Sirius Black kissed the way he did just about everything else: recklessly, but with a kind of unhindered devotion. And Remus Lupin might be going mad because of it.
On some days it would be soft, almost hesitant as his tongue would dance slowly across his lips, lingering and exploring every inch of his mouth with a certain whispered confusion, as though edging it to spill all the secrets Remus' resolve hid so well. There was a willingness hidden within it, a willingness to not just understand but to accept, and on those days Remus almost gave in.
On the days after letters from home it was desperate without being hungry, like a broken cry in the middle of the night with no one but Remus to hear it. On those days his lips were demanding with a mixture of self-pity and self-hatred, as though the promise of self-assurance from Remus was all that would keep him going.
And then there were days when it was passionate – no, not passionate, but enchanted, as though kissing Remus was the highest privilege anyone could ask for. On those days it was almost as if his tongue was marvelling at every inch of Remus' body, not quite understanding how it got so lucky, but perhaps more so not quite understanding how Remus couldn't see it.
And in all those silent ways, with his mouth and his hands and his eyes, Sirius would make Remus feel like he truly was the greatest thing in the world.