Tamer Animals
1.
There is a moment, when Remus comes into the dormitory, wiping the sweat on his palms on the front of his trousers, that they look eachother in the eye for the first time in twelve hours, and the half-formed joke dies on Sirius' lips. The look on Remus' face says don't you fucking dare.
And really, he doesn't have much choice other than to obey.
He sits crossed-legged on his bed, watching as the werewolf refuses to meet his gaze, while James asks questions that cut just a little too close – Remus smiles good naturedly when James asks him "Who took your precious flower then, Moons? At least now we know you're not a complete old maid.", and says "That would be telling." as roguishly as he can, but before they go to bed that night, when the two of them are downstairs, Remus bent over an essay and Sirius just sitting in front of the fire, staring into space, the silence becomes tangible and Remus goes to bed without a word, as if nothing has ever happened between them. As if they barely know eachother at all.
But Sirius remembers with startling clarity as he picks a spot on the wall in the common room, scarcely believing that what happened was between them, and not just something he heard about someone else. The lines between reality and memory start to blend; he hears, in his sleep, the pounding of Remus' blood in his ears, the sweat under the pads of his fingers, the rough scratch of wall against his back. The werewolf whispering for him to be quiet. Please.
2.
It is surprisingly easy to tell himself that they can just go back to normal; so easy, in fact, that eventually he starts to believe it is true. Aside from the odd startled glance from Remus when he jokes about the two of them, things hardly change - except occasionally, out of the corner of his eye, Sirius watches him, trying to forget their eyes on one another, so close together, Remus like the wolf. He touches the rapidly fading place where Remus, human, left his mark with teeth. He picks vaguely at the scab.
It happens again – they are in the tower for Christmas, not alone but thereabouts, and in the empty dormitory, suddenly, there is teeth and gasping and a horror in Remus' eyes, briefly, when he pulls away and there are tears on Sirius' face. They don't talk about it – clean up, walk away, talk about the holidays and house-elves and whatever else they can find to hand. Sirius can't ask what it means for fear of breaking whatever it is between them that keeps Remus initiating, over and over again. He's terrified of what will happen if he reciprocates. All the werewolf will say on the matter is Sirius. And, sometimes, Please. The minutiae of his life starts to prick at his eyelids – he is saturated with trepidation, drowning in it. They can hardly talk about anything anymore without looking away.
It becomes almost regular – Remus will wait until they are alone, until Sirius has almost recovered from before, and then they are suddenly, again, 'involved' – in the bathroom, silently, his hand over Sirius' mouth; at night, Remus pulling across the curtains that divide their beds and standing over him, Sirius trying to make a joke before Remus is on him, pressing a finger to his lips and looking troubled but resolute, leaving shapes on his skin that are hard to explain in the morning. James and Peter ask, but less and less earnestly as time goes on. In the light of day, it is as if nothing has happened at all. In the night, sometimes, Sirius waits for so long for the werewolf to go to him that he imagines instead, hand wrapped around himself, biting his lip, not saying his name. Sometimes he will turn, eyes half-clouded, almost there, and yellow eyes will be watching him, unwaveringly, from the bed across.
He knows what it means, after a while, but Remus will never talk and settling things as beasts is no more productive – James once asked him why, whereas before the wolf was peaceable with Padfoot, it now throws him, bodily, against the wall when the dog gets too close. Sirius has no answer for him, shrugs it off and covers the wince at his ribs, knows that in the night Remus will say sorry and kiss the bruises. In the morning the bruises are faded, but not gone.
3.
At the end of seventh year, Sirius accidentally breaks it.
They are sitting talking, the four of them, about leaving, and a madness seizes him – he waits, barely contained, until the other two are gone, and then what bursts out of his mouth seems to rip through both their chests, splattering whatever is in there on the floor between them, for Remus to pick over and stare angrily at. I love you, he says. I can't do this anymore. And Remus just looks at him, wild, as they stand facing one another, Sirius finally ready to play aggressor, to fight. Remus swings for him but the boy moves to avoid it, and instead they stand facing one another, hard lines in their mouths and their drawn faces. Remus, straightening, is the first to walk away.
The last time they are together is messy, abortive. Sirius holds his head and tries for a kiss on the mouth, a thing they have never done before – Remus looks at him with revulsion, pushes him aside, leaves.
In the years that follow after they leave the womb of Hogwarts, it is almost easy for Sirius to take that love in his hands and twist it so that it resembles hate, suspicion, anger. It is easy for him to neglect contacting Remus when James and Lily are attacked the first time, easy for him to point his wand at Peter and try to tear him apart. It is almost easy to lie in a jail cell thinking of the boy without a mother or a father.
It is easy, very easy, to let go of his happiness and get thin, to stop eating so as to escape. It is very, very easy to go looking for murder again.
4.
When they meet again they are different. Remus is worn, tired, grey. Sirius is a bundle of nerves with no endings, a box of wires and a power source that is quickly draining away. They hold eachother like friends, they talk about the past, they drink tea when it is early and whiskey when it is late. Sirius remembers loving him but cannot remember why. Remus sits beside him on cold evenings and holds his hand.
They talk about it, after nearly twenty years. The way they felt. The mistakes they made. Remus says sorry, says Please. Sirius can't think of a reason to be angry anymore; he is full of anger, overfull with it. He can't direct it anymore, it is him. He feels desperate and wavering and sad, instead.
He kisses Remus before he leaves for the Ministry, and Remus cries and digs his fingers in his hair and says he loves him, says he's sorry, but it doesn't really mean that much anymore; the Words against the War can't win out, and Sirius has been waiting so long to hear it that to get his wish is almost a disappointment. They kiss goodbye. He misses James more than ever.
5.
After Sirius is gone, some nights, Remus crawls into his old bed and lies staring at the ceiling, inhaling that boyish scent, remembering.
The title for this, and i suppose in part, the sentiment, comes from the song "Tamer Animals" by Other Lives. I would seriously recommend it, and their album!
Thanks tons for reading and please leave a review, i will always reply!