Of Kitchen Cleavers and Fantasies, a harry potter fanfic

It is just because he knows when the full moon is almost better than Remus.

It is only because he cried, too, when he and James and Peter turned into Padfoot and Prongs and Wormtail for the first time.

It's just the way he watches him during class, watches his hair fall over his eyes and his quill tap the desk irritably.

It's how he notices everything. It's how everything matters.

Of course, the way that when James plays the Beatles, it's horrid, but when Remus puts on David Bowie--which, by the way, Sirius hates more (okay, almost more) than Severus Snape--it's perfect--well, that helps.

And how when he smiles Sirius forgets about his mother and his brother and Slytherin and Voldemort and death.

When he laughs, Sirius can't help joining him.

When he's happy, he wants nothing else.

He supposes this is what love is. He's heard about it, of course--James, with his obsession with Lily, and Dumbledore, believing in love above all else, and Slughorn and his little talks that Sirius thinks are meant to be sly but are really just sickeningly obvious. He's seen James and he's sworn to never be like that.

He remembers telling Remus to stab him with one of the house-elves' cleavers if he was ever that pathetic.

Somehow, he doesn't think that's going to happen.

But if it does, he can't imagine someone he'd want to see last more, and at the same time, someone who he'd want to stab him with a cleaver less.

Maybe he would take him down to the kitchens, with that look on his face, all Moony and serious, but with his eyes glinting with humor.

He'd grab his hand, maybe, if he was lucky.

He'd grab a piece of chocolate from the waiting house-elves before asking them, ever so politely, for a cleaver, if you please.

And Sirius would just stand there, because what else should he do?

Remus would set down his chocolate, raise the cleaver. Sirius would wonder if he was going to finish it when he was done with Sirius.

You know, I think it would be a bit difficult to stab someone with a cleaver, Remus would say, the edges of his mouth tilting up just so. But I'll give it a go anyways, if that's what you want.

Sirius wouldn't say anything. To tell the truth, he doesn't have a huge part in this fantasy.

So then Remus would tilt his head, smile wider, turn, and chop his chocolate in half with the cleaver.

Sirius frowns.

Of course, then he'd give Sirius the other piece, and he would take it from his fingers, maybe even licking off the chocolate where it had melted from Remus's warmth.

If he let him. A great deal of this depended on Remus being willing.

They'd eat their chocolate, and Remus would have that look on his face, that other one, that he gets when he's eaten a particularly good piece of chocolate, or read a particularly good book, or had a particularly good conversation with someone.

It doesn't take much to make him happy, Sirius is beginning to discover.

Sirius would step closer to Remus, maybe run his fingers through his thick brown hair. It would be immensely soft, inconceivably soft.

Remus would smile.

And then, like in any good fantasy, they would do quite a bit of snogging, with tongues and teeth and hands involved. Maybe even some other things would happen, Sirius isn't very picky.

Sirius is okay with what he's got.

At least that's what he tells himself.

As long as he has cold showers and understanding dorm-mates, really, there is no reason to be depressed or scared or anything else that might happen as a consequence of love.

He wishes, of course. He hopes.

If it wasn't for James Potter, he would be perfectly (almost) content to live out the rest of his life being best friends with Remus Lupin and doing nothing but glancing (staring) at him once in a while. Then and again. With a little bit of wishing thrown in.

He wonders what he'll do when there are no more Transfiguration lessons or that hour of History of Magic. No more shared dorms or breakfasts eaten with thoughts and knees brushing.

But he shrugs, smiles, because he still has another year, a bit more, and a year and a bit seem like forever to a sixteen-year-old.

Until James corners him.

He happens to be in bed at the time.

In a bit of an awkward position.

Nothing that needs hiding from his best friend of six years, though, Sirius thinks optimistically.

"Really? I don't need to see that, Pads."

"I have to hear you, okay?"

"Well I have to hear you, too, so maybe you should practice a silencing charm. A very powerful one."

"..."

"Anyways, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Yes?"

"About all this pent-up sexual frustration. It's getting to me."

"You only have to ask, Prongs, and I'm ready. To tell the truth, I'm surprised this didn't come sooner. I've always wondered at the exact strength of your feelings towards me."

"Oh, Merlin. If you weren't Sirius, you'd be hexed through the ceiling."

"You know I wouldn't. But I'm only glad you're laughing."

"Ha. Anyways. Back to the point."

"What, where was that? Somewhere back in first year, I reckon."

"Is that how long it's been? Well. Good to know you're letting it out now."

"Letting what out?"

"Your pent-up sexual frustration."

"I think I need Moony. At least he understands my sarcasm."

"Ha! You admitted it!"

"Admitted what?"

"See? You're blushing! Ha!"

"I have absolutely no bloody idea what you're talking about, James."

"Remus."

"Yes?"

"Moony."

"Okay."

"Remus bloody Lupin."

"What about him?"

"How you are completely bloody bonkers for him."

"...what?"

"I think this is the first time in recorded history that anyone has ever made Sirius Black speechless. I think I deserve a medal of some sort."

"I...don't. And I did say something, for the record."

"You don't love him or you don't think I deserve a medal?"

"Both."

"Oh, please. I might be a bloke, but I'm not blind. And plus, Lily has noticed too."

"Noticed? Noticed what?"

"You stare at him every second you can, for starters. And you're just always...aware. I dunno, it's just a vibe I feel going on here."

"...a vibe."

"Oh, Padfoot. It's so cute, you're in wuve!"

"If you weren't James, you'd be hexed through the ceiling."

"Glad to see you care, as always."

"Fine. Okay? Happy?"

"Very. Now."

"Now what?"

"Now, we have a Conversation."

"... Isn't that what's been happening for the past ten minutes?"

"No, no. I mean, yes, of course, but this time we have a Real Conversation. With capitals."

"Okay...I'm going to pretend you're still a sane male and ask you what about."

"About Moony, of course! And your plan for wooing him."

"What if I don't want to woo him?"

"..."

"Yes?"

"Of course you want to."

"No I don't."

"That's the biggest load of bullocks I've ever heard in my life, Pads."

"No it's not."

"Where's your sarcasm and wit when you need it?"

"Back where your sanity escaped to...I wonder if I can find it. Care to join me for a cold shower?"

"That only works on girls. And possibly Moony. And Anyways, you're not going anywhere. Don't move. Talk."

"About what?"

"Why don't you want to woo Moony?"

"Because. I'm happy where I am."

"Your lying lacks a certain sort of oomph when the proof of your deception is right before me."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, Pads."

"My imagination's good, you know. Very clear."

"Too much information."

"It's good enough. And reality isn't that bad. I get to touch him. Sometimes."

"Not the way you want."

"Sometimes you scare me, Prongs."

It's all James's fault, to be completely honest. If he hadn't planted those doubts, those little nagging things that Sirius hates so much, he wouldn't be, well, having doubts.

And doubts, in Sirius's mind, equal frustration.

And frustration plus Remus equals, using James's term, lots of pent-up sexual frustration.

Sirius had gotten love just fine. That isn't the problem.

The problem, he is beginning to realize, is not love. It's lust.

The sharp, fire-like feeling of pure want, almost painful need, that you can almost feel but never touch, because it slips out of your grasp the second you are close enough to reach it.

His hands moving without his permission, his eyes fluttering closed and open again and Remus looking at him all weird, then the feeling of his heart dropping down to somewhere below his feet when he realizes that it can never be.

It's all James's fault.

"I hate you. You're making my life difficult."

"What are best mates for?"

"Making their best mates' lives easier!"

"But that wouldn't be half as much fun."

Sirius scowls, but then he sees Remus, so he smiles.

He hates love.

"Jamessssss...help is needed."

"With what, my dearest Padfoot? You know I am happy to help at any time. Except for when I am waiting for Lily Evans to talk to me!"

"Okay, one, you owe me, because you screwed with my love life, so I screw with yours. Two, she's not going to talk to you."

"I hate you."

"I hate you more."

"Well. At least we bring each other back down to reality. Speaking of which, yours is very much better than mine, so stop moping."

"I'm not moping. And how is it better?"

"Well, for one, the object of your affections speaks to you. Second, he likes you. Third, he loves you. Fourth, he might actually probably is in love you quite a bit too. Fifth...well. He's Remus."

"Am I sensing some competition here?"

"Oh, no. I belong, body and soul, to Lily Evans...who is coming over here. Quick. My hair. How does it look?"

"Even better, now that you've turned into a girl."

"Oh, please. Sirius. Laugh at something I've said."

"But you've said nothing funny."

"Pretend I have."

"Sorry, mate. Can't laugh on demand."

"Bloody hell, she's gone. After all I've done for you, you couldn't have even had the courtesy to laugh when I asked you to? I hate you."

"All you've done? Ha. Don't make me die from non-truths."

"...I think they're called lies, and Pads? You've gone off the deep end."

"Of what?"

Sirius is clueless, but then, Sirius is always clueless.

"Wipe that bloody smirk off your face."

Sirius sighs, sinking into the half-oblivion that is half-sleep in a warm History of Magic classroom with a particularly beautiful looking Remus Lupin for one to stare at. Completely openly, he might add, with the excuse of being asleep with his eyes open.

He sighs again, but for a different reason.

Remus really is too beautiful to be scribbling notes.

Sirius lets his gaze roam to his hands. He has nice hands.

Sirius sighs for a third time.

This is going to be very difficult.

"Maybe you could help me a bit? I'm not above begging."

"I'd like to see this. Go on."

"Prongs, please? I'm not even joking. I can't deal anymore. And it's your fault. So fix it."

"As much as you might believe, I am not capable of relieving your pent-up sexual frustration."

"Will you stop calling it that?"

"What? Why?"

"It sounds stupid."

"You sound stupid."

"Ughhhh...what am I supposed to do?"

"Snog him."

"My imagination's good, but not that good. I've tried, it doesn't work."

"Not in your fantasies, you dolt. For real, real tongue included and all that stuff that I don't particularly want to think about."

"You can't be serious."

"You're Sirius Black."

"Nice one. Double points."

"Thanks."

"Good point, anyway."

"So?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll try it. Which is the best broom closet?"

"Er...okay. Have it your way. The one on the third floor, by that suit of armor that you charmed to yell obscene things at innocent passing students?"

"And teachers."

"And teachers. Ah, that was priceless. Anyhow, someone's put a sofa in it. It's quite roomy."

"Brilliant. Thanks."

"Always here for you."

"And Prongs? That cheesy smile does not suit you in the slightest."

Dodging the pillow that James throws at him, Sirius grins and goes to find Remus, tripping past Peter on the stairs, who is on his way up to the dorm, looking a bit put off.

It's harder than it seems, trying to coerce Remus Lupin into a broom closet that also happens to be a very well-known rendezvous for meeting lovers. While trying to keep from him the fact that he is dying to snog him within an inch of his life until the last moment possible.

In fact, it's probably the hardest thing Sirius has ever done in his life.

Other than apologize.

Funny how all these things happen to have to do with Remus.

"There's a sofa in here."

"Yes."

"Did you lock the door?"

"Didn't want to be disturbed."

"Disturbed in what, exactly? We're not doing anything."

"I've decided to cut right to the point."

"Okay."

"So."

"The point of what?"

"The reason for us being in here."

"Okay, and what may that be?"

"The point, remember. One of them, at least."

"Yes, Sirius."

"Don't get mad."

"I won't."

"Or laugh."

"I can't promise. Laughing doesn't come on demand."

"Ha. Okay. Okay, so, Merlin. I love you."

"Come again?"

"I love you and I want to snog you."

"What? Why?"

"One of the reasons is that I love you. The other is that you're abso-bloody-fucking-lutely gorgeous and I...want to snog you."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Oh."

"So?"

"Oh. Well. I think...I might possibly be able to handle that."

"Only handle?"

"I might...be okay with that."

"That's all."

"Siriussss..."

"Okay."

"..."

"Okaaaaay. Wow. Yeah. See?"

"Um. See what?"

"That was fantastic!"

"Yes. Yes, it was."

"Really?"

"You seemed pretty sure yourself."

"Well we could try once more, just to make sure."

"We could."

It is fireworks and all sorts of the wonderful kind of magical explosives.

It is a bit of a of fiery heaven.

Sirius wonders what is on that sofa, but then he doesn't care.

It is...too much for words, because most of the time, when you transfer emotions and feeling and everything that happens into words, quite a lot of it gets lost.

And Sirius doesn't want any of it to get lost.

So he doesn't try to make it into words, irritates James (but draws a smile from him all the same), and walks around with a smile on his face for the rest of the day.

It's this: it's not caring about anything at all except one thing, one person, who steals all of your caring capacity.

It's nothing that can be described with words, so Sirius doesn't try.

It's love and lust all wrapped up together. It's want and it's need and it's innocence and purity and corruption and soft bed-sheets and even softer hair.

It's pain, but it's worth it, and it's tears, but the laughter is far more common.

It's joy and togetherness, community and compassion.

It's never being alone, but never minding.

It's always thinking--something that Sirius Black should care about, but that he finds he enjoys quite a bit.

It's passion, pure and raw and burning.

It's nothing less than fantasies and everything more than reality.