Disclaimer: Remus and Sirius? Mine? What are you on and where can
I get some? (My- er- tasteful way of saying that I own nothing but
the plot of this story. Fanfiction, loves.)
Author's Note: I
have to say, of all my stories, I really love this one pretty much
the best. This was written in forty-four minutes for two challenges
on livejournal.com: the Post-Scripts challenge on Contre La Montre
(LJ name: contrelamontre); and the Trust challenge on Covenites (LJ
name: covenites).
Warnings: Slash- that is, two men together
in a romantic way, in this story the men being Remus Lupin and Sirius
Black; a bit of an untrustworthy and play-around Sirius; slight
language and small sexual references.
PS:
Trust Me
I can't
describe our relationship, never could, at least not in a way you'd
understand and wouldn't just kiss me to shut me up about. I can't say
it out loud, so I'll say it all here.
I can't figure you out
at times, Black. One moment you love me, the next you're distant. One
day I'm in Heaven, laying against you on the couch in our flat,
getting teased by Lily and James (retaliation for all the times we
teased them I suppose) about 'when the wedding will be' and 'who's
going to wear the dress' (you laughed once and told them that I'd
have to, because you looked horrible in white). Then forty-eight
hours pass and you're declaring that you're never going to settle
down, going out from mid-afternoon to midnight on that Godforsaken
motorcycle of yours, always coming back with a giggling and
brainless- but more beautiful then the last- girl and making a big
show of sneaking her hush-hush past my open door into your room.
Our
love story isn't a fairy tale- but I accepted that long ago- or even
a cheap, so-called romance 'novel' like my cousin Jess reads. No, our
love is more like a book of letter sent back and forth, two lovers
never seeing the lies written in each other's faces, two lovers lying
that everything's all right. I read a book like that once, of course
it was about friends not lovers, but similar. Our letters are small
part truth in the bulk, then comes the post-script. It always says I
lied, but you have to read between the lines to get it that
bluntly.
Then again, a PS isn't a bad thing all the time. It
seems that's what keeps us together. Every time we fight, every
morning I wake up alone in bed and have to tend to your hangover,
every time I have to make sure last night's fling gets home safely,
it's the PS that draws me back in. Not 'PS: I lied'. PS: I love you.
PS: I'm sorry. PS: Trust me.
I do. I love you, I forgive you,
and dammit even after everything I trust you. I trust you,
Padfoot- not because you really deserve it, no. I trust you because
love is blind, deaf, mute and dumb. And because of that, I can't get
rid of you. When I sleep at night, your face haunts my dreams
and my nightmares; when I can't sleep, your body's the picture that
gets painted beneath my eyelids. My hands tremble when you come near
me, my lips beg for another kiss. And you wrap me in your arms-
they're so strong and smooth, with a few scars marring your perfect
flesh, and I always feel so safe when they're around me- and you kiss
me deeply- like I'm the only person you ever did, will or want to
kiss- and you whisper your post-script in my ear in your deep
beautiful voice like the night sky, twinkling with a thousand
promises but leading me into the dark. "I love you, you know
that. I'm sorry, it won't happen again. Trust me- you do trust me,
right?"
You were the first person to make me lose
control as a human, you'll be the last, I can assure you. When you
hold me and make me feel protected; when you kiss me and make me feel
loved; when you whisper in my ear and your voice gives me shivers;
and most of all, when you look at me with those wide, beautiful eyes-
blue-gray and perfect like the sea after a storm- that make me weak;
that's why I can't stay mad. And I tell you a repeat of your
post-scripts. "I love you too. It's all right- I forgive you.
Of course I trust you. I trust you with my life."
I
do, you know. I trust you with my life. Otherwise I wouldn't tell
myself it would all be okay and let you scoop me up, chuckling that I
weigh nothing, and carry me to the bedroom to kiss me and make love
to me until all the anger leaves.
It never lasted more than a
week, Sirius love. It never could. You had your reputation to think
of; I had my insecurities that kept me from saying those words I wish
I said. "I want you, Sirius. All to myself. Please, please
stay with me this time."
But I wasn't able to get it
out. Maybe that's why I'm alone now. I never got desperate enough to
make it clear how much I needed you. I do need you. You complete me,
Padfoot. It hurts to not have you here.
I remember you,
Padfoot. I can't help it. I remember how you excited me like no one
else, how the first time I admitted that I loved you, your reaction
was to kiss me until my lips were sore and I couldn't catch my
breath. I remember running my fingers through that long, beautiful
black hair you were once so proud of and gazing into those beautiful
eyes on calm nights; I ran my hands over your back, trying to
memorize it's feel with my fingers, and pressed myself to your chest
in an effort to drive away the nightmares filled with darkness, blood
and haunting eyes. I remember how crazy you made me and wonder if it
was a dream, all those nights kissing you until neither of us could
stand the game of teasing and abandoned the chase just part of my
vivid fantasy world. Always said I had an active imagination, love.
I'd prefer that, in a way. I'd wake up in fifth year, two years after
I knew I loved you, four years after I knew I liked boys. I'd be
lying in my bedroom on the morning that I remember so well, November
22nd. That night you said you liked me, the night you kissed me for
the first time- so innocent, almost like a child instead of the
experienced fifteen-year-old you were. And it would all have been a
dream, and James and Lily would be screaming at each other in the
common room, and Peter would be fast asleep, and you'd roll your eyes
as I peeled back the curtains, jabbing your thumb downstairs with
that cocky and handsome grin you always seemed to save just for me
and your fan club and your conquests. I'd laugh quietly and usher you
down, replying to your over-dramatic clinging by telling you I needed
to get dressed and it would be better. Because it wouldn't be like
this.
It's a full moon tonight, Sirius, and Moony's going to
be alone. Even with the potion it will hurt. I haven't been alone for
a while now. Moony wants Padfoot, I can feel it. Because Remus wants
Sirius. But Sirius is gone, so I suffer in silent pain and let Moony
let out all the hurt tonight.
I want to kiss you again, like
you kissed me before we left. When you said goodbye, you knew it
would be the last time but I didn't, or I would have dragged you away
and distracted you with kisses until they returned. But you're dead,
and a little part of me is dead with you. A large part of me.
You
told me you loved me that night, two weeks ago- the first time since
you'd escaped. I'd said it many times, I meant it every time too, but
that night even I knew it was special- from the seriousness of your
voice, no jokes for once, and because your kisses were so innocent
again, instead of wild as always. It reminded me of the one thing
that I'll never forget.
I can't hate you, even though you left
me. I can't ever hate you, because you're part of me, even now. Our
last post-script was the one read with amusement and set aside for a
latter date to ponder over. Now it's too late to tell you that I
can't help it. We're forever, even after your death.
I. Love.
You. And now I can read between the lines of your last letter, the
next-to-last in our book. I'll repeat it now, to show you that I
know.
I love you. I can't help but love you. I never could,
even back in fifth year when I thought it was a game, even back in
seventh when I already knew you were the only one I cared for. I'm
sorry for everything I ever did, every one I ever fucked when I
should've been kissing you, making love with you. I trust you, even
though I never said it out loud, I trust you more then I trust myself
and it scares me. I'll be waiting for you forever. Even death can't
stop true love. And that's us. True love.
PS: I mean it this
time.
But this time, it was a letter delivered in person-
because this time I could see your face clearly, no hidden emotions,
and I could see it there.
Tomorrow this letter will be sealed
in a perfect red envelope, the kind you loved to use. I'll scrawl
your name across the front and when I die, I'll be clutching this
letter, hoping it will come with me. For now, it just feels good to
get it all out. All the mistrust. All the pain. All the reasons it
doesn't change a thing- doesn't stop me from being yours. Like this
letter will be, one day. I promise.
I can't think of what else
to say. I guess if I do, it'll have to be saved for when I see you
again: the final, stand-alone post-script in our twisted book.
Love
forever,
Your Remus
PS: I love you too, more then words
can ever say. I forgive you, I forgive you like I never could before
because I couldn't let myself be that vulnerable, not with you. I
trust you more then I trust anyone in life or death, even myself. We
will meet again, no matter when or how. I will never love anyone this
way again. True love cannot be broken. You're right about that. And I
mean it too. And because I need to say it once more: I love you.
Totally, absolutely, and forever.
Trust me.
