I don't need no rising moon,
I don't need no ball and chain,
I don't need anything but you,
Such a shame, shame, shame…
xoxo
It seems to rain each time they come together, the sounds of their moans being almost drowned out by the raindrops clattering insistently against the windowpane. They move together as if they were made for one another: as if no one else existed in the world but the two of them.
Of course, this is not true, and this is starkly, painfully obvious when it's all over, and the intensity drains from the room like the colour flees Remus' face every time Sirius doesn't acknowledge his sideways glances: hesitant emotion overflowing with cautious touches, uncertain gestures that are sometimes accepted, but more often rebuffed.
Everyone knows that it has always been Sirius-and-James, joined at the hip by their deep friendship and overwhelming similarities. The two are constantly, insufferably together. Sirius and Remus, on the other hand, exist as two separate entities. Two binary opposites, like black and white, night and day, sun and moon. Two people that could surely never share more than an odd friendship. But it is Sirius and Remus that have the passion and intensity that combines to create lust and perhaps a little more. It is Sirius and Remus who crash through seemingly impenetrable boundaries in their desire for one another.
Sometimes, as he feels fingertips tracing his hips, soft lips grazing his collarbone, Remus feels as though perhaps they could be Sirius-and-Remus, as they seem to fit – craziness tipping into lunacy as the nights draw out and the feelings become unbearable.
But they can't be meant to fit together, can they? Remus, quiet and unassuming as he is, is far, far too dangerous, and Sirius is just that small, skinny boy that broke the Black family mould and got put into the one House that he had never even thought of joining.
None of this is Sirius' fault, and yet it all is, because he makes himself far too easy to love, with his flippant charm and melting-chocolate eyes. That is why Remus accepts all of Sirius' casual, painful rejections and blank, harsh expressions – he understands that it should be this way. Rain should fall like a bad omen when they share a bed. Sirius should be unwilling and uncompromising. And they should never even think of the word love in relation to one another. Never.
It's when Sirius does respond, whenever he shares a secret, fleeting glance, or a secret, fleeting night, that Remus just doesn't get it. He doesn't understand, and things he doesn't understand worry him senseless.
What is it? He beseeches his fellow pupils as he walks along the corridor, heading for the inevitable mixture of Sirius, sex and silence. What is it that we have?
He sure as hell doesn't have a clue.
xoxo
Shame is the shadow of love…
xoxo
Please review…I don't own HP or Lupin and Sirius. Do you think they'd be dead if I did? Also, I don't own Shame, either.