Unsure, Insecure
Disclaimer: I had wanted to own everything but I decided to share eventually. Characters belong to JKR and the plot is mine. She gets the money, I get hot smex .
Warning: Still Yaoi.
A/N: It's maybe not what you expect it to be, it's most probably not what you want it to be. I didn't plan it this way, it just happened. It was like this and I'll be glad if you read and enjoy it, and maybe let me know what you think.
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Bill was gone.
Remus had been waiting the whole day. Waiting for Bill to return home, to hug him and say that it was over with Fleur, that he had chosen him. Actually, by the seven p.m. Remus had managed to convince himself that it could be no other way; he was always good with lying to himself.
Maybe that was the reason why it was such a shock to him when the old Errol bumped into his window and delivered a message, a short note obviously written in a rush.
Staying at Burrow tonight. B.
For another hour, Remus had been trying to preoccupy his mind with reading. It had absolutely no effect as his mind wandered off to a direction different from anything that book might be about. He made a cup of coffee, but it seemed too bitter when drinking alone. He made a cup of tea, but was the same and it just made him feel worse. Not to mention the fact that the only tea in the sickeningly empty flat tasted like Bill's apple and cinnamon lips.
Remus even found an old bottle of cognac and tried to get himself drunk, but it didn't work either as he'd always had a high alcohol tolerance and three cups of amber liquid just made him a bit dizzy and a lot more alone. His loneliness stared at him from every corner through Bill's eyes and Remus tried his best not to hear that there was nothing to hear. The absolute silence swallowed him like a dark abyss and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He needed to get out of here, get out of the place that gasped Bill's name in his own aroused voice whenever he allowed his mind to wander through his memories.
He found himself at the street, shivering from cold as he stood there only in a thin linen shirt. It didn't matter that much, even though it was November night, freezing and merciless. Only a few weeks until Christmas, it struck him and he looked upwards, to the ink sky that seemed more blue than black with all that mist and distant moonlight. Another Christmas alone.
A random passerby looked at him, a weird mix of pity and aversion on her middle-aged face. She looked just like he could have looked if he was rich, married and happy, with someone to be with at Christmas.
"Go get something warm," she said and he found a crumpled ten pound banknote in his hand. He smiled sourly at the irony, as his flat with a cliché fireplace was just few steps away and he stood there, challenging his Destiny with a call for pneumonia in that thin shirt.
And he looked so lost and stray that a stranger gave him money. Ironic, wasn't it… he got the money he had needed his whole life now, when money was the last thing he was thinking about.
"Thank you," he raised his eyes from the meaningless paper in his hands, but the lady was long gone. Remus grinned as the idea of a good fairy crossed his mind and then shrugged.
He had money and he couldn't go home, because that place wasn't homely anymore. Home is where you have your heart, eh, he thought and looked at the window that was once a place like that. It was still lit up; he must have forgotten to switch the lamp off. He knew he wouldn't survive another minute in there… and his heart was dry and he felt invisible and he had the money still in his hand. It was everything he needed when he headed towards the city to find a club, a café, any place where he could spend those ten pounds.
And the people looked at him, not really seeing him, people in warm coats and scarves who could afford to pity him, because their hearts had been put in right places.
Soon he was shaking from cold. That night was November in every manner, unpleasant and dark and artificially bright at the same time as the streetlights burned his eyes violently. Tiny snowflakes were falling and he could feel each and every of them, melting into his shirt and making his little walk even more miserable if possible. He walked the streets that were too quiet and too noisy, because that night was full of irony and paradoxes. He heard the silence of loneliness unfolding in front of him like a veil and he felt almost physically every single beat of loud music that poured out of various night clubs.
Finally the cold became unbearable and he came in to one of the doors with lights and colorful ads outside.
There were dozens, maybe hundreds of people, mostly young but some even older than Remus and the atmosphere of solitude hit him like a hammer on the head. Even though there were people everywhere he looked, and they were smiling and dancing and thoroughly trying to look as if they were enjoying themselves… he could feel that general isolation tingling in the smoke-filled air. Everyone was alone in the middle of the society and he smiled at another paradox of that night – he instinctively came to the place that was soaked in the feeling he tried to run away from.
He sat down at the bar and ordered absinthe. With his resistance to alcohol and the money he had, there was not even a chance to get really pissed, but he could still give it a try.
Remus downed his drink in one gulp and ordered second. It was not until he finished his third glass, last with the money he had, when he realized someone's watching him.
"Will you let me treat you?"
Smooth voice was almost inaudible in all that noise around, but Remus heard it, as if those piercing turquoise eyes could send the message directly to his brain. He was not drunk, he was far from it… but something in him didn't stop the young man to order him another absinthe. Something deep down in him didn't want to stop that man, handsome, young and obviously rich, everything Remus wasn't and everything he craved at the moment.
He downed his drink and looked the stranger in the eyes fiercely.
"You sure can drink," the man smiled and waved his hand at the bartender again. Another glass appeared in front of Remus.
"I'm William."
Remus looked at him. That last drink stayed untouched as an imaginary border between what is and what could be.
"I'm Remus."
"That's a weird name," William laughed and threw his head back, his dark hair falling from his face and touching his neck lightly in a manner Remus had once known so well. It was almost a disappointment, when William looked at him again and instead of chocolate depths, there was that intense turquoise.
"You remind me of Sirius," Remus whispered absentmindedly as he touched the glass that glared at him with intensity of William's eyes. Drinking that absinthe was like drinking from the man's soul and it felt so distinctively warm Remus couldn't help but savour the taste lingering on his tongue longer than before.
"So you like stars, huh?" William smiled again, his voice rich with deep, seductive melody. He was much younger than Remus; the werewolf guessed about twenty-three or maybe even less, and his flirtations were a bit awkward, but he was so sure of himself and his beauty that Remus couldn't resist. His look lingered at the younger man and he smiled through the last gulp of blue-green liquid.
He stopped William from waving at the bartender again and he almost drew his hand touching William's fingers back, scared of his own boldness.
Almost.
"You've got eyes of a beast," William muttered, obviously fascinated and drawn to the older man like a fly to the light. Remus just smirked when the eager youngster leaned to him the moment they left that nightclub, kissing him passionately. His lips were a bit stiff and Remus figured he wasn't very experienced, regarding how his movements were somehow hasty. He slowly forced the younger man to slow down and kissed him thoroughly, biting at his lower lip, exploring his mouth and letting William know about his longer canines. The youngster seemed surprised, but even more aroused by that discovery.
Remus still wasn't drunk; he knew what he was doing… only he didn't know anything anymore. The only certainty he had had in life was now in Burrow discussing his oncoming wedding and he was in the part of city where he had never been before, letting some random man hug him and kiss him and lick him in a way he thought he would never let anyone to. Anyone except two men in his life, from which one was dead and another was getting married soon.
And the random man looked like that dead one and was named after the soon-to-be-married one, looked like a torture sent to him from Hell, or maybe Heaven, it didn't feel that different to Remus anymore. He was Bill and he was Sirius and he was neither, but still, he was Bill and looked like Sirius and he was a natural talent in the ways of body as he licked his way down Remus' throat and chest, smiling against his bare skin:
"You're cold."
"I am," Remus whispered and felt another snowflake melting in his eye and sliding down his unshaved cheek.
"I'll warm you up."
The dull sound of pants unzipping echoed through the deserted alley, louder than the music from underground club which Remus felt under his feet. He closed his eyes, knowing it wasn't fair and he didn't want to be fair, he just wanted to forget it all and the hot mouth around his cock was the worst way to do it. It was filthy and nasty and so absolutely loathsome it made Remus shiver in disgust. But still, it was disgust mixed with pleasure and he didn't have to try too hard to forget another mouth that had once been there. Because William was inexperienced and his teeth scraped Remus' sensitive skin occasionally, bringing him a weird mix of pain and pleasure, a strange need to push deeper in that mouth and draw back from them.
Remus knew and felt the disgust, but this was the most radical thing he could think of doing and even if he wanted to cry and run away, he was still there, standing motionless and coming deep into that willing mouth of a stranger with the face of Sirius and the name of Bill.
He didn't know how he managed to come back home – he didn't even know if he had returned the favour of a stranger named after his home. But he somehow managed and he found himself sitting at the floor of his flat, sobbing loudly, tears streaking his face and his fingers in his hair, pulling to the point of pain, but he didn't care, he needed pain because it was at least a bit real and familiar and it was the only homely feeling he could get at the moment. The homely feeling of the Shrieking Shack, where he had hurt himself, where he had bitten through his own flesh and his self-destructive cries of helplessness had eased it all at least a little bit. Suddenly, he wished for the full moon to come, so he could transform and bite himself so much he would bleed to death.
And the idea of full moon reminded him of Bill once again.
He cried until his head hurt and there were no more tears to shed.
