Do not own...yada yada yada. Slash is within! Sirius/James, specifically. So if that offends you or whatever, stay away. Written because James has a conscience. And because I was afraid I had pretty much used up all my Sirius/James plots...this one is pretty different from most of my others.
He isn't the one who started it. If that helps his case at all.
It is Sirius (isn't it always Sirius) who looks at him like that—and his eyes are bright, and he jiggles his knee.
"You know," he says, reflectively. "I don't think I like this stupid war."
James has certainly not been drinking. "Me neither," he agrees. "Fuck it."
Sirius had sidles up next to him, toe to toe, hip to hip, elbow to elbow, relaxed against him, sticky with dirt and sweat. "James," he says breathlessly, and when James turns to look at him, their lips meet—
Maybe he has been drinking. A little.
Sirius' hand is at the back of his neck when they pull apart—well, that is nothing new—playing with a loose strand of hair, and his fingerprints are burnt smooth.
"Sirius," James says. "Listen to me."
"Please," says Sirius, and kisses him again.
Though yes, there was that time in fourth year that he had—but that was supposed to be a joke. It had been a joke. And anyway, it was before he'd even thought about Lily, so it didn't count.
"You, my friend," James had said. "Are a poncy fairy. An utter pansy."
Sirius ducked his head and grinned. "If I am, then you are too," he said, jumping up and bouncing from leg to leg.
James widened his eyes dramatically. "I'm hurt," he whimpered.
Up went the eyebrow, down went the lips. "A total bugger," Sirius said solemnly. "I always wondered about you, James."
"You think so?" James was, perhaps, leaning a bit too close now—"Well, you're always right, aren't you, Sirius Black?"
So he'd grabbed the back of Sirius head and smashed their lips together, in something that was not quite a kiss until Sirius touched his shoulder and closed his eyes, and that was when James pulled back.
"That's right," Sirius said. "I am."
It is absurd, because, well, it's Sirius, and James can't stop watching him.
Just—when he comes over in the morning for coffee, James watches the brown stain on the top of his lip, and the way he wipes it with the back of his palm.
And when they do something for the Order together, he clutches Sirius' hand and moves his fingers to feel the blood dancing in his veins.
At some point, he comes to watch Sirius watching him, and that's a bit of a shock. He's come to think of Sirius' face as a sort of mirror to his own, and this—does he look like this?
Sirius, quietly contemplating him—just watching—a sort of smile on his face (when did he stop smiling?)—eyes wistful, shoulders hunched in.
They are best friends, courteous to each other through years of habit if nothing else. So Sirius turns his eyes down and studies the cracks in the tile, and James jokes about Quidditch like he didn't see anything at all.
"Sirius seems a bit off lately," Lily muses one night, as he lays his head on her belly and listens for anything.
He stops stroking his fingers around her belly button, tense, suddenly. "What do you mean?" he asks.
She looks down at him, startled. "Oh, I don't know," she says. "Just—sad. And he doesn't come around as often as he used to."
He starts breathing again, and the baby gives a butterfly kick against his cheek. "Oh, that's all," he says, relieved.
Lily pats his head fondly. "Yes—you aren't worried?"
He shakes his head firmly.
"He should find someone," she says thoughtfully. "Settle down."
James isn't quite sure which of them he is feeling guilty for when he hesitates and said, "Oh—no, I don't think he will."
This—this thing with Sirius—is just temporary. Just until the war is over. Just until they get their balance back.
But—tonight he is at Sirius' flat until late, because Sirius just heard something about his brother, and James can't just leave him (he never could).
Lily will understand.
And—when he tries to push Sirius into his bed sometime after midnight—well, how can he say leave when Sirius grabs his hand and says, "Stay"?
Sirius face pushes close to his on the pillow, and James' face is salty with Sirius' tears. Their knees are knocking together, and this is so much different from sharing a bed and swapping secrets at twelve years old.
"I'm scared," Sirius whispers, so James grabs his waist, hangs on.
"You've got me," he says firmly.
Sirius is quiet for a minute, then says, "Do I?"
It's Lily, not James, who suggests Sirius as godfather. James hasn't considered that, hasn't thought about anything other than this tiny little red black and green person he's holding.
"I mean, he's your best friend," she says. "I'm sure he'd be happy to do it."
James hesitates, calls up Sirius' face (he knows it better than ever hers): pinched, white—red, puffy eyes the morning of the wedding.
"D'you think he'd want to?" he wonders.
It's been, as long as he can remember, that Sirius needs him. But when the Prewett boys are found dead, he is the one racing to Sirius' place and letting Sirius wipe his forehead and hold his hair back while he throws up.
"God," he says, trembling. I couldn't even—there were pictures in the Prophet, and I—"
Sirius holds his shoulders fiercely, digging his fingers into James' arms. "We'll find whoever did it," he says. "You and me. We'll give them what they deserve."
"Yeah," James says fervently. "Yeah, we will. Thank god—Sirius—"
It's the first time he's really kissed Sirius on his own—really kissed him—and Sirius seems surprised, but James keeps pushing against him, knocking his teeth a little into Sirius' lips.
He rests his forehead against Sirius', exhausted. "Listen, Sirius," he says. "Let's just—"
It's absurd, really, for a grown man to be crying like this, but at least Sirius is there.
The night before they go into hiding, he and Sirius hop on their brooms and fly over to that field where they used to play Quidditch.
Sirius is calm and collected, but he won't look him in the eye. He's making stupid jokes about the fact that Harry sounds like Hairy and how he'd better hope he doesn't go bald, and he's talking incredibly fast and James wants to shake him and point out that they might never—
But instead he pins Sirius' shoulder to the ground with one hand, props his elbow on Sirius' chest.
"You know," he says quietly. "You're my best friend." He touches Sirius' lips very lightly with his own, and feels something bitter and hot rising in his throat (regret).
Sirius roughly grabs his shoulder. "You're a stupid git," he says thickly. "I don't need your—I just don't want you to forget me."
James sits up higher and looks him straight in the eye. "I mean it," he says. "You're my best friend, and I love you."
Sirius laughs, and James kisses him again. "When this war is over," James says. "You and me are going to do something. I don't know. We'll leave. We'll go to France for a while, or somewhere else far away. We won't need a house because it'll be like this—we'll spend the days with the sun on our back and we'll spend our nights under the stars."
"We don't speak French," Sirius tells him.
"It doesn't matter," James says. "We'll do it anyway, and we'll fish in the river and cook over a campfire, and—that's what will do."
Sirius watches him silently, then sits up, gently pushing James' arms away. "Don't be sentimental," he says. "Don't be ridiculous. You know what's going to happen after this whole stupid war is over? You and Lily and Harry and going to find some nice house—out in the country, where the air is fresh. And you'll have a dog, and more babies, and they'll look just like you and they'll be brilliant. And Harry will grow up and look exactly like you. And I'll visit sometimes, and we'll laugh about what it used to be like, before the war. And I'll get older, but I don't think I'll be unhappy—because you'll be my friend."
James shivers a little, holds his knees to his chest, tilts his head onto Sirius' shoulder. "I want to be sentimental," he says quietly. "We used to be ridiculous together."
Sirius kisses his forehead.
"That was a long time ago," he says.
Oh dear. Was the last segment too sappy? Yes? Probably? Oh well. I tried. I heart reviews, and I'll give you...um, brownies? Out of a mix, because handmade brownies are not my thing, but still.