A/N: So, I took a hiatus -- and I returned with . . . Drama? Angst? Romance? Oh, you betcha.
This is rated M for Sirius's unmitigated sexiness. You've been warned.
Sirius left his childhood at the dinner table over roast and a glass of pumpkin juice. The letter was short and written in an unwavering hand ("No tears," Sirius remarked, eyebrow arched), and he read it to them in a voice so confident and self-assured it left them with a bitter aftertaste.
"That blood-sucking whore didn't even do it properly," said Sirius, raising his voice. "Couldn't even send a fucking Howler."
Several listeners laughed as he flicked his wrist with a flourish and casually disposed of the evidence. Without a word, he arose gracefully and exited the Great Hall.
Later Remus found him in Limbo, pacing the upper corridors with the pretense of taking a leisurely stroll.
"What a fine night," Sirius mused, smiling to himself. "So warm and full of love, don't you think, Moony?"
"You should come downstairs."
"What, or I'll jump?" Sirius mocked. "The birds would be all a-twitter. But you'd miss me, too, Moony, wouldn't you? I think I would miss you the most."
Remus simply said, "Come downstairs, Padfoot."
"No, I don't think I will. I think I will pace and wallow. Pace the corridors and wallow in my misery, that's what I'll do. The ladies like a misunderstood tosser like me, don't they? They think I'm dark and broodingly handsome. Do you think so too, Remus?" Then he laughed. "Dark and handsome. Fuck. If I had a galleon for every girl who wanted to get me off, I'd own the Queen. And that's saying something, Moony." He strayed closer to Remus. "And men too. Imagine that, mate! Men fucking men. Does that mean a thing to you? Probably not."
Remus felt a thin layer of sweat form on his lower lip. "Sirius, I really think –"
"Oho! No Padfoot, eh? No sweet nothings for the sweet nothing? It's Sirius now, and it's serious. Fuck, I'm punning. I hope she dies, the blood-sucking whore!" he exclaimed. "She couldn't even fucking bother to send a fucking Howler to her own sodding son! I wish she could see me now. I wish she could see that I wasn't completely fucked up, that I could amount to more than murdering mudbloods, and faggots, and innocent little Muggle children –"
"Sirius," Remus said urgently, a note of discord in his voice. "That's enough."
"This isn't me! None of this is me! I was supposed to be a fucking Death Eater, yeah? Avenge the Dark Lord, yeah? I was supposed to murder dirty half-breeds like you."
Remus just stared at him.
"Oh, bloody hell – I'm so fucked up." He bridged the gap between them. "Oh, don't look at me like that, honey, it's something we both know. I'm in the loony bin for sure – and someone's got a good sense of humor, because I'm the only sane one left. Ha! There's a thick slice of irony for you! It's a burden. Yeah. A burden. You know what else is a burden?"
Remus assumed this was a question. "What?"
"You. The way you look like that – yeah, that – that way, all the time, like you actually care about me – it's enough to send a boy to the showers for a good wank." Then he said, harshly, "I'm no pillow-biter."
"I never said that," Remus said quietly.
"I never said it either," Sirius snapped. "That's the problem, everybody just assumes. Just because I'm a Black – you better take your children inside, here he comes! The monster, the madman! You know how that is. He's gonna take your life and fuck your wife," he chanted, sing-song. "Get the torches and pitchforks, men, light up the night! But I don't need to spell it out for you; you know how that is. You're the real monster."
Remus felt this like a kick in his gut. Sirius sidled close – terribly close – and Remus could, for the first time, smell the alcohol in his breath.
"Does it hurt?" Sirius asked. "Does it hurt? Well, it's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. You even have the mark to prove it, don't you? Show me."
Sirius's sensual hands reached for the hem of Remus's jumper, but Remus pushed him away.
"I'm amazed at you, Sir Lupin, Sir Honorable Lupin – I would've thought you too kindhearted to hurt a downed man."
"I'm not going to sink to your level, Sirius," Remus replied.
"Touché. But the truth is, you want to. You want to. That's why it bothers you." Remus shivered as Sirius traced his fingers across his collarbone. "Mm, yes, it does. You could go for a wank right about now, couldn't you?"
"Please, Sirius –"
In response, Sirius tortuously kissed the palm of his hand. "Oh, but then, you don't think about these things, do you? Sir Lupin, Saint Lupin. I wish I was half the man you are. At least you have your priorities straight. Me? Fuck it. Don't you think I tried to be a good son? But Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, they say. Ha. My own fucking flesh and blood." He smiled at Remus. "I wouldn't move a muscle to save her. I would die to save you."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Remus said.
"Don't I? I've played through the scenario before." He peered at Remus solemnly. "Show me your scar, Remus."
It wasn't quite a command, but it had force levied behind it and Remus felt humbled. He lifted his jumper enough to reveal an angry jagged scar cutting from his hip bone to his ribcage. Sirius stared and stared and then said, "So there it is." He kissed his hip and Remus sucked in his breath sharply.
Remus closed his eyes and willed his racing heart to still. But then Sirius was everywhere, his hands were everywhere, his lips were everywhere, and suddenly he was moaning and Sirius was moaning and it was all too much to take. He felt Sirius grab a handful of his hair and yank his face forward. Their mouths met. Their teeth clicked together. Remus could feel every curve and contour of his body and it was so terribly close, so terribly hot, and Sirius was saying something in his ear and slithering his hands underneath his jumper and grinding his hips and all Remus wanted was something real.
"What a fine night," Sirius murmured, as Remus broke away, panting. "C'mon, honey, let's go downstairs."
