REMUS

"Y'know, I'm just not interested in girls anymore."

That's a cruel thing, isn't it, for the most handsome boy in Hogwarts to admit to me, his so-deep-in-the-closet-he-practically-lives-in-a-coat-pocket best friend? And crueler still that he followed up the confession with a smirk, after I had already descended deep into a spiral of depraved thoughts masked by a very timely coughing fit, and chuckled, "Now, now — don't get me wrong. It's not like I'm a fucking queer or anything."

Fucking queer. Fucking poof. Fucking faggot. Fucking … fuck me! It was always the same: neither James nor Sirius could ever utter a synonym for homosexual without a sneer and a fucking fucking in front of it. And every time I heard it, I felt like throwing myself off of Gryiffindor tower. An action that melodramatic might just make my point for me.

"What the fuck? That's how it sounds!" roared James in laughter. "Mate, I seriously cannot deal with it if you're a fucking arse bandit!"

Oooh, arse bandit. That's a refreshing one.

"Well, so what if I were?" said Sirius casually. Was that my heart or lungs that I was currently choking on? Both would be rather life-threatening, I suppose. That would make things easier. You know. Being dead. "Not that I am, but —"

"No, no, no, I'm not fallin' for it," sneered James. I was really rather surprised that neither of my friends had noticed my condition right now. Not that my state was ever worth paying attention to, really — I was quite the vanilla of the group — but that was just because I was usually an awful lot better at hiding my homoerotic tendencies. I really was, I swear. "You always give back my Aly Ba-Baps mag all crusty and disgusting. There's no way you're a fucking bender."

That's right, Remus. You heard the man. There's no way — absolutely not! Tits and fannies, that's what normal teenage boys were into. And tits and fannies just seemed to sort of gravitate in the general direction of Sirius' gorgeous face. Was it wrong that it sort of turned me on? I so very badly wanted to see him drowning in dicks and semen.

No, no, no. Pull yourself together, you pathetic gay twat. Sirius was straight. What in the world were you thinking getting your hopes up like that?

Sirius laughed boisterously. "Well, yeah. They're fine for THAT. But these days it's like the effort of getting their panties off is hardly even worth the deed itself. Maybe I'm just getting old."

"You're fifteen, you wanker! This is supposed to be the prime!"

"Well, not for me," said Sirius with a wry grin. "Perhaps I'm better off a wanker, in fairness."

Now, by this point you're probably asking yourself: who is this creature who can so calmly come out with the sorts of things most teenage boys get their heads dunked down toilets for? And he really wasn't embarrassed, you know, not in the least! For what would Sirius Black ever have to be embarrassed about? Ah, well, I seem to have found myself doing an introduction of sorts. My friend Sirius was, incidentally, the most popular boy in school, so he never had any need to be embarrassed about anything. In fact, a lot of the cringiest shit that came off that gorgeous tongue ended up as motivational posters, or the life motto of an entire generation. Sirius Black … ah, me. How could I possibly describe him with my measly words? He was the very epitome of cool, the quintessential homeros and egoism personified.

In common speak, he was sex on legs. But, boy, did he know it.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to detract from his charm. If anything it fanned the bloody flames, and then chucked some petrol on them for good measure. And I say it's unfortunate because it really does seem very unfair to me that he should have so many people hanging on his every move and every word and every trend he whimsically pulled from his hat, when the man himself didn't give a damn about any of that. He was just being himself; his weirdest, most wonderful, most wanker-ish self. If today he swore of sex, he'd swear it off and by Merlin we'd all be wearing iron undies by first bell tomorrow. And if he decided to swing towards homosexual tendencies the day after … well, my own coming out would surely be written off as simply following a fad. I was his biggest fan, after all.

"But I said I didn't find them INTERESTING, didn't I?" he was rabbiting on. "Y'know, as PEOPLE or whatever. I'd rather be spending my time with you lot than some slag fluttering her bloody eyelashes. Gay as it sounds."

"That does sound gay," said James. "And … nope. I'd definitely rather be with a fit girl right now."

"Preferably Evans, I s'pose?" said Sirius, rolling his eyes. Oh, now this was interesting. Sirius hated Lily Evans, James' girlfriend of sorts and long term unrequited love, with such a passion I'd swear he was jealous. He was, right? I mean, he could barely say her name without groaning or calling her a bitch! I had such delicious fantasies about my two friends here, and infinitely more of me 'comforting' Sirius after he was rejected. Because James was straight without a doubt, so it was inevitable, really. I mean, he was a downright homophobe. But Sirius always kept me guessing, even though I knew how silly and hopeless that was. That was just his way; a little flamboyance, a pinch too much physical affection, and a smack load of confidence made for the vaguest of sexualities. But, then again, his history spoke for itself.

Still, Padfoot and Prongs Getting Giddy in the Boys' Dorm was one gay porno I would personally pay my entire life savings to see.

"What a bitch," Sirius grunted. See?! Jealousy, I'm telling you.

"Of course, preferably her," sneered James in response. "And for another thing, you've got your priorities all wrong. Girls don't have to be interesting, you ponce. Just bloody well willing is all I'm asking."

As much as I was enjoying this conversation rife with misogyny — as I'm sure the reader was, too — I really had already stopped listening at that stage. And I had good reason, too, because as James went on and on about the virtue of a girl's banality, Sirius seemed to have phased out for a moment, his eyes softly scanning the sky as he blew out smoke between well-practiced lips. He flicked the ash out the window and glanced down at the butt, pouting for a split second and — incidentally — allowing a stray beam of moonlight the pleasure of falling gently across his face, highlighting his modelesque bone structure and making his entire being seem to glow and sparkle.

That … that was the face I came all over in my dreams.

Sigh.

Yep, moonlight and sunbeams and petals always seemed to be positively throwing themselves across Sirius' person, and reminding me day after day how other worldly and unreachable his beauty really was. Luckily, I had a decent memory. And that particular scene would be stored safely in a locked compartment of my brain only to be removed in the dark of night, underneath the covers with Muffliato cast on the rest of the dorm.

That, or in the shower. I've settled for less.

… I felt so fucking awful about it. I really did.

Sirius shook himself slightly, then brought the ciggy to his mouth again and dragged long and deep. Oh Merlin, how I loved watching him smoke. I watched his eyes follow the trail of smoke rising out into the night air, and then drift over to meet mine. Fag still in his mouth, he smiled a little tight lipped smirk, as if to say, "what a twat, eh?"

But all my mind could translate was, "I want you, Remus."

Yes, yes, I was the worst friend. But I couldn't bloody well help it. I could have written novels about the things I imagined him saying whenever our eyes met like that. And not the kind of novels I'd let my mother read.

I'll admit, things have gotten worse recently. It wasn't always like this, you know. See, it all started out rather innocently, with the bed I chose when I entered the boys' dorm on the first day of first year.

Here it is, folks: the tasteful flashback!

Well, that bed was the only one in the dorm with a window seat, you see, and from that decision everything followed. That first night, while I unpacked and tried not to vomit with nerves, two of the other first year boys descended upon that window seat and began lighting up from a box of cigarettes. And despite it being my window, I really had no intention of denying these cool looking chaps a thing, for fear of being, well, beaten up. Especially not that one there who was smiling so handsomely like that, with hair as thick and black as a raven's feathers and slate grey eyes full of mischief. Oh, how I loathed him. How I wanted to be him, or his friend, perhaps. But these two fellows were out of my league, I knew that already. They would never want to be friends with a wimpy, gawky, introverted child like me. Madame Pomfrey was likely the only friend I'd have here, we'd be bonding on monthly moonlit strolls after all. And perhaps that mousey boy who had been watching the rest of us all this time, eagerly trying to become involved and failing miserably, would band together with me to fight the isolation and the bullies. Better to draw no attention to myself than to attempt to be popular, I thought. I wanted to blend in, not fit in. I really wasn't asking for much.

And yet I was finding myself staring at this dark-haired, good-looking boy as he placed a long dark cigarette in his mouth and pursed his lips around it, his eyes narrowed in mild concentration. My stomach felt weird. Then he removed it, holding it expertly between his fingers, and blew out the smoke with a smirk. He glanced at me — yeah, he really actually glanced at me with his actual beautiful eyes in his actual beautiful face — and my heart felt weird.

And I thought … you know, I mightn't actually mind getting beaten to a pulp by a boy that pretty.

That was a good thing, too, since I rather had it coming from all the staring I was doing.

As he brought the smoke to his lips once again, he faltered a second, still gazing coolly at me. "You don't mind, do you? It's your bedside, after all."

"Pff, of course he doesn't mind," said the boy with glasses. He, I had discovered by eavesdropping on their conversation since we'd all entered the dorm, was the cool one's newly appointed best friend. They had met on the train, and I hated him already. "Right, er … what was your name again?"

"Oh, ah, Remus Lupin," I said, waving my hands quickly as they both suddenly focussed their attention to me. "And go ahead, I really don't mind."

"See?" said the glasses boy quickly, immediately losing interest in me. The other boy just shrugged, and leaned out the window while taking another long drag from the cigarette. Bloody hell, I thought. Stop staring, I told myself. Mind your own bloody business, Remus John Lupin, and keep your sodding head down! But I simply couldn't. His fingers were pale and slender, and he kept having to brush his hair out of his eyes as he leaned over the window to blow the smoke out. He exhaled it expertly through his lips, and while watching him I felt the inexplicable urge to verbalise how cool he looked. Incredibly cool, like some sort of celebrity. I realised that I wasn't about to stop staring anytime soon, and he had without a doubt noticed me do it but didn't seem to think it was weird. He certainly didn't seem like he was about to beat me up or call me a cruel name for it. And as his eyes caught mine again, he raised his eyebrows and offered the fag in my direction.

It took me a moment to realise what was going on, and when I did my mind flew straight into a panic. I had no intention of smoking — and I sure as hell didn't know how to do it! They'd surely realise I'd never done it before and that I was even more of a tosser than I looked — but if I didn't even try it I'd look a downright muppet! Oh Merlin, I was taking too long to react, so I instinctively smiled and leaned forward to take the cigarette in my shaking fingers. Oh dear, I touched his hand. My body was hot. Smiling nervously up at them, I placed my lips around it and attempted to puff.

"This four-eyes here is James Potter. And I'm Sirius Black," said the handsome one, offering me his hand. I fumbled with the cigarette to free up my hand to shake it. I had no idea why I was so sweaty. But my heart was beating unnaturally fast.

And I touched his hand again … practically held it, so I did. Oh dear. I couldn't breathe at all.

After letting go, he snatched the cigarette from my hands with a grin.

"I'm R-Remus Lupin," I choked, smoke bursting out of my mouth. I coughed, eyes watering, and turned back to my bed to hide my blushing face. Oh, wow. I had literally forgotten to breathe.

"You said that already," sniggered Potter, and I blushed harder. As I glanced around, I saw Black smile easily, leaning against the wall with a slight sigh.

Oh dear. I could have gone back to my unpacking, but for some reason I had lost all interest in everything but Sirius Black. Say something, Remus. Anything, or you'll lose the chance to keep hearing his voice. Well, not anything. Don't break into song or talk about Daleks. Something interesting, if possible. Nope, it had gone on too long, so better just say anything and hope for the best. "Sirius — like the star?" I asked suddenly, baffled at my own social prowess.

"Huh?" said Potter.

"Hm?" said Black.

"Oh, er, Sirius is a star, you see," I said, instantly regretting this sudden burst of confidence. But somehow, I couldn't stop, either. "The Dog Star, it's called. Because of its location in Canis Major. Oh—" I moved to the window, staring out at the night sky. "It's that one there! You see Orion's belt — those three stars close together in a diagonal line? — follow those down and there you — I mean, there it — is." I looked around, and found blank faces watching me. I laughed nervously. "It's the brightest star in the sky."

"Cool," said Black, and I felt my heart begin to tremor. He threw an arm around my shoulder and blew smoke into my face. "Woof! Woof!"

I coughed on the smoke and fell away from him, feeling wholly alarmed, but when I saw his laughing face I couldn't help but join in a little. And suddenly I was hanging my head because I was smiling like crazy and I couldn't seem to look at his face.

Cool. This person called me cool? I think I floated on a cloud for the next … ah, forever?

Potter was laughing it off already, as I fled to my bed with my face growing very warm. "Yeah, I'll be borrowing your astronomy notes, Lupin!"

Back then, I didn't understand what I was feeling when my heart beat so unbearably fast as he smiled at me like that. I couldn't comprehend why my neck and hands had gotten so hot and sweaty from just standing near him to point out a star. I had a slight inkling when he touched me … And later that night, when I caught a glimpse of him changing out of his robes. His skin was so pale, so smooth, and he was slender as anything; but his waist, shoulders, legs and arms were all undeniably, unbearably male. And masculine — oh, Merlin — so very, very masculine. And yet I couldn't help but amaze at how beautiful … handsome … elegant he was.

It embarrassed me. I didn't know why.

But it became clear rather quickly. That first night in the boys' dorm of Gryffindor tower, I had a wet dream about one of my classmates. And it was a guy, to boot.

So, yes, that's how I found out I was gay. I liked men. I liked their narrow hips and their slim chests and their broad shoulders, their veined forearms, rough hands, their knobbly knees and lean ankles. I liked them when they were somewhat toned without training, slender without trying, just naturally perfect … like the way Sirius was, for example. I liked their hair, all of it, the more the merrier. Especially dark hair, like Sirius', and when their eyes were bright and pale. I liked their smiles. Sirius had a great smile, you know. And their skin. I liked … er, how they look in shorts and so forth.

And ever since then I had been somewhat obsessed with Sirius Black.

Maybe you're wondering what it's like to be fanatical about someone so close to you. We were friends, after all, me and Sirius. Best friends, he would say. And yet I was highly aware of him and every face he had and every mole I could see embellishing his alabaster skin, and I had to make efforts not to ogle him too much and to not get too aroused when my thoughts ran away from me. And, obviously, I had to make sure he never found out I was gay. It would gross him out if he knew. It would gross most people out, so I would just have to remain celibate for literally my entire life.

Well, that was fine. It was manageable. It wasn't like I could settle for any old knob, anyway.

In the beginning I really was content just being around him. Looking at him. At his beautiful beauty. And touching him, occasionally, but only in friendly affectionate ways of course. But then the urges grew and that wasn't enough anymore, so I began fantasising. And the longer I knew him, the more obvious it became that I had absolutely no hope in the nine planes of hell of ever living out even my chastest daydreams. So they got smuttier, and steamier, and sicker.

You know, I think I might be a sadist?

Now, back in the present, Sirius smiled slightly, squinting up at the stars, and then turned to me with that same smile as he offered me the cigarette. I wondered if he remembered that night when he reached out to me, shared a smoke with me and let a carefree arm wrap around my shoulders. It was the first time in my life I had enjoyed that gentle teasing between friends, and I felt so happy to be accepted I could hardly contain it. And it made me happy that he was a good person. Mostly, I liked that he seemed to like me. And he was never afraid to show it. But, in all honesty, Sirius probably never even thought twice about it. Maybe he didn't even remember. Nevertheless, he really changed my life that day.

If you're feeling sorry for me now: do yourself a favour and don't. Maybe it's a little tragic, an unrequited love with one's straight best friend. But this was all on me, dear reader. I owed him so much, and yet every hour of every day I betrayed him with these lustful feelings. Sirius was such a loyal person, and yet I got close to him, confided in him, returned his friendship only — and I say only — because I was attracted to him. That's all it was, after all: attraction. I said he was a good person, and at the time I believed that to be true. But he wasn't always. He could be cruel and dumb and narcissistic. He wasn't a prince charming; in fact, he wasn't even very dateable.

Well, mostly, that was because Sirius Black did not date. But, either way, it wasn't like I was in love with him. There would be no point in that. It was a perverse desire, nothing more.

"… Right, Moony?"

"Ah, what?" I asked snapping back to the present.

Sirius sniggered. "I was just saying that you're the same, right? There're more interesting things in life than chasing skirts. You've never had a girlfriend, have you?"

"Er, well, no," I said, smoothing my fringe down over my eyes to hide my complete shame.

"Hear, hear, old boy! I swear, if you call her your girlfriend you'll only be waiting longer to get any of the stuff a girlfriend can give you. But if you don't call her ANYTHING, she'll be so eager to get you there she'll do anything ya bloody ask her to."

"That's awful," I said, because it was. Sirius was as mysoginistic as James was homophobic. But I wasn't a girl, so I didn't really care what he believed about girlfriends. Not enough to defend them, anyway. He could just call me when he started talking about boyfriends …

"Hold on a sec now," James butt in, "but yourself and Moony are single for two ENTIRELY different reasons."

"Oi oi oi!" shouted Sirius, grabbing me my the shoulder as I attempted to escape back to my four poster. "Don't go putting our Moony in the same boat as a speccy-eyed twat like you. This handsome fella? No way!" He ruffled my hair, and I tried to push him away. But he just grappled me and kept me in a tight headlock of a hug. "As for me, you can't beat ten thousand years of inbreeding. But he's got battle scars and everything. Sexy!"

"You're not funny, Sirius," I said, laughing a little nervously and managing to break out of his grip. He huffed a little as I went to my bed.

"I wasn't being funny," he replied. I turned to see him with his legs crossed broadly, his entire posture an invitation as he stared me down with cool eyes. "With a bit of confidence I'd say you'd turn into a right beast."

"If only you knew," I laughed gently.

"What the fuck is this faggotry?" laughed James. "Why don't ya give 'im a kiss, Padfoot?"

Sirius laughed, and then without warning leapt at me. For a moment we screamed and struggled, and then he managed to pin me down and began licking all over my face like a dog. I could hear laughter, and I could hear my own cries of resistance. But mostly I could hear those wet sounds, and the sound of my blood rushing to the outer layers of my skin … along with other places I'd rather not mention.

"GET OFF!" I yelled, and finally managed to shove Sirius off me. He fell to the ground, and looked up at me, blinking. Since it was Sirius, he was laughing again a second later.

Oh, I really hated him sometimes.

I found my feet. "That's disgusting," I said. I couldn't bring myself to look at Sirius.

"Too right," said James. Yes, let's all be homophobes. Better that than the other thing, right?

Sirius had stopped laughing anyway. That was good. He laughed too easily and too trivially and too cruelly most of the time. I cleared my throat a little, and dusted myself down. Oh, Merlin, I could smell his spit. And I was getting a bloody erection. "Well, I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"'Night!"

"Goodnight, Remus."

I walked to the bathroom door, clenching my teeth. Sirius always most artfully chose when to discard my nickname.

I could still hear them chatting after I shut and locked the bathroom door, and crumpled over the sink. My heart was beating so fast I thought I might get sick, and the sensation of his licking still vivid in my mind with the wet smeared on my face. I touched my cheek, stifling a groan as I felt the moistness and a shudder down my spine and into my hips.

Believe me, dear reader: the word love cannot be used to describe my feelings for my good friend Sirius. Love was too sweet and kind and gentle a word. If I loved him, I wouldn't want to hurt him. I wouldn't want to betray him. I wouldn't use his own innocently meant bodily fluids as lubricant while jerking off to the thoughts of pinning him down, and … and …

Fuck. But I wanted that, exactly that. I wanted to hold him down or tie him up and carve myself into his body, forcing him to feel me, to take responsibility and impose on him this maddening, insatiable lust I felt every minute of every hour I spent with him. Sometimes I imagined making him feel so good that he'd become addicted to me and crave me like a drug. Sometimes I thought I could make it hurt so much he'd break into pieces, for then I could put him back together however I pleased. Either way, I wanted to do it over and over until he couldn't do it with girls anymore, to abuse him until he couldn't do it with anyone anymore, no one but me. I wanted him to be mine, all mine, no matter how. Forever mine, until it killed him.

And you know what else? After all that horrid behaviour … I wanted to pretend it was love.

Thank God I was a coward, or maybe I would have done it already. So if you're still rooting for me, you may want to rethink your position.

… Unless you're a sadist, too, in which case I'll need all the support I can get!