Not every mission was the same, and yet that initial hour after returning from a mission was always the same. Whole days might have passed but when either Sirius or Remus crossed the threshold into their flat, they didn't embrace the other in a much longed-for kiss, nor did they allow them to take in their appearance. Sometimes there were bruises, cuts, scrapes, more so in Remus' case than Sirius'. Sometimes there were not. But they were always aware of the filth that coated their skin, the smell of the war, a pure pungent fear. It was an unwelcome reminder of the fact that there may come a day when they didn't return, that the war was slowly infecting the entire wizarding community and they were anything but immune. Before they could really come home, before they could settle on the couch and talk about what little they could, a shower was in order. It had become a sort of ceremony, a washing-away ritual that ensured that the war didn't touch them in the safe confines of their flat.
This time it was Sirius' turn to be plagued with a growing sense of unease and anxiety for the other as the days passed and he heard nothing of him. Sirius' missions were different and as such they rarely kept him from the flat more than a night and a day. It was Sirius' turn to feel embittered, believing with such conviction that Remus couldn't possibly feel as shit as this. Remus couldn't possibly have images of Sirius lying dead in a ditch swimming through his mind. He couldn't because Remus wasn't soft like him. The years had hardened Remus, whilst Sirius only grew more painfully reliant on the sight of that werewolf walking through the door, returning to him in one piece and very much alive. Alone, Sirius had nothing but the inescapable smell of Remus for company, or a novel abandoned here or there before the werewolf had left for his mission, mere remnants of his presence.
This time it was Remus who walked through the door. He looked more sickly and pale than usual, but this had little to do with the full moon and everything to do with where he'd been these past few days. Sirius was slow to react to his entrance, slow to accustom to his sudden physical presence. Had it been that long? Remus deliberately rested his eyes anywhere but on Sirius until the door had been closed behind him and Sirius had asked him for the safe word. Cry to me, Remus had said. And when, he did he couldn't so much as attempt to keep his eyes from meeting Sirius'. One secret trip to a muggle gay bar at the age of seventeen and they got their song. And their safe word.
Sirius had been waiting. There hadn't been any knowing when Remus would return, a fact they both knew too well. But he'd been waiting regardless, a feeling which was familiar to Remus. He did it. Even when he tried not to, he did it, only he was granted the small mercy that Sirius was rarely gone for longer than he could bear, a mercy which Remus could never grant the man who so deserved it. He was sat at their table in the kitchen that adjoined the living room, forehead pressed against the hard wood of the tabletop until Remus' had freed him from his cage of solitude.
A glass of red wine, almost drained in this late hour, was clasped in one hand. Remus could think of nothing sadder than a glass of wine alone, only receiving confirmation of that fact when Sirius' brought his silver eyes to meet him. Longing passed between them, a yearning to bring lips, hips, and hearts crashing together and lose themselves in something that was strictly their own. But it passed. Remus forced it to pass for every moment that he stood before Sirius with metaphorical blood on his hands he felt more like a beast and a wretch than he ever did. They'd have to wait until he'd stripped himself of every speck of the war and the mission that clung to his clothes, his flesh, and his hair.
A smile crossed his lips, but it wasn't yet free to splay effortlessly, strained and resistant so long as he remained in this tainted condition. Sirius appeared equally as hesitant, as if in anger to have been kept waiting this long or in a silent plea that Remus never do it again. Or maybe it was just suspicion, a fear that his lengthy absence signified something more sinister. It didn't matter. He'd never articulate it in words because Remus could never promise him anything but what they had at present. And whatever was bubbling inside that head of his, Remus would soothe it. With slow steps, he closed the space between himself and Sirius, running a hand through those raven locks before dropping a kiss atop his head.
"Pour yourself another glass and I'll be out in ten," he said softly before heading to the bathroom.
Sirius' index finger traced the rim of the glass, his eyes trailing the movements of his finger, as he heard the door click shut behind Remus. This moment was the worst, having Remus back and yet temporarily defiled. Sirius knew how it felt because next time it would be him in the werewolf's shoes, returning from a mission with images of the enemy, his loathsome cousin and all the rest of them, taunting him from the intimate confines of his own skull. Throwing back the last drop of wine, Sirius stood so as to retrieve the bottle from the counter, fetching another glass from the cupboard for Remus.
The real curse of Remus' missions was that he rarely slept. He'd fast learned that werewolves who relished their condition didn't shy from the moon like he did. They basked in the might and glory they believed it provided and in its stead they evaded the sun as if its light scorched their scarred flesh. They slept by day and came out by night, out of sheer revolting habit.
Remus was different. He'd do anything to enforce this, anything to distinguish himself from those who willingly killed as if it was in their nature, little more than animal instinct. Even deprive himself of sleep when he'd most needed it. He felt an ache in his bones and an uncomfortable headiness, but warmth washed over him as he stood beneath the head of the shower. Droplets of water raced through the strands of his light-brown hair, down his back and over the tender scars that embellished his skin. He felt like a wolf shedding his coat as winter rolled into summer, wishing that transformations were as pleasant and awakening an experience as this. Eventually with enough water and soap, Remus felt as if he'd rid himself of as many traces of the war as he could, able to face the man whom he was loathed to shame himself before.
By the time he'd returned to the living space, having slipped into a pair of jeans and run a towel through his hair in a half-hearted effort to dry it, Sirius was almost exactly where he'd left him. Only now he was standing with his lower back against the counter, a fresh glass of wine held at his lips, and the silence was split with music. Cry To Me, to be precise. A suggestive smile was playing at Sirius' lips and his eyes were alight with possibility as he took in the appearance of the other man, but it was utterly unnecessary. The memory of that night alone was enough to render Remus officially seduced.
"You and I, Moony, seem to have the same thing in mind," Sirius said, setting the glass aside so that he could approach Remus, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Remus' jeans. Remus instinctively looped his arms around Sirius' waist, latching his hands at the small of his back. "You're wearing the jeans." Sirius' grin widened and he held his lips tantalisingly out of Remus' reach.
"Am I?" Remus asked, finding that he and Sirius were now swaying slightly to the jaunty beats and the sound of Solomon Burke's voice as it resounded through the flat.
Well here I am honey, C'mon baby, cry to me.
"Mm-hm. Don't think I haven't noticed." Sirius began, resting his forehead against Remus' as his lips edged closer. "They're your favourite pair, which is why you wore them the first time we danced to this song."
"The first time we danced," Remus corrected.
"The first time we danced."
Raven locks brushed against Remus' cheeks. He momentarily shut his eyes so as to soak in the warmth and the scent of Sirius, a neutral mixture of sweat, wine on his breath and his favourite aftershave because despite what Sirius wanted people to think he was far more groomed than he let on.
"They're your favourite," Remus said in defence. "I don't have favourites, though I can't say I mind the reaction they get from you." Remus opened his eyes to find Sirius' silver gaze had only rested on his lips in the meantime. Remus was wearing nothing but the jeans and he was almost certain that he was radiating heat despite this. The fact that Sirius' next move was to trail light fingertips along the length of Remus' bare back before pressing his palm in between his shoulder blades to bring his chest closer against him did nothing to aid him in this matter.
Doncha feel like crying, c'mon, c'mon, cry to me.
Silence passed and still they swayed to the music, their closeness growing ever more desperate with each beat. Moving his hands to Sirius' hips so as to steady himself against this, Remus pressed his forehead against Sirius', nuzzling his cheek with the length of his nose. Drinking in the moment, he knew it would become as precious as the last.
"Moony…"
The ache in Sirius' voice made resistance all but impossible, as if it wasn't already. From the increasing pressure in his jeans, it was obvious what effect this sudden closeness had on them both and he would have had no qualms complying with their bodies' demands. But this, moving as one to the music, united not by fear or guilt but mutual affection, love and, admittedly, a hell of a lot of desire; this was bliss.
Remus' lips grazed a path along the length of Sirius' neck and Sirius instinctively rolled his head back to allow him passage. He brought a hand to nestle in the soft tresses of Sirius' hair and a moan escaped the man's lips. It sent a rush of want surging through Remus' veins, leaving him feeling both lightheaded and just a little euphoric.
You don't ever have to walk alone.
It was just like the last time, only now there was something undeniably thrilling about it being in the comfort of their home. At seventeen, they had wanted nothing more than to be accepted, if not as a werewolf and a runaway than as Remus and Sirius, together, for all of three minutes in which the song played if not for longer. At nineteen and fighting in a war, they wanted nothing more than each other.
Removing his other hand from Remus' back pocket, Sirius seized a handful of his hair, still damp and undeniably cute now that it formed gentle, scruffy curls. He gave it the slightest of tugs until Remus obediently brought his gaze to meet hs. Sirius' lips had been pulled into a gentle smirk but now they sought out those of the werewolf. Only Remus kept the kiss light, painfully so apparently for Sirius breathed a frustrated curse against his lips.
Remus replaced both hands on Sirius' hips, hips which continued to sway in motion with his, only now they played with the edge of his shirt, fingers grazing flesh until he couldn't fight it any longer and lifted the shirt up and over Sirius' head. Then, because a kiss was far easier than an I missed you or an even more shameful I don't want to do this anymore, I don't want to fight this war anymore - each a confession of their weakness, a weakness they had to deny for the sake of their own sanity - Remus opted for mercy.
Deepening the kiss, the pressure forced Sirius back a step but Remus followed accordingly. One hand supporting the back of Sirius' head and the other clutching Sirius' hip in an effort to bring him as close against him as was physically possible, Remus urged him a step further and another until they dropped to the sofa behind him. Sirius immediately fumbled at the buttons of Remus' jeans, undoing them before a hand moved over his bare chest.
The fact that Sirius didn't see the scars there, some old and some new, that he didn't even wince from day one, never failed to incite in Remus a charge of affection for him. It swelled, provoking Remus into deepening the kiss further, their tongues tangling until another moan escaped Sirius. The thrum of it trickled through Remus until he sensed his heart would burst from his chest. It had been racing ever since Sirius had first laid hands on him, any lingering thought of the war - the kind that couldn't be washed away no matter how much water or soap you applied or how strong the scouring charm ebbing away with each pound against his ribcage.
Sirius' hands were now trailing a path along the waistband of his jeans. Remus broke from the kiss, a fire blazing in his amber eyes that brought another smirk to Sirius' lips. Propping himself up on his elbows, Sirius' eyes trailed a hungry path over Remus who was now straddling him, almost every shred of the loneliness that had plagued him up until this point having left him.
In the night and there is no one, Ah don't you feel like crying? Cry to me.
Remus felt as if his very skin was in flames. It wasn't like his transformations, though it was equally as consuming and its hold on him worlds more unyielding. Sirius sat up, bringing his lips to plant a kiss upon Remus' chin. This time it was his turn to trail a path along Remus' neck, but he sucked, bit, and teased the skin with his tongue until Remus groaned with unbidden yearning.
"Sirius…"
There was a painful desperation in his voice, but Sirius stilled it by pressing a finger to his lips. Remus both loved and loathed the lack of control he had in the face of Sirius, Sirius beneath him, Sirius' hot breath against his chest, Sirius' hands slipping beneath his jeans only to rest on his buttocks and pull him closer.
Remus melted against him and the sour ache in his bones turned sweet, no longer stemming from fatigue but unadulterated want, a burning need which was moments from being fulfilled. And as agonising as those moments were, Remus would give anything for them to last. So long as that song played, so long as the record turned and kept turning, they were free of the war. They were free of the creeping doubt that it instilled in them, a doubt that caused them to question everything that their happiness together - if not their happiness as a whole - depended on. But the fact that these moments were fleeting, that the song spanned little more than two and a half minutes; that was what made them so beautiful. Remus cherished them because they were rare.
Doncha feel like a cry cry cry cry cry cry, Cry cry cry cry cry cry, crying.
The song faded into silence. The record ground to a halt and Remus and Sirius locked eyes. Sirius' silver orbs flashed like lightning, possessing a heat and a danger, but the fondness that they held for Remus was as welcoming as a rainstorm after a drought. Remus' stomach twisted at the display of affection, raw, too raw, but it was also one of the sexiest things he'd seen, and when you lived with Sirius Black that was saying something.
"You were away for days," Sirius said at length, attempting his usual casual air but to no avail. If anything, it only accentuated the hurt that laced his voice. "Don't do it again?"
"I won't," Remus responded, a mere whisper against Sirius' lips as Remus brushed them with his. It was a lie. Remus knew it, Sirius knew it. But it didn't matter. It was what Sirius wanted to hear, everything he wanted to hear, and it was what Remus wanted to say, words he wished he could say with sincerity. Guilt tugged at his features, but Sirius spared him the injury by returning lips to his, applying pressure until they had sunk back into the reckless, aching desire of the prior moment, unadulterated by caution or fear.
Snatching his wand from the coffee table, lips still latched to Remus' and a hand gripping his hip in an effort to cool the wave of heat and fire that was threatening to overcome him, Sirius flicked it in the general direction of the record player. As soon as silence was filled with music, with their song, the wand slipped from Sirius' grip and his hand instantly shot back to hot, scarred flesh. Remus was already hastily unbuttoning his jeans in an effort to free them of the last barrier that stood between them.
"Fucking hell, Moony, you're beautiful," Sirius breathed, hands racing down the sides of Remus' torso before he surrendered to him completely. Remus was temporarily stunned, knocked back from the impact of Sirius' words and the pressure of his lips but he was quick to recover, quick to release himself and Sirius from the burden of their jeans.
Only when he was planting kisses down the length of Sirius' back did Remus pause, a brief moment and several tugs at trouser legs later. Sirius could feel him smiling against his back and a hand teased his cock until he was practically begging for Remus to act.
Remus normally did this the muggle way, but Sirius was grateful that he'd settled for the speedier option, the one that didn't require him to dart to their bedroom and retrieve the jar of lubricant from the drawer. Remus snatched Sirius' wand from the floor where it lay abandoned and waved it over himself before aligning his body with Sirius'.
"Remus," Sirius pleaded, but Remus emitted a sssh, the soft sound soothing Sirius as much as was possible with this much want surging through him. Trailing tender fingertips along the length of Sirius' back, Remus entered slowly. His breath hitched and his eyes fell shut at the immediate pleasure that flooded over him whilst Sirius' arched his back and pushed against the force.
"I don't ever.. want to leave you.." Remus said, the words slipping from his lips in between breaths as desperation took hold of him. Sirius' only response was a moan, the muscles in his back rippling with Remus' next thrust, his next touch, the hand that clenched Sirius' hip and the one that pumped his cock, in a gentle rhythm at first, then harder as hunger reached new heights.
Sirius had propped himself up with his forearms, but as Remus' pace quickened his grip on the arm of the sofa tightened. Remus couldn't take his eyes off the man, the sight of the pleasure that he had instilled in him enough to finish him then and there if he had let it. Returning his lips to Sirius' back and planting a stream of kisses along its length, a hiss of curses escaped Sirius' lips at the sensation.
"Fucking hell, Moony," he said for the second time that night, a hand reaching back to clasp Remus' buttocks and bring him deeper still, wanting him, wanting every bit of him. He wanted Remus inside of him, fucking him, making love to him as daft as it sounded, as if it was the only thing that mattered.
Sirius was trembling now, the repeated motions of Remus' hand on his cock threatened to undo him altogether. Their song continued to play only it was lost to them, their senses blurred but for the heat that they radiated, the furious beat of their hearts in their chests, hot breath racing down Sirius' back and the beads of sweat that formed on Remus' lined brow.
"Sirius," Remus moaned against his back, unable to temper his own desire for the sake of preserving this moment. His hand trailed a path up Sirius' back until it rested in the soft tresses of his hair, fingertips teasing the nape of his neck.
Remus wouldn't last much longer, not when he'd been waiting days for this, days to have Sirius encased in his arms just so and utterly at his mercy. But he didn't have to. Sirius' tightened his grip on Remus, the tips of his fingers digging into warm flesh, and Remus read the signs, giving one hard, final thrust that sent Sirius well over the edge. Sirius released a satisfied groan as he reached his climax, the pleasure of it, of Remus, crashing over him.
"Sirius," Remus breathed, his voice tender and each intake of breath heavy in his chest. Remus wanted to mould himself against Sirius, but before he could Sirius had risen so that they perched on their knees. Remus' hands remained on Sirius' hips, for it took every remaining ounce of strength just to hold out a little longer. But Sirius' palms now rested on his thighs. Remus nuzzled Sirius' hair with his nose shifting slightly so as to graze his lips across the tender patch of skin where jaw met neck. Sirius' head rolled to one side, a smirk returning to his lips and Remus' thrusts became more gentle.
"Kiss me," were the only two words Remus managed to force from his lips, lips which sought any inch of skin that they could grace with their pressure. Sirius complied with an urgency to match Remus', turning his head so as to capture those lips with his. Remus was utterly helpless against Sirius, against the pressure of his body against him, the warmth, the tightness that sent ripples of pleasure surging through Remus which he was painfully incapable of stemming. He was trembling convulsively, Sirius' tongue massaging his and hot breath on his lips, until Sirius released another groan and Remus was utterly consumed in the passion that that beautiful sound instilled. Melting against Sirius, moulding to his form as he so desired, at the lips and hips whilst his heart burst from his chest, Remus felt a release that nothing, no one, but Sirius could provide. From the burning desire, his condition, the insecurities of the scars that hindered his complexion, but most especially the war.
He and Sirius collapsed back onto the sofa as one, Remus' eyes stinging from the rush of affection that hit him, so suddenly and so irrevocably that it left him feeling more raw and more vulnerable than Remus had ever been comfortable with. His hands on Sirius' chest, Remus clung a little tighter than he would normally have allowed. The shower, the foolish notion that it actually cleansed them of the war; it was an act. Neither he nor Sirius believed it.
"I love you, Sirius," Remus said, and he buried his head into Sirius' raven hair, breathing in the sweet scent. Remus was grateful that Sirius couldn't look into his eyes, for he'd only find that tears had gathered there, threatening to bleed onto his cheeks at the smallest of opportunities.
Remus always had in it mind that he'd be the one to fall asleep last. He was utterly defiant on the matter, yet despite this he had instinctively occupied the space in Sirius' arms and fallen asleep almost as soon as his head touched the cushion of the sofa. Sirius wore a stupid smile, stroking tender fingertips through the greying hair of the man he had so desperately fallen in love with.
Remus grew more weary of the war every day. Sirius could see it in the lines of his face, the strands of light-brown lessening with each mission, each full moon. However it was in moments like these, stolen moments in which they forced it from the war from their minds, that Sirius really saw him. Not the werewolf. Not the reserved member of the Order. But Moony. The Moony he remembered.
"I love you, Remus," he whispered, his breath warm against Remus' ear. Either that or his words caused the sleeping Moony to shift closer against him. Nestling his head beside Remus', Sirius moved the hand from his hair to about his waist so as to hold him in place, to hold him where he belonged. Because the bitter truth of the matter was that it didn't work. The very ritual which they had come to revere, the post-mission shower which they claimed rid them of their sins, it offered no barrier between them and the war. But if Sirius held tightly enough, if he only kept his arms locked as they were now, then maybe Remus could stick to his word. Maybe he'd do just as he'd said and never leave Sirius again.