it like that?"
"Well, I-" Remus doesn't exactly know how to respond. Why had he left the wax on his hand? It seems so foolish now. He reaches up to pick the wax off, but Sirius stops him with a gentle touch.
"No, I'll do it." Sirius sits next to him, and as the bed dips further, he feels Sirius's body against him. Their sides touch, hot and tender. Remus leans into his friend, and Sirius picks the wax from Remus' hand with his delicate fingers.
Remus pauses outside Sirius' room. The door is closed.
He glances down the hall, and his gaze falls on the tall figure standing guard. The man is a parody of menace, with his long black robes and white mask. He stares at Remus, and Remus feels a chill run down his spine. He looks quickly away, and back to the doorknob of Sirius' room.
The closed door does not bode well. Sirius' door is closed only when he is servicing a client. But Remus has finished with his own client, and he wants a bath. Sirius' facilities are much better than his own. And the night is beginning to fade into daylight. It should be safe; the client should be gone.
Remus dreads standing here, under the watchful gaze of the guard, any longer. Slowly he reaches for the small knob and opens the door a crack. It is silent inside.
Relieved, he slips through the doorway. There is no client, then. Quietly, he closes the door behind him - no need to draw suspicion - and turns around.
There is a dark, menacing shape on the bed.
Remus freezes, then, heart pounding, creeps closer. As he moves the shape shifts, revealing itself to be Sirius' client. Remus stops dead, and the man turns towards him. He is fully clothed in long dark robes. His long hair casts feathery shadows across his face.
As he stands, leaving Sirius lying on the bed, he nods to Remus and moves towards the door. His hair, greasy and unbound, falls across his face. His eyes glint in the candlelight as he glances at Remus, and he smiles.
Remus is horrified by what he sees. The man's thin lips reveal a flash of sharp canines, and then his hand is at the door and he is gone. Remus remains still for long moments, thinking in circles. A vampire. Sirius' client is a vampire.
Stricken, he rushes over to the bed, where Sirius lies in a stupor.
The water is almost unbearably hot.
Sirius sits stiffly still in his bath, forcing himself not to bolt from the water and let it cool longer. When he had been watching the bath fill, he had felt impatient and dirty. Now that he is in it, he knows that he has leapt in too soon. The water is burning him.
He forces himself to not think of it, and stares at the sky instead. Steam from the water obscures the window for an instant, then parts. It is dark out. The moon rises high and full, wallowing in its sloth over his head. He frowns at it and looks away.
If it wasn't for that moon...then Remus could be here.
Remus could have shared with him this one night, of so few that he had free. Remus wouldn't be locked away, suffering.
Sirius cannot help but think of Remus, trapped in his pain and locked in his room. He despises their jailors for forcing Remus to suffer so. There are potions that can help – Sirius remembers that much. But they are allowed nothing magical. This is their true punishment – utter and unending helplessness.
Sirius clenches his hand into a fist and tears his gaze away from that fat and gloating moon.
Sirius bursts through the door to Remus' as soon as he sees the moon set from the hall windows.
Inside it is pitch black and Sirius curses. He runs out to the hall for a candle and carefully carries it back in. He knows where the candles in Remus' room are from experience, and within a minute has them all lit. In the flickering light, he can finally see his friend.
Remus is lying on the floor in the centre of the room, shivering. Sirius runs to him.
He grasps Remus' arms as he kneels and pulls the other man into a sitting position. Remus is not cold. He must be shivering in shock. Sirius grunts, grasps Remus close to himself, and struggles to pull the other man to his bed.
He wishes that he had taken the time to exercise more often. It never seemed important, but...
Remus is bad tonight. Moreso than under other full moons. Sirius is afraid; genuinely, icily afraid. Sirius struggles to move Remus' limp body across the room and to his bed. His muscles scream, and he pants when he finally remembers to breath.
After several long moments, Sirius stops. They have made it to the bed.
Slowly he pulls and pushes until Remus is on the bed, and then rolls him onto it completely. He clambers up after him, and the rickety, worn bed wheezes under their combined weight.
Remus is still shivering, so Sirius drags him closer. When they are completely flush Sirius finally relaxes, and his damp hair falls across Remus' face.
Slowly Remus' shaking slows and stops, and they fall asleep together.
Remus has learned his lesson.
He has not dared to venture into Sirius' room so early in the morning again. Especially when the door is closed. So he sits in his own dirty room - not nearly so clean as Sirius', or as pretentiously lavish. It is bare, with only a small bed and window.
He is not meant for glamour. He is meant to be used for the harsher things.
Remus watches as the sun slowly rises over the horizon. When the bright colors of the sunrise have finally faded – when the sun shines bright, and clear, and white - he stands and makes his way down the hall to Sirius.
The door is not wide open, but it is slightly ajar. Intense relief washes over Remus, and he enters the room.
Sirius lies on the bed, abnormally pale. Paler then the last time the vampire had visited, as if that were possible. Remus' breath sticks in his chest. He rushes over.
The vampire has been here. He knows it the instant that he kneels down at Sirius' side and sees the small marks at Sirius' throat.
Trembling, he reaches out a hand. He nearly collapses with relief when he feels that Sirius is warm; alive. Sighing, Remus closes his eyes, fighting against tears of worry. This is too much. He can't take this strain.
Knowing that at Sirius is servicing a vampire is slowing driving him mad.
It is far too dangerous for his friend, and Remus' fear is killing him. Especially on nights like this.
Remus notices something that assuages his fears, at least somewhat. Sirius is clean, his hair damp.
He had obviously finished with the vampire some time ago, washed, and then laid down to rest. And, without worrying about Remus at all, he had fallen asleep. A sleep so deep that it is nearly unconsciousness.
The vampire is killing Sirius. Remus knows it.
They argue constantly, now.
"It's too dangerous!"
"Yes, I know."
"Well, do something about it!"
"Like what? You know that they don't let us have any say. I'd rather not have such a dangerous customer, but what choice do I have?"
"You should do something. Offer him something other than blood."
"Like what? And how can you criticize me like this? Every one of your customers is a danger to you!"
"No, I-"
"Don't make excuses. Your customers beat you. Some times I think that they rape you."
"Wait, no—"
"Don't argue. Even if you won't say anything, I know. And you have no more choice about it than I do."
"It's different."
"It's not different. You don't deserve this, no matter your...condition. We just have to wait."
Inevitably, their fights end with a cold silence.
"Well, say something. Don't just stand there."
Remus pads down the hall barefoot. He doesn't need shoes tonight. The moon is full, and his claws click against the stone floors.
When he reaches Sirius' door, he nudges his muzzle against it, and it slides open. His fear of the closed door has fled with his shift in form. He can smell the vampire inside.
Finally, he can stop the creature. He won't allow it to hurt Sirius any longer.
His keen wolf nose catches the sour scent of vampire. He slows his steps until the click of his nails nearly disappears, and he begins looking around the room - questing for his prey. It is a markedly difficult task. As a wolf he is much closer to the ground than he is as a human, and he has a difficult time seeing around the room.
But, guided by his keen nose, he is able to find the creature. The vampire is crouched over Sirius, who lies still on the bed. Remus can smell his blood, thick and heavy in the air. His muzzle curls back into a silent snarl, and hatred clouds his thoughts.
The vampire is killing Sirius.
Remus holds himself back for a moment, trying to master his thoughts. But they are rapidly giving way - spinning and unraveling into animalistic rage. The scent of blood fills his mind until he can think of nothing else, see nothing else. His muscles tighten under thick fur until they scream.
He leaps forward.
He pounces on the vampire, tearing him away from Sirius and tearing at his flesh with his sharp claws. Dimly he hears a cry, and the scent of blood fills the air.
He snarls and reaches forward, sinking his teeth into soft flesh and tearing backward. High shrieks, which quickly dissolve into demented moans, fill the air. Remus flattens his ears against the cries that hurt his sensitive hearing.
Finally there is silence, except for his own panting and the soft squish of blood on the sheets. Remus' bloodlust fades until he has the presence of mind to look over and see Sirius.
The other man lies still on the bed. His eyes stare, unseeing, at the far wall. Two dark spots mar Sirius' throat. Dark blood is pouring from the holes in quick pulses. Sirius' breaths come in short, harsh gasps.
Remus whines, terrified by what he is seeing. He leans forward and attempts to lick at Sirius' wounds – anything to stop the flow of his life outward and away. But the blood calls to his wolf-form in a way that scares him, so Remus backs away.
His mind is slow, forming ideas that have no use, and have more to do with hysteria than helping Sirius. Remus leans down and seizes the sheets with his teeth, pulling them towards Sirius' neck.
He drops the sheets – now torn and damp from the grip of his heavy jaws – and nudges them towards Sirius; pressing them against those horrible, gaping holes. The blood that covers the bed flashes red in the corners of his eyes.
Remus sits up and looks at Sirius. His eyes have begun to gray. His breaths have stopped completely.
He is dead.
Remus pants once more, hating this wolf body - this body that had allowed him to kill the vampire who had murdered his friend, but does not allow him to mourn. Grief steals his breath and tears his heart to pieces. Remus lies slowly, painfully, down next to his best friend.
He stays there, guarding the fast-cooling body, until the sun rises and Voldemort's servants find them and pull them apart.