Severus always watches Remus in the morning.
It may be because Remus is peaceful, carefree, nearly sixteen again when he's asleep. Serene. The premature lines on his face become smooth, and his features relax, and even the scars that mar his skin are beautiful. Remus may lie on his stomach, his hair mussed and limbs splayed on the bed, and Severus can look over him and sometimes... in the quiet of newborn daylight, sometimes Severus will plant a soft, reverent kiss between his shoulderblades. Remus will not wake.
Other times, Remus may lie on his back, giving Severus his favorite view; the werewolf is bathed in moonlight, sometimes barely visible in meek starlight, then as the sun rises and beams through the cracks in the curtains, Remus will gleam golden and silver, and Severus cannot help himself—he stretches his lean, pale body next to the wonder beside him, and kisses him on the shoulder, neck, chest. He may nibble, and on late mornings, he will bite hard, just to hear the sleepy moans of Remus' awakening. Many times he will lie on his side, and lick Remus' neck until he feels the werewolf's strong, warm hands roam up his back. Softly glowing, Remus is the silver morning light.
And on those mornings, Remus may even lie completely still as Severus feasts upon his body. He may lift his hips into his lover's… they rock slowly. Feverish kisses, slow and sensuous and messy and hard. The friction and heat build – Remus holds on to Severus' arms as they move together, cocks weeping and hard and hot, yes—
—
Sometimes, Remus may be hard already, and Severus can stroke his cock slowly until he wakes. Or they may face each other as one enters and thrusts into the other, locking gazes as the pounding becomes frantic and erratic and the snapping of hips loses its rhythmic pace. Coming hard, hard, hard, and still staring in an expression of near awe.
Severus may pull the blankets down and kiss Remus' cock to pulsing life, and then tease with his tongue, in long strokes and then light licks over and under the sac—suckling lovingly on the underside and popping the head into his mouth like his very favorite sweet. Remus will groan incoherently and Severus will not listen until he speaks clearly, and on a good morning, this takes quite some time. And Severus is content to bring himself over the edge, just as long as he's been pleasuring Remus.
But sometimes the mornings are not like that at all. As soon as the sun's rays appear on the horizon, Severus is there, watching and whispering to Remus as he undergoes his painful changes and shifts—Severus is no longer afraid—he is safe. Remus will be exhausted, and usually the only words he can manage are "thank you…"
…Or "I love you." And then any light push will tip Severus over the edge, because the words are for him.
And before, his heart never could hold such emotion, but it is learning.
He will whisper it into the wolf's soft pelt, or against Remus' neck. Sometimes he will try the words on those early mornings, when only he can hear, and then louder, an alien feel in his mind and on his tongue. It gets easier each time, and yet sets Severus' heart pounding. Remus had smiled in his sleep once. Severus says the words, waits for him to do it again.
Severus watches his love for hours, when all the silver light seems to come from Remus, when the secrets can all be said in a glance.