It was around midnight when Sirius woke up in a cold sweat, tears streaking down his face. His sheets were tangled around his legs and his hair stood on ends. He wiped his eyes and looked around the room, where he saw his three closest friends sleeping in their beds. James, who slept in the bed across from him, snored loudly, his bedspread tossed carelessly on the floor, not unlike most every other night. Peter snoozed, spread out on top of his sheet. He lay with his mouth slightly ajar, causing his breathing to sound more like a whistle. And Remus, who rested on his side, facing the window, completely covered, and utterly silent in his sleep.
Sirius sat up, setting his head in his hands, eyes closed. He thought about the dream – more like the nightmare – that woke him up: the smell of sweat, the painful wounds, all so real in his sleeping state; the fear and anxiety, still fresh in his mind. The sight of his friends' bodies, bruised and beaten, with contorted corpses, and broken bones, lying in the mud, was too much to take. The sight of the shapeless monster, nothing more than a black fog of sorts. And worse, hearing the bodiless laughing, in its bloodcurdling tone, sent chills up Sirius's spine at the mere thought; the nightmarish memory. It was all too much to take.
Ever since officially becoming a member of the Order, dreams, such as these, had haunted Sirius. Even within the protection of the school, under Dumbledore's watchful eyes, the weight of the upcoming war . . . simply undeniable. Gryffindor or not, it scared the living hell out of Sirius. It was not for his life that he feared, his life had never meant a lot to him, but for his friends' lives: Peter, who James, Remus, and he had accepted and helped from the first year of Hogwarts. James, who had been his best mate since the first train ride, the man who offered up his home when things were at their worst. And Remus, the werewolf, who he would do anything to protect; the man who had undoubtedly and involuntarily stolen his heart. Sirius has never been so afraid, so terrified, in his life. His friends would be in the heart of a battle, with the most fearsome wizard in history.
Grabbing his pillow, and clutching it to his chest, he walked over to the bed beside his. He looked down at the young man, whose sandy blond hair fell slightly over his face. The glow from the crescent moon hit Remus' features, highlighting the werewolf-inflicted scars. Memories of the full moons he spent with Remus flashed through Sirius's mind. He lifted the covers from Remus' half-naked body and slid in beside him.
From the sound of his breathing, it was obvious that Sirius had woken him up. Remus shifted slightly to give Sirius more room, so he would not fall off the edge of the bed . . . an almost every night occurrence. Sirius felt Remus' arm snake around his waist and pull him closer. The feeling of protection and comfort warmed Sirius' body to its very core. His exposed back pressed against Remus' nude chest, their knees bent; they fit perfectly against each other. A pair of lips trailed along the curve of Sirius' neck, sending a shiver creeping up his back. The hair on his arms and legs rose.
He snuggled closer to Remus, and let out a moan. Remus whispered reassuring words in Sirius's ear, his fingertips trailing along his abs. Sirius grabbed Remus' hand and pressed it to his mouth, planting a kiss upon the back. Remus moved again, causing Sirius to fall on his back, without the support of his lover's body. Sirius looked up into the eyes of his beau. The brown eyes that stared down at him showed lust and worry. Sirius reached up and tangled a hand in the man's hair, not bothering to bring him closer, for he didn't want to ruin the peaceful moment.
"Was it the dream again? It was, wasn't it?" Remus asked in a slow whisper. Sirius simply nodded his head, not really wanting to talk, and wishing desperately that the other two Marauders were somewhere else.
Remus laid one hand on Sirius cheek. Sirius closed his eyes and nuzzled into the hand, a low growl erupting from his throat. He looked back up at Remus, who continued to stare. Sirius noticed that his eyes were watering over, when his view of Remus became blurry. Remus leaned forward and kissed Sirius underneath his eye, as a tear escaped. Sirius gave his handsome lover a small smile, before pulling Remus's mouth onto his. He let the kiss sit, lips not moving, tongues not caressing, as they normally would. Something sweet, slow, and passionate was what Sirius desired – starting with sweet – and Remus understood. Times like these were times of comfort and love. Times like these were the times when only they could really ease each others' growing worry and pain. Times like these were what brought them together.
Remus lay down, their legs tangled, and his head on Sirius' chest. Sirius could feel Remus' breath against his torso, as the man breathed in and out slowly, his chest rising and falling, pressing against Sirius. He let his face lie in the mass of hair, planting a kiss on the top of Remus's head.
He looked up to the ceiling. The white tiles faded into one, the longer he looked at them, but within minutes Remus' breathing, became slower and deeper, indicating sleep. Laying his head to face the window, the same direction as Remus's, he closed his eyes, and allowed calmness and tiredness to take over his weary mind. The last thing he thought before entering unconsciousness was, 'And this . . . my love . . . is what it means for me to protect you in your sleep.'