Author's Notes: They're not mine. All characters belong to J.K Rowling. Also, first ever Sirius/Remus fic so please be gentle. I love them to death and wanted to give it a go.
Well, they never speak about it, and Sirius wonders whether Remus will ever forgive him for...what? Everything, he supposes. He wants to tell Remus, something, anything to end the silent torment they go through every day but, he doesn't know the words to say that will make everything better and make things go back to the way they used to be.
And yet, Sirius feels a small glimmer of hope.
It's the way he remembers Remus embracing him in the Shrieking Shack a year ago, like a friend and yet so much more. The way he whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry."
It's the way Remus comes to live at Grimmauld place without a second thought. The way he pretends it's to benefit the order.
It's the small smile on Remus' face when Molly is asking Sirius again, why didn't he marry a nice young witch?
It's the blush on Remus' face when Molly turns to the werewolf to say, and you Remus, why aren't you married yet?
It's the way Remus' hand brushes against his at breakfast when he passes him a cup of tea.
It's the fleeting glances when nobody else seems to be watching; the moments that they share when they let their guard down and are back to being those two teenagers, so in love and unaware of the future they faced.
It's the way Remus looks at him when he says he's off to bed, and he remembers longing looks in the Great Hall and sweat-filled nights in the room of requirement.
Yes, Sirius still feels a glimmer of hope. And it's this glimmer of hope that keeps him sane until that fateful night when his Moony finally comes to see him. When they finally come together.
There are no words, and Sirius thinks he should say something, anything but when Remus takes his face with scarred hands and kisses him, it's all Sirius can do not to break down.
Those soft lips against his once more; he wants to cry and laugh and dance and above all, kiss Remus furiously. It has taken them time, so much time and Remus' lips are so tentative against his own that his heart wants to break a thousand times over. Sirius kisses him back with everything he is, everything he was, and everything that he wants this to be. His lips whisper, 'missed you so much' and his hands say 'sorry, so sorry' as they ghost over the werewolf's skin.
It doesn't take long before they are slowly peeling each others clothes off, falling into the familiar rhythm that they once knew (will always know). Sirius wants to laugh at the simplicity of it; how his hands fit in Remus' own, how his hands perfectly cup Remus' face, how his body fits Remus' like they are the only two pieces of a puzzle.
"Oh Moony..." he sighs, "Remus remus remus..."
And he wants this to be slow, wants to take the time to map out every inch of skin, every scar that he's forgotten (shouldn't have forgotten) and every new scar. He wants to kiss each one and recreate every happy memory taken from him in Azkaban.
But Remus is whispering in his ear huskily, "Sirius..." and words like 'love' and 'always' and Sirius can only hold on for dear life. Can only grip onto Remus' hair as they rock together, disjointed, without rhythm or finesse. There is a silent agreement that they have time for all of that later; for the mapping of skin with lips, exploring each other and finding each other like they had never (should never have) been apart.
They lie together afterwards, tangled together so that they seem like one person (are one person) and Sirius strokes his hand through Remus' hair as Remus traces circles on his hip.
"Forgive me, Remus?" Sirius asks.
"Always," Remus says.
"Love me, Remus?" Sirius asks.
"Always," Remus says.