Disclaimer;;
I am not J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing her characters to play with and promise to put them back when done.

Warnings;;
Angst, cutting, boys kissing and maybe language? I don't remember. And, to those who read BKS. BM., I promise on my own soul that Chapter Sixteen will go up this week even though I have no clue what to write and am very very stuck. =]

4. Dark

Blood seeped from the shallow cuts on his wrist, the wounds stinging. The warm liquid traveled in sick, twisting lines down his arm and stained his Muggle jeans. A small whimper escaped his lips as the blade kissed his skin again. The blood welled in the minute cut but it stung like hell. Never could he go deeper than this; he didn't want the scars, too many already decorating his body from the very disease that drove him to do this. Remus closed his eyes and leaned backwards against the wall, trying to absorb the sensation of pain and lose his thoughts. The somewhat dark corner of his bedroom felt safe although nothing and no one could protect the werewolf from his own mind.

His wrist throbbed but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. The need to let it out in some other way. The desire to see and smell the crimson on his arm. The distraction from his own mental anguish. Remus blamed the werewolf, the werewolf encouraged it. He looked down at his arm, the appendage just seen in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. He cringed at the bloody mess. Shifting, he raised his wrist and slowly licked his wounds. The metallic taste and scent engulfed his senses, causing his eyes to roll up in his head and make him moan in pleasure. Remus jerked his arm away, disgusted. He leaned over his arm on an impulse, fingers grasping the blade once again. Like a demon possessed, he cut again, gritting his teeth as he let it sink deeper and cut farther than ever before. The pain made him moan in ecstasy and cry out in anguish.

"Oh, God."

It was an understatement, the lycanthrope's eyes wide at the surging crimson tide that welled down his arm. It wouldn't be enough to kill him, not even through eventual blood loss. Perhaps the amount of blood staining his skin just seemed like a hell of a lot to him. Perhaps he hadn't really cut himself that badly and was just exaggerating. Remus wasn't sure but it hurt like hell and he was secretly pleased with that.

Revolted, Remus threw the blade away, listening to it skitter and stumble across the wooden floor. He huddled over his arm, pressing the wounds to his shirt. The pain intensified slightly and began to weep softly. Soon, the soft cries turned to heaving sobs, making his chest hurt almost as badly as his mutilated arm.

He wished he could stop.

He wished he could keep going.

He wished he knew why it felt so…delicious.

"Hey, Remus? I was thinking-"

The door opened and Sirius walked into the room.

"Remus," he breathed, moving around the bed and coming to his knees in front of the lycanthrope.

"Go away, Padfoot," Remus growled, angry at the man's sudden appearance. His voice was thick from crying and he snuffled, trying to stop sobbing. His arm still ached and his chest was still tight from the sobs that were trying to escape.

"No," Sirius said, moving forward on his knees.

"Go away," Remus growled again although the anger had seeped from his voice and he didn't sound nearly as threatening this time. Sirius said nothing but didn't move, waiting for Remus to calm down. The sobs slowly began to die away and Remus wiped his face with his good hand before looking at the other. On one hand, he wasn't surprised that Sirius had found him. The pureblood always did. On the other, he was surprised that his lover of seven years hadn't left him alone for good.

"Rem?" Sirius' voice beckoned to him like a mother to a child. Sirius shifted, moving to sit cross legged and leaned on one hand, fingers cupping his jaw perfectly. Remus pressed tighter backwards into the corner, resisting the urge to crawl into Sirius' lap and seek out the comfort that was blatantly being offered to him. He couldn't, didn't want Sirius to fix him again. Remus just couldn't bring himself to let that happen. He suspected that as he fell apart and Sirius fixed him, Sirius was secretly falling apart just like him. He stared at Sirius' face, his heart aching to just give in and go to the other man.

"I'm so sorry, Padfoot," he eventually whispered, his voice cracking slightly even at the soft volume, "So sorry." Remus dropped his head to his knees, breathing in the salty scent of his tears and the metallic scent of his blood. He listened to the soft shuffling of someone moving across a wood floor and felt the strong, warm arms of Sirius pulling him close. The sobs started again, this time not from pain but from regret and personal hate. He hated feeling like he made Sirius love him. He hated cutting himself. He hated that he hated so much.

The werewolf felt a hand stroking his hair, "It's okay. It's okay." The soft murmur was repeated again and again, comforting Remus far more than he thought it should. What would be okay? They would be okay? He would be okay? The cutting would be okay? He could barely think through his sobs, despite the lack of violence they held in them. Sirius shifted him and Remus found himself curled up in the man's lap, being rocked back and forth slowly, the soft murmur still going and his own sobs beginning to slow. His arm still hurt, reminding him suddenly of the bites he had received from Fenrir. Pain had become his drug.

Unable to resist giving in any longer, Remus shifted his own self, tucking his face into the crook of Sirius' neck. The warm skin felt brilliant on his face, like a ray of sunshine after a gloomy storm. He focused on the scent of the man that held him, trying to block out the still delicious taint of blood that lingered in his nostrils.

"I can't do this anymore," Remus whispered suddenly.

"I know," Sirius said, wrapping an arm around Remus' waist, the other around his legs. They didn't move, save for their slow breathing, for some time. This was it was like to be put back together, piece by piece, again and again. Merlin, he just couldn't handle this anymore. He was too shattered, too broken up to be put back together again. The pieces were beginning to break too small and Remus wasn't sure if even Sirius could scoop him back up again.

He pulled away for a moment, saying nothing. He looked down, staring at both his arm and Sirius' chest at the same time. "I'm sorry," he touched Sirius' shirt, "I bled on your shirt." A small smile broke across Sirius' face and he leaned forward to kiss Remus lightly on the lips.

"Let's get you fixed up," he murmured. He helped Remus stand, the werewolf unsure of himself again. He wanted to curl back up in the corner, retreat to the dark and hide this secret. His gaze fell to his arm. The cuts were awful looking, the skin around them both inflamed and stained from blood. He would have to wear long sleeves for quite a while after this. Sirius wrapped an arm around Remus' waist and led him to the bathroom. It was in this moment that Remus was glad Sirius had insisted on a house with a master bathroom attached to the master bedroom.

Remus perched on the edge of the tub, blinking at the glare of the light bulbs once Sirius had gone and flipped the switch. For all their magical background, this was the most Muggle house any one of their Wizarding friends lived in. This thought made Remus smile for a moment. He looked up at Sirius who was digging through the medicine cabinet for Merlin knows what. Sirius dropped the items from his hands onto the floor next to them, sitting down on the tub with Remus.

"Give me your arm," he said, twisting behind him at the same time to find a washcloth. Remus had pressed his arm against his shirt again and the fabric was clinging to the drying blood. He gritted his teeth as Sirius helped him peel it away. The cuts looked worse than before, smeared and aggravated. The largest wound still leaked a little bit of blood.

"Ouch," Sirius muttered, although more to himself than to Remus, "Here, this'll be a little bit cold but it'll help slow or stop the bleeding there." He ran the cold water in the tub, soaking the cloth and wiping Remus' arm carefully. Eventually, Sirius was satisfied with his cleaning job and began to gently dry Remus' skin before carefully placing wrapping his arm in cotton gauze before binding everything with medical tape.

"I'm sorry," Remus said for the millionth time.

"You're the one who insists on doing this the Muggle way," Sirius chuckled softly.

Remus allowed a small smile to creep onto his face, "No, no. That's not what I meant."

Sirius paused in wrapping Remus' arm up, "I know." The words were soft and quiet but they made Remus' heart tremble anyways. They sat in silence; Remus watching Sirius' deft hands line up the tape perfectly.

"There," he finally said, carefully snipping the tape and tucking it so that the edge wouldn't fray.

"Thanks," Remus mumbled. Sirius tousled his hair and began to shove things randomly into the medicine cabinet again. The glass door shut with a click and he looked at Remus, an eyebrow raised.

"Now, as I was thinking earlier, I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight," he said, "Go to your favorite little café, have some red wine and a steak, maybe dancing afterwards? I don't know if you still want to go though…" He trailed off, dark eyes slipping from Remus' face to the white tiled floor. Remus stood, wanting to cry again. How could someone so wonderful and caring stay with him, the horrid, broken and torn up werewolf?

"We don't have to go if you don't want to," Sirius grasped Remus' wrists, careful to not grip the bandaged one too tightly.

"It's not that," Remus said, attempting to stifle the sudden surge of lust that rose in his veins. Cutting always made him lusty but Sirius' sudden touch and show of love made Remus want to jump the man.

"Then what is-?"

Lips cut off Sirius' question, lust overtaking Remus' senses. He didn't know why the blade biting his skin did this to him. He didn't know why Sirius loved him. He didn't know anything other than the hot warm feeling of Sirius' tongue stroking his. He didn't know anything other than hot callused hands running under his shirt, up his back, around his waist and up his chest. Remus moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he practically raped Sirius' mouth, pushing the pureblood backwards against the wall.

"Rem," Sirius panted, pulling away, twisting his head to the side, "I hate that." Remus frowned for a moment. His arm throbbed worse than ever, causing him to screw up his eyes in pain. Sirius stroked the side of the werewolf's face gently.

"Sorry," they both murmured at the same time.

"Sirius, I," his voice faltered, falling like a stone and he dropped his head. There was no way to explain the utter confusion, the pain, the lust, the want for an end, the desire to continue, the constant hunger for love and the constant revolting ache of what he was. He looked up, eyes searching Sirius' face for something, anything. Remus didn't know what.

The Animagi embraced him, gently, lovingly, attempting to send as much comfort and love to the werewolf as possible. He wanted to pull Remus from the dark, wanted to show him that life was beautiful here in the light despite his lover's utter disgust with being a werewolf. Remus knew this; he knew it very well. He breathed in the scent of Sirius around him, felt slow, gentle lips on his neck, trying to comfort him.

"I'm here, Remus, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Remus shuddered, the truth of the words slipping through his mind, heart and soul.

"I know."

Perhaps one day he would let Sirius show him the way from the darkness that consumed him. One day, Remus thought, Sirius' light would be enough for him. For now, he would cling to that and try to fumble his way out of the darkness.