RemusxSirius SLASH, semi-explicit LEMON. Don't say I didn't warn you. Otherwise, enjoy!

Never More

There are things that must be dealt with, before the rest may come to pass.

It's a mutual realization on their part. Simultaneous, conjured by the thoughts melding together somewhere in between, where haunted grey and worn amber meet again, for the first time in far too long.

Remus cleared his throat, but knew the tightness wouldn't leave. "Sirius."

"Remus."

The room has been emptied, leaving only them. They knew it is deliberate. They knew it is necessary. It makes the reuniting no easier.

"I…" Sirius begins, but half-way through he breaks it off, and the sentence is forever lost. More words dumped into the chasm between them, built over years of pain.

Remus scrambles for a thought. "I never expected we'd end up in this house."

A hoarse chuckle. "I didn't either. I never expected much."

"No, you didn't."

A tired smile. Remus can't help but compare. The smile used to reach his eyes, lighting them with boyish glee. This is but a trace of that young man… Even amidst war, Sirius had kept as much immaturity as possible. Now, it was gone. Was Sirius gone? Had Padfoot been lost in the betrayal and mistrust, as he had?

Remus stopped that line of thought. One thing at a time. Take things one thing at a time, one day at a time, one horror at a time, and it's not so bad. Easier. Perhaps.

"Remus…"

"Yeah?"

"Moony."

"…Yeah?"

"…You look like hell, Moony," Sirius says at last, and there it is – a tiny, miniscule spark of light in the dark, a miniscule remainder of what had once been. Remus flails, and finally grasps it, and realizes too late that Sirius' chin is in his hand.

Breath. In tune, synchronized, never faltering. In, out. Heat. Trading heat, beads of sweat, they both know it.

Remus keeps hold of that light, promising not to leave it in the dark, and traps it at the surface the only way he can think how. The wolf.

Chapped lips over chapped lips, but they pay no mind. Chafing. But the heat of their mingling breath consumes them; temperature becomes meaningless. Just lips on lips, a kiss, but less. Not quite a declaration of love. Harsh, cruel – dominant, battling it out, who will win?

Blood. Whose lip cracked they cannot tell, but does it matter? They taste it, and it is theirs. They need it. They have it. Blood, sweat, tears – hope, mixed in between, where did the spark go? Amber meets grey, but cannot bear to stay, and so looks away, shamed. More need. More fire.

Teeth – suddenly, his teeth are the way. With a feral growl, he bites, his canine teeth (and again, they aren't quite certain whose) sinking in. The other howls out in pain, and one of them can't help but wonder if this room is warded for silence; the other knows it is and is obtusely thankful for it.

They breath each other's name in between bites. Remus howls out again as Sirius nips his neck, and then brushes it with his tongue, where did his robes and shirt disappear to? Where did Sirius' shirt go? Does it matter? These bodies – the same, but different. Scars. Fingers brush lightly over his back, finding wrinkled, pinked traces of the past; Moony cries out with fury and a wish to tear apart the one who marked Padfoot so cruelly. They are both not what they were. Taller, more worn down. Their limp skin hangs off their frames, pale and without a trace of the healthy bodies they knew. The yearning is there, but different.

Maybe this is what it means to grow up and mature, and perhaps Sirius was right all those years ago in swearing it would take nothing short of a miracle – or a curse, perhaps? – to force that in him.

So gaunt. So lost. The spark has disappeared, replaced by animalistic, male need. It is reflected between them, but no longer in the chasm; it rests with them both. Prison.

Another bite. This time, it is Sirius who howls out in pain. And it is pain. It is not love, nor is it territorial marking, simply pain. Pain, and the drive; pain, and the necessity to assuage it and make it all go away. How? There is no other way, is there?

They have fallen upon the soft, carpeted floor at some point, which is just long enough for two fully grown men, however much they loathe that knowledge now. Their clothes have come off, replaced by skin, with nothing between. The shared warmth is never felt between them. Only the pain, as it grows higher and higher.

Remus takes Sirius in hand, and caresses as Sirius moans and begs and makes silent pleas to stop, to continue, or simply to finish the job. Mouth covers mouth again, now another lip has been split – but by teeth. The taste of blood never bothers them. It is just another part of the pain.

Sirius has almost had enough. The hurt, the lost, the pain, it converges, it approaches. It comes. Remus drinks it in; Sirius cries out in mixed ecstasy and there is that pain again, always there, always lingering with each action. They cannot give without taking.

It is Sirius' revenge now, a stroke, a touch, it burns where his fingers bruise. Remus wonders distantly if, when it is all over, he will have been through another war. He might just look like it. He is battered, and now more so. The wolf wants to take over, fight back, but it is the dog's turn, and the wolf is pinned. Some things remain. There is still that spot on Remus' right hip that makes him shake, and Sirius finds it again, so easily, just as memory serves, and this time makes it his. Another print, another mark. It might fade, in some days, but until then it will cause only pain. Like so much else.

Remus has had enough. He flips them over and takes the final plunge. He drives it deep, hard, relentlessly, the wolf is merciless. Sirius cringes, but holds on. They both hold on, thinking maybe, just maybe, they can make it. They can see this through, and come out together – not undamaged, but whole, finally, complete. It is a false hope, their minds say, but they don't seem to care.

Rock. Back, forth, back forth. They adjust. Slowly, the pain is consumed. A little ball rolls down a mountain, consuming the snow beneath it, making it into something grander, something more powerful. Passion. Bliss. The pain lingers, but only in traces. They are hurting, but it is nothing now. A grunt, a moan.

Remus, Sirius. Sirius, Remus. Moony, Padfoot. Padfoot, Moony. Back, forth.

Release. All of it escapes as they come, come flying up, trying to break the chains that prison hooked upon them both.

It is gone.

Sirius and Remus lie there, panting for breath, staring into eyes. The spark was there, but it has disappeared again. Tortured amber and ghostly grey. Gone.

"It's not the same." Nothing is. It's all gone… The world we lived in before is gone, replaced by this war-struck madness… We've suffered. We've lost ourselves in the process.

"It's not," Sirius agrees, looking far too mature. Far too old. Never the same.

Blood, sweat, and tears. Many, many tears.

So many lives are shed.

They have lost themselves. It is too much to hope that they have not lost each other.