Sirius
Remus was looking at him.
He was. His head had turned and his eyes had locked and his mouth had opened in an ' o' of surprise, the most tempting, terrifying chasm Sirius had ever laid eyes on. He wanted to get lost in it. He wanted to run away.
He did neither.
Instead, his legs carried him closer, step by step and breath by gasping breath.
Soon — and it was too soon, far too soon, his mind only just catching up with the reality of the moment; and yet it was also an age, and he was growing old with the waiting, the endless waiting — he found himself directly in front of Remus.
Remus, whose eyes were wide and pupils dilated.
Remus, who was here, like a vision summoned by Sirius' most desperate wishes, his curly hair wild with the wind and his cheeks flushed pink and his lips parted and wondering. "Sirius?" he asked, and the sound was hardly more than an exhale but still, it crashed over Sirius like a tidal wave.
No, not a tidal wave. This didn't feel like drowning; not anymore. Rather, it felt like maybe he was finally glimpsing the sunlight that waited for him at the surface.
Sirius said nothing, only stood there, his eyes darting from one of Remus' to the other. Seeking permission, or reassurance, or maybe just that sense of home that he had discovered there all those weeks ago. Discovered there before he even knew how to name it.
And it was there; still there. It was clouded with confusion and surprise and that special glint that Sirius had come to learn was Remus figuring everything out. And for the first time in forever, being seen and discovered and untangled didn't feel like trespass.
"Sirius?" Remus whispered again.
Sirius licked his lips. He tried to speak. "I —".
But words were not what he wanted right now, and in any case, they wouldn't express a fraction of what he needed them to.
Eyes still locked on Remus', he took one, last, stumbling step forwards. He raised a hand, and slowly — so slowly — he pressed it to Remus' cheek. And Remus — Remus pressed back, the warm, stubble-rough skin of his cheek tickling Sirius' palm.
At first it's only a faint brush of lips. Sirius leans back slightly to check Remus' face, to discover if he has brazened himself once more into something he doesn't understand. Remus' eyes are nearly entirely closed, just lashes fanned across cheeks and a glimmer of whiskey colour. His lips are still parted invitingly, and that's all Sirius has time to process before the draw overwhelms him again and he is leaning back in
And then it was gravity, really, more than anything else, and isn't that what this had been all along? Just an undeniable force of the universe? Just lips crushed together and roving hands and the heavy, incontrovertible weight of this matters making every piece of him feel grounded for the first time in he doesn't know how long. Sirius tries to put everything into the kiss: his newfound certainty, the decisions he's made. He doesn't know if he succeeds, but either way, Remus is kissing him back, his mouth hot and curious, his hands roaming wonderingly over Sirius' back.
When they finally parted for breath, and Sirius reopened his eyes, the world looked green. He blinked to restore the balance of the golden sunlight, and to bring Remus' face back into focus. His hair was falling into his eyes, but he could see that Remus looked as awestruck as he felt.
Remus lifted his hand and ran his fingers lightly back and forth over his kiss-plump lips. "That was surprising."
Sirius, whose eyes were following the path of Remus' fingers, abruptly swept his gaze upwards in order to find Remus' eyes instead. They were crinkled at the corners.
"Good surprising?" he asked, although he thought he already knew the answer.
"Very good," Remus whispered. He reached out a hand and brushed the falling locks of hair away from Sirius' face. He was leaning in again already, his lips ready and tantalising
And Sirius, who had never been one to hesitate, squeezed Remus on his upper arm and said, "Wait."
Remus froze, uncertain, and Sirius hurried to explain. "I just — well, last time, you said you wanted to wait until I was ready, and —"
"It's okay, Sirius, I should never have pressured you —"
"You didn't pressure me, you —"
"I'm ready to try, and I'm tired of —"
Sirius began to laugh. He couldn't help himself, the relief and the joy were starting to hit him now, and suddenly everything in the world seemed funny. Not least of which was that, apparently, he and Remus had had simultaneous epiphanies.
Remus stopped trying to explain himself, a crooked smile spreading across his face. "What?" he asked.
Sirius took a deep breath, shaking his head ruefully back and forth. "What I was trying to say," he said, "is that — well, I came out. To, er, Lily and James. And Regulus. I told them that I'm — that I'm gay."
He'd said it out loud three times now, and it still made his pulse race. He willed his heart rate back down and met Remus' eyes. Remus' eyes that were shining like the last rays of sunlight against the glittering ocean.
"I just — I realised that if I'm going to be good for other people, for Reg and for Haz, and for — for you, and for everyone else, well, I need to be good for myself first. And this is good for me. I know it is. And you're — you're good for me. And finally, fuck —" he looked away from Remus and towards the horizon, where the last whisps of orange cloud were mixing with the purple sky — "finally I'm doing something that isn't about my parents. I'm not trying to spite them, or run away from them, or from the things they made me afraid of. I'm doing it for me. And that, fuck," — he brushed his hand across his eyes, annoyed but not surprised to find them damp with the tears — "fuck, I'm just —"
But there's nothing left to say, really. He's never been good at his own words, so much better at channeling a character or a script or even a comic persona, an elevated Sirius that the public might think of as him but which was distant from him as Jupiter from the Sun.
He forced himself to look back at Remus, to discover how his revelations had been met. Remus was watching him, the expression on his face impossible to read.
Remus
Remus felt as if his femurs were floating somewhere above his kneecaps, disconnected but still aligned. Usually, he associated this feeling of unreality with something sinister. Sometimes, he associated it with red wine. Just now, it had much more to do with the flashing of Sirius' eyes as he unreeled his thoughts like a magician pulling a chain of handkerchiefs from his sleeve.
And the only thing in Remus' mind was: I think I love you. I really think I love you.
He tensed for the fear that would follow that thought, and when it didn't come, he met an entirely new kind of terror: the absence of fear where it ought to have been. Fear had been a protection: a signal to retreat or to steel himself or to pay closer attention. He'd lived with the fear for so long, adapting to it and making allowances for it, like a tree that's made to grow around a metal stake. When the stake was removed, the hole remained.
Dinah was right: he wasn't doomed. And not because he was defeating his past or forgetting it, but because Sirius was here, letting history engulf him even as he released himself from its hold, and Remus' mind was reordering itself. He watched cruel memory and bastard hope and the unavoidable, beloved, painful, precious, in-and-out breath of the present coexist.
A euphoria he didn't recognise filled him up like a helium balloon. Without pausing to reconsider, he reeled Sirius back in for another long, searing, breathless kiss. Then, to his wonderment, Remus was crying, and they were the first tears that he'd felt against his cheeks in years and years. Sirius broke the kiss and swiped at the tears with his own long, calloused fingers, his voice low and solicitous as he asked Remus if everything was alright.
"Yes," Remus choked, truthful. Sirius watched him carefully for a moment, then nodded. He took Remus by the hand, and it was odd, but the feeling of that strong, warm hand around his own was more affecting than even the kiss had been. There'd been kisses over the years — good ones, bad ones, hot ones and chaste ones and the ones remembered alone in the shower and the ones forgotten as quickly as possible. There had been no hands to hold. There had been no thumbs to rub gently along his knuckles.
"We could walk?" Sirius asked, nodding towards the beach. Remus had to laugh, even as his eyelashes remained wet with tears. It was the same stretch of beach where Sirius had first kissed him, and where they had watched the stars together while eating soft cheese. It was their beach.
"Yeah, let's," Remus replied, and he let Sirius lead him by the hand to the place where the water kissed the sand in a ragged line of foam.
They walked through the night. When they grew tired, they sat. When they grew cold, they raced one another down the beach and embraced and kissed until their blood was warm again.
Conversation was their steady companion, sometimes bubbling over as they talked and laughed and nearly shouted over one another in their eagerness, sometimes simmering low and quiet in the background as they let other things take precedence.
Sirius asked Remus about the day he had spent with Regulus, curious to learn the things they had talked about and Remus' impressions of his brother. Remus asked Sirius about his early days in the industry, those hungry years when he was feuled by ambition and self-belief and not much else.
They compared ice cream preference and favourite smells, then somehow got around to abusing the Tories and the American government, which seemed closer and closer to implosion with each passing day. They discussed the production, their hopes for it and the people they would miss when it was wrapped. Slughorn, who Remus could hardly abide but Sirius found funny, and Genevieve with her sharp tongue and hard head and soft heart.
As the night marched around towards morning and they grew in turns earnest and silly with exhaustion, Sirius admitted that he was scared to let the world see the film; that he had put so much of himself into Achilles, more than he had ever allowed himself to put into a character before. Remus, half-gone with tiredness and tiptoeing along the precipice of love, quoted Rilke in response.
"How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us."
Sirius laughed at him and called him a bloody aesthete , but his eyes glowed, and when Remus reached the end of the bit he had memorised and started mumbling every other word, Sirius shut him up with a kiss.
When the sun began peeking over the horizon, lightening the sky by degrees, they returned to the apartment Remus shared with Marlena and Dinah in the town.
"Will you come up?" Remus asked, knowing the answer but hoping anyway.
Sirius shook his head, eyes smiling but lips downturned. "You're call time is much earlier than mine today. You should grab some sleep while you can." It was true — the crew had been called far earlier that day than the actors, and Sirius could sleep until ten if he so chose — but they both knew it wasn't the real reason Sirius declined.
"Soon," Sirius whispered, before pressing one, last, lingering kiss to Remus' lips and turning to pace away down the road.
Sirius
It was the final day on set for much of the ensemble cast. The entire crew applauded as Ewan announced production wraps for Slughorn, Fleur, and Omar. Lunch that day was a celebration: James swept in like the world's rowdiest, most casually-dressed butler bearing platters of food from the restaurant they had all visited on the first night, and Slughorn made an enormous fuss out of presenting Lily with a bottle of champagne.
"For our fearless leader!" he cried jovially. "May your star only continue to rise!"
Everyone applauded again, and Lily gave a beaming smile that turned from pleased to affectionately exasperated when Horace continued, "This bottle cost me three hundred quid! So enjoy it!" He then made a brief show of reluctance when Lily tried to take it from his hand.
Remus was standing to Lily's left, across the table from Sirius, and their eyes met briefly as everyone indulged Slughorn in another laugh. Remus rolled his eyes and then winked, and Sirius was thrust back into memories of the night before and the conversations they had shared.
And then the things they had done when the conversations ceased.
His focus, which had been flighty at best throughout that morning's scenes, abandoned him completely. He stared mesmerised at Remus until a hearty throat-clearing by his shoulder shook him from his fantasies.
It was Slughorn, standing with a hand outstretched and a twinkling smile on his face.
"Sirius, m'boy!" he rumbled. "It was an honour to share the stage with you, so to speak. You're a fine young actor."
Sirius clasped Slughorn's hand. "Pleasure was all mine, Horace," he said. He was an actor, after all, and he knew a cue when he heard one.
Slughorn laughed again, all self-satisfaction. "And don't forget it!
"Wouldn't dream of it!" Sirius laughed too, and the sound was almost manic to his ears. Fuck, but could they all just leave already? He was starting to see what Remus had meant last night. Slughorn was a bit of an arse.
At last, Slughorn moved on to terrorising Elijah — and it was terror in his case, his eyes wide and surprised as the older actor turned on the charm he reserved only for those he thought might take him to high places. Elijah was too green and too humble to know that Slughorn's uncomfortable attentions were only an indication of the potential he so obviously possessed.
Sirius turned to give Remus another comiseratory look but stopped when he found Lily smiling at him like the cat that ate the canary. She had been gone already when he returned to the villa that morning, and James had been preoccupied with a squalling Harry. Regulus, blessedly, had still been asleep, and so Sirius had managed to avoid the inquisition thus far. He knew he wouldn't be so lucky for long.
He looked back to his plate and watched the spice-red oil pooling in the crinkles of the plastic border. He could feel himself flushing, the heat like an iron pressed against his face.
He never used to blush.
When lunch was over, they returned to set to the soundstage to shoot that afternoon's scene. Lily and Alice had made every effort to shoot the film sequentially — Lily believed in giving her actors the opportunity to work through their characters' progressions as naturally as possible — but, well, film was a business as much as it was an art form, and certain constraints had come into play.
Money. The constraints were money.
What that meant for today was that they were shooting a scene from very early in the script. Sirius and Elijah were being forced to age their characters, who had grown to maturity over the course of the film, back down to adolescence.
"This feels very weird," Sirius told Belinda, as she restyled his wig to match the continuity shots they had from the previous 'Young Achilles' scenes.
"Mmm," she hummed around the pins in her mouth.
"Like, very weird. And who the fuck is going to believe I'm sixteen? This is what's wrong with Hollywood."
"Stop talking," Erika, the makeup assistant, warned. She was preparing his face with her signature series of ointments and tinctures. Feeling his cheeks, she scowled at him. "You'd be much easier to pass off as a sixteen year old if you had remembered to bloody shave."
Sirius felt himself flush again. He had known while getting ready to leave that morning that there was something important he was forgetting, but in his lovestruck and sleep deprived state, he could not for the life of him remember what .
As Erika ran off to find the disposable razor and shaving foam, Belinda peered at him over the tops of her narrow spectacles, finding his eyes in the mirror's reflection.
"Good night last night?" she asked.
"What?" Sirius spluttered.
"Only, you look like a raccoon and you smile every time you think no one is looking."
Sirius sniffed. "I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."
When Erika returned with the shaving kit, he was more careful to squelch his smiles. All his efforts towards circumspection failed, however, when it came time to apply makeup.
"What did you do?" she wailed, contemplating his under-eyes. "You look like you haven't slept for forty years."
She wasn't really looking for a reply and he didn't supply her with one. He leant back and tried to sink into the nonbeing of the makeup chair while she worked her magic.
She dabbed orange powder under his eyes to cancel out the blueish tint that betrayed his sleeplessness, then layered on more concealer, foundation, and bronzer. Sirius felt like a cake, but he couldn't find it in himself to complain about the many layers of pigment. At least they spared him from sharing his continuous blush with the entire world. He had more sympathy for Elijah with every passing moment.
When Belinda and Erika finally deemed him "passable" and "as close to sixteen as he was ever going to get," he shrugged on the 'Young Achilles' tunic and tromped his way to set. Lily, Elijah, and the entire crew were already waiting for him there.
Remus was there.
Sirius tried very hard to ignore that fact, but it didn't work. He watched Remus and carefully searched for the man's reaction to his ludicrous appearance as he made his way towards Lily and her ever-present, mildly-threatening clipboard.
"Sirius!" Lily exclaimed upon seeing him. "Kind of you to join us at last."
"Not my fault," he grumbled without malice, still watching Remus. Remus was watching him back which — well, he wished he was wearing more than a thin cotton tunic and a leather belt.
Lily cleared her throat meaningfully, and he looked towards her. Her eyebrows were quirked in a most irritating fashion. He wanted to kick her. (He wanted to get Remus alone again far more, but as far as things that felt possible, kicking Lily was a bit nearer to hand).
Elijah didn't appear to have any understanding of the bolts of desire and smugness that were shooting around the sound stage. He merely stood in his place, looking dishevelled and young and perfectly suited to his role. The bastard.
"So," Lily said, still smiling. Sirius hated her and loved her in equal measure. "Today we finally have the lyre-lesson scene. It's a weird feeling, shooting this scene, which is really the first significant interaction between these two characters, just as we come to the end of our work with them. Before we jump in, any outstanding thoughts or questions?"
Elijah, predictably, cleared his throat and opened his mouth, ready to speak at Lily's first invitation. She nodded to him.
"So, this scene," he clarified, as if there was anything else they could possibly be talking about. "Is this the scene where they fall in love?"
Well, fuck.
Lily pursed her lips and, as was her habit, turned the question back on both of them.
"I'm not sure," Elijah said, "because when I look at the beats of the scene — Sirius rescues me from punishment, and then takes me to his music lesson, and then I listen to him play his lyre and it's amazing — like, that all sounds like the ingredients for falling in love. Gratitude and awe and respect. And like, just, kindness."
Lily only hummed, and turned to face Sirius. Once again, he refocused his wandering gaze — only Remus' back was visible now as he discussed with Dinah the relative merits of various lyres — and met her knowing gaze. Determined not to give her any more satisfaction, he searched through the part of his mind that stored the last words spoken to him without really understanding them.
"Those might be the ingredients for love," he said finally, "but I don't know that they will be received that way immediately."
Lily smiled, her satisfaction warming rather than galling. She waved her hand, encouraging him to elaborate.
He closed his eyes briefly in an effort to clear his mind and organise his thoughts, and his exhaustion asserted itself like sand trapped behind his lids. When he reopened them, Remus had turned around again. He was watching him, and smiling gently. He looked even more exhausted than Sirius felt.
"Well, they don't know each other yet, right? And, I mean, all of those beats that you referenced" — he flicked his gaze towards Elijah — "they're accurate, but they hold other things within them, too. Like, why is Achilles in the position to save Patroclus from punishment? Because Achilles is still a prince, and Patroclus has been exiled. What instrument is Achilles playing at the music lesson? Patroclus' mother's lyre. So sure, there's gratitude and respect but there's also resentment and jealousy and well, I mean," he licked his lips and his eyes, without his bidding, met Remus' again. "They might be falling in love, but I don't think either of them realise it yet. Or, at least, Patroclus doesn't. He's very — he's very young. He doesn't know anything yet."
It was a lame way to finish, but he had run out of steam. And anyway, they were very young. And Sirius was starting to feel the rawness of that in his bones and not just in the makeup slathered on his face.
When they began rolling, Sirius pulled the memory of that first shared cigarette outside of the restaurant to the forefront of his mind. The feelings he hadn't understood but which he now recognised as the first inklings of love.
Looking at Elijah, he saw only Patroclus, lost in a web of frustration and resentment. The very same web Sirius had viewed as native to himself for so long. In that moment, it was all too easy to be sixteen years old, confronted for the first time with feelings too tangled and too terrifying to comprehend.
Remus
Watching films as a child, Remus had never given the "how" of their creation much thought. They simply existed, enrapturing and alien and, sometimes, overwhelming.
Then, helping Lily with her projects in uni, the whole business began to seem ordinary. Everything had been on a small scale: a single camera, a dinky pair of LED lights from the University's media centre, a microphone that had seen better days. Setting up had taken a matter of minutes, because how hard could it be to reposition two light sources and a DSLR camera? The secrets of Hollywood had seemingly been unveiled—nothing special after all, just standing about in the rain holding a long stick until your hands and feet were numb.
Now, standing on a real soundstage, in a corner where he wouldn't get underfoot, he watched the vast beast of production trundle through its habitual steps. The assistant camera people repositioned the black behemoth, Alice oversaw the electrical team as they relit the set, Trevor checked the audio levels and then checked them again. Then, when all was said and all was done, Lily glanced at the monitor, threw out a couple off-hand notes, and the adjustments began all over again.
It was thrilling and it was boring. It was novel and it was repetitive. Mostly, it was exhausting. Or, at least, Remus was exhausted. He was also mesmerised.
Sirius was mesmerising.
Just, entirely intoxicating in every respect from his improbably fetching wig to the rippling muscles of his shoulders beneath the thin fabric of his tunic to the aching sincerity in his bright grey eyes.
Just now, those eyes were locked on his. Sirius was across the room in his folding chair, sipping absentmindedly from a plastic water bottle, flipping back and forth through the pages of the dogeared script in his lap, and watching Remus.
He smiled at Remus and raised his eyebrows.
Remus wrinkled his nose.
Sirius sucked in his cheeks, making a fish-face.
Remus stretched his tongue up and out to touch the tip of his own nose.
Sirius, who'd just taken another gulp of water, snorted and spewed the water out through his nose and all over the cotton of his tunic and the pages of his script.
Within a split second, Marlena and Belinda had descended on him like carrion birds.
"Amore!" Marlena chastised as she dabbed at the wet spot on his chest. "If you thought you were going to make a mess, you should have asked for a bib!"
"We'll need more powder," said Belinda, gesturing for Erika.
"Bring the hair dryer as well!" Marlena yelled after her as she ran for the HMU trailer. "We'll need to dry this tunic out."
Lily, who was discoursing with Alice about lenses, heard and spun around. "What do we have here?" she asked.
"Silly boy dribbled water on his costume," Marlena explained. "At least it wasn't that ridiculous Gatorade he likes."
"Mmm," Lily hummed. She looked over her shoulder and, finding Remus looking sheepish and sitting directly in Sirius' eye line, grinned wickedly. "Good thing indeed."
"It will dry on its own in a moment!" Sirius protested as Erika, having returned with the hairdryer, plugged it in, turned it on to its highest setting, and pointed it directly at his chest. He looked absolutely miserable. Remus might have felt guilty if it hadn't all been so endearing.
By the time Marlena, Belinda, and Erika had decreed Sirius once again presentable, the technical crew had finished setting up. They were ready for the final shot of the day—a wide angle of the lyre scene that they had saved for last because Alice planned to attempt some more sophisticated motion.
Usually, they started with the wide and worked their way in closer, giving the actors a chance to warm up their performances before the intimacy of the close-ups. In this case, however, they were banking on Alice's and Lily's perfectionism: putting it last, they could keep going until it was perfect. Or until they went into overtime. Whichever came first.
(It was always the overtime).
Sirius and Elijah got into position in the centre of the set, Sirius in an intricately carved wooden chair and Elijah cross-legged on the ground nearby. The crew scattered to the perimetres of the room to leave the entirety of the dressed stage free and open. Alice, getting settled in her rig, checked the work of the focus puller and nodded her approval. She threw a thumbs up to Lily.
They were relying on lavaliers for this shot, since the boom operator wouldn't be able to get close enough to capture good sound without stepping into frame. Trevor stood out of the way, listening intently through his headphones and adjusting the lavs on the fly. Lily wore headphones to listen along to the dialogue. Ewan and Ellen the script supervisor were kitted out with headphones as well.
"Ready, boys?" Lily asked.
Sirius nodded a slightly listless assent. It seemed the length of his day had begun to hit him. Elijah threw out two thumbs up.
"Fantastic," Lily said. "Alright then. Camera rolling?"
"Rolling!"
"Sound speeding?"
"Spee—"
A loud ringing interrupted Trevor's reply.
"Quiet on set!" Ewan roared.
Kristy ran forwards, holding the ringing mobile in her outstretched hand.
"It's yours, Ewan," she said apologetically.
"Oh bugger," Ewan said, taking it from her. And then, checking the display, he yelped, " Oh BUGGER!" He ripped his headphones and their receiver off and bundled them, alongside his clipboard, into Remus' hands. He then sprinted from the soundstage, picking up the call as he went.
A brief moment of shocked silence followed this uncharacteristic explosion. Then, Lily clapped her hands together and called the room to order.
"Ellen, you'll cover for Ewan until he's back. Camera still rolling? Sound still speeding? Actors still ready? Alright, then let's go."
Remus turned to Kristy, holding out Ewan's headphones. "What should I do with these?" he asked.
"You can wear them, if you like," she said. Her walkie talkie was going off and she was walking away before Remus could ask her anything else.
Remus, used to the punishing pace of the set by then, shrugged, tugged the headphones on, and clipped the receiver pack to his belt. Then, receding back into his corner, he watched the action unfurl all over again.
Sirius and Elijah had gone through the scene twelve times by then and Remus had to restrain himself from speaking the lines along with them.
"I should not be here", said Patroclus. "Your father will be angry."
"Nonsense", said Achilles. "You are my invited companion. I want you here."
"Why?" asked Patroclus, the heat of his shame and resentment warring with the chill of his fear and isolation.
Achilles paused, a long beat, before answering. "Because I do," he finally said. Were he not a prince, it would have been no answer at all. As he was, Patroclus made no argument.
As the two conversed, Alice was swooping silently around them in a semicircle. She kept well distant from them, the golden haze the lighting team had worked so hard to perfect acting as a buffer between the two boys and the rest of the world.
Achilles reached for the gilded chest that sat beside his chair and pulled out an instrument, finely detailed and exquisitely crafted. Patroclus stiffened, recognising the instrument as the one that had once belonged to his mother. He had lost his right to it when had lost his prince hood and his freedom.
Achilles observed the movement—or rather, the cessation of it— and raised his eyebrows at Patroclus. He asked no question, however, only placed his fingers carefully and began to play.
Sirius had never met a lyre before the beginning of shooting, but it was not for nothing that he had been the lead guitarist in internationally renowned musician James Potter's first ever band. A musical antiquities specialist had come in several weeks previous and taught him some basics. He'd run with it from there.
As Achilles played, the golden air around the two boys seemed to turn to stone. It was a stillness alien to their world. It was a breath held by the gods. Patroclus watched Achilles play in rapt silence, his eyes glimmering.
Achilles slipped from his chair, coiling himself on the floor beside Patroclus. Patroclus adjusted with his entire body as Achilles resettled and his eyes never moved from the other boy's downwards tilted face.
As the music trickled to its end, Patroclus hurried to look away before Achilles could look up and find his jealous eyes. He watched his hands, picking at the rough fabric of his hem, as Achilles laid the instrument tenderly back inside the chest.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked Patroclus.
Patroclus nodded but made no move to get up.
Achilles watched him, curious and slightly apprehensive.
Alice tripped over a cable that hadn't been properly taped down. Lily nearly screamed for the cut as she bolted forwards to steady Alice. From the other side of the room, the first AC, Edgar, came running to save the camera and its rig from crashing to the ground.
"Are you alright?" Lily asked, looking at Alice with a gravity that Remus could not parse.
"I'm fine, Lils," she said. "Just stumbled on the cable." She used the toe of her boot to indicate the precarious tape job.
Lily glared daggers at Edgar.
He raised his hands defensively. "We'll fix it!"
"Do it now."
As Edgar beckoned for the second AC to come forwards with the gaff tape, Remus was shaken by a sudden chill. It was doubtless his sleeplessness. He'd read somewhere that when your sleep cycle was out of whack, it screwed with your metabolism. He searched for his jumper in his bag and pulled it on over his head, sending the headphones askew. He cursed and wished for a speedy end to the day. He wanted a nap. He wanted a nap with Sirius.
The very thought made him warm enough that the jumper felt unnecessary. But, well, it was already on. And it was cosy.
Soon, the cable was stuck to the cement ground with tape enough to ensnare the Loch Ness monster. They commenced their second take. It went pretty smoothly, for the most part, and they nearly reached the end of the scene.
"Are you ready to go?" Achilles asked Patroclus.
Patroclus nodded but could not bring himself to rise.
Achilles only looked at him, clearly unwilling to disrupt the silence stretching between them.
It was as they reached that moment again, the end of the lyre solo, that Ewan reentered the room. He came in quietly, but there were soon enough heads turning towards him to discover the reason for his fervent whispers that Lily was compelled to call for another cut.
"What the hell is going on?" she demanded to know.
Ewan swore and apologised. "I was going to wait, but—that call, it was from Moody's assistant. He's—ah, well he's here. He wants to watch the end of today's shoot.
The door to the sound stage reopened then. A tall man with shaggy yellow-grey hair and an eye patch clumped his way in. He was trailed by three assistants, all in various stages of nervous breakdown.
"Evans!" he boomed. "I was worried I'd miss the entire shoot. I got stuck in LA. Goddamned Vance is three weeks behind on principle photography."
"Alastor," Lily greeted. "If you persist in interrupting me mid-take, I'll fall behind soon, too. I pity Emmeline if she's had you on set this whole time."
The entire crew seemed to hold its breath. Even Remus, who was as novice as one could get in the world of filmmaking, was shocked by Lily's forthrightness. (Or, he would have been, had he not known Lily so well).
Moody only laughed. "Alright, alright, point well made," he said. "If someone will just give me an audio kit, I promise to be nice and quiet."
As the crew let out its communal breath, Remus hurried to pull his headphones off. It wasn't as if he needed them, and he could see from the look on Lily's face that expediency would be vastly appreciated.
However, he forgot about the jumper he'd put on after the previous take. He found that the wire connecting the earpiece to the audio receiver was stuck beneath it and he was soon in a very awkward tangle of arms, wool, and state-of-art audio equipment. By the time he got himself free, Kristy had unearthed an extra set for the producer. Remus shrank back into his corner, feeling warm for more reasons than just the knit covering his arms.
The cast and crew went back to one and the intricate choreography of actors and camera began again.
For the third time, they were rounding the last lap of the scene. Alice's footwork was precise and her focus was true. The performances, already good their first time through, now had the lush comfort of well-worn moccasins. Remus was sure this one was going to be it. He could already feel the pillows of the couch in Sirius' trailer.
"Are you ready to go?" Achilles prompted Patroclus. It was time to face his father.
Patroclus jerked his head in assent but stayed seated, his fingers worrying the fabric of his tunic.
Achilles chewed his lip as he waited for the other boy to rise.
"Patroclus?" Remus mouthed along from his place in the corner.
"Patroclus?" Ellen read from the script in her hand.
"Patroclus?" Lily thought, well versed in this scene she had rewritten and reshot so many times.
"Remus?" whispered Sirius, who was very sleep deprived and very full of feelings and who, perhaps, hadn't really been in character today at all.
He spoke quietly, and only Elijah and those armed with headphones and receivers heard him.
Remus, still perched in his shadowy corner, felt his breath catch. All tiredness gone, he looked from side to side but found that there was no reaction. No one else in the crew had heard.
Lily, momentarily taken aback, was a second late in calling for the cut. Sirius was frozen in place, a tableaux of uncertainty. Elijah was thinking through something very carefully as he watched Sirius with concern. Ellen, who had heard the mistake through her headphones, sighed and took a deep draught from her coffee cup. She then scribbled a note on her clipboard to pass on to the post-production supervisor later and turned the pages of her script back to the start of the scene. Trevor, hyper-focused on his sound mixer, knew exactly the decibel at which Sirius had spoken but couldn't for the life of him have told anyone what it was he had said.
Alice, exasperated that her so-far-perfect take had been interrupted, looked at Lily in exasperation. She hadn't heard a thing, plugged into her zone of camerawork and utterly deaf to the world. Lily shook her head curtly, discouraging her from asking any questions. Alice, getting the memo, called for her team to go back to one.
Moody, glaring around the room, said, "And who the bloody hell is—"
"Achoo!" Elijah said, 'sneezing' hugely and upsetting Achilles' wooden chair with his arms. "Oh, geeze, I'm sorry," he said. "Allergies."
Erika ran forwards with a paper hanky and powder brush. Someone righted the chair, checking its placement against the continuity shot. By the time everything was set back to rights, Moody had been drawn in by the siren call of email, all misspoken lines apparently forgotten.
Remus, who had felt his heart jump from his chest to his throat and then down to his stomach, finally recommenced breathing. As he did so, and his brain caught up with the reality of the moment, he felt an electric current rush from the centre of his chest through the tip of his every finger and toe.
Sirius had said his name. Sirius had said his name, instead of Patroclus'.
Lily stepped forwards towards her actors. Remus, still wearing his headphones, could hear every word she spoke as she drew near enough to get picked up by the lavs.
"You guys are doing really damn well," she said. "I know today has been long and I know we've done this scene to death. We are very, very close to the finish line here. The emotions are there. You two know these characters backwards and forwards and inside out. So let's not lose sight now. Let's not get lazy now. Both of you—" she paused until she had looked each of them in the eye' "—both of you, shake out the cobwebs. Get present. Let's dig in now. Let's dig in because we are so bloody close."
She called to mind a Greek general, mustering his armies. Elijah, at least, seemed ready to march through flames at her behest. Sirius just glared back at her, matching her level of ferocity.
Remus shifted in his seat, unable to settle. The electric current had not subsided in the slightest. Its source only sank lower, moving from his chest to wriggle in his belly
When they started again, the familiarity of the performances had gone, the words turning from worn-out moccasins to brand-new wooden clogs. Achilles and Patroclus watched one another, intent and curious. Sirius was mischievous and unburdened. Elijah rode the line between caution and enchantment. Alice moved with a goddess-given grace and surety of step.
When Lily called for the cut, there was a moment of static, breathless silence. Lily looked at Alice. Alice looked back at Lily. Lily nodded. Alice did too.
"That's a goddamn wrap on scene seven," Lily pronounced.
"Oh thank GOD!" Elijah said.
It was the loudest Remus had ever heard him speak. And he had never agreed with anything more.
Sirius
Someone came to help him out of his mic. The entire soundstage was a mass of bodies as the crew worked to pack up in double time. He couldn't see Remus anywhere.
"I don't think anyone heard," someone was whispering into his ear. It was Elijah.
"What?" he asked, distracted. He was still trying to locate Remus in the chaos.
Elijah faltered. "I just mean, I don't think anyone, like, heard. Or, you know, I just think it's going to be alright. I mean, I think it's really cool. But yeah, I don't think people are gonna figure it out. Like, not unless you want them to."
Sirius, realising what he was referring to, turned to look at him head on. "Oh," he said. "Right, then. Thanks."
Elijah offered him a hesitant smile.
"It's, um, yeah. I think it's amazing," Elijah continued. "I, uh, I hope things go well. Erm, for you two."
Sirius blew out a heavy breath and raised a hand to scratch his head before remembering the wig he was wearing.
"I appreciate that, Elijah. Thanks." He turned away before Elijah could say anything else. He thought the kid was probably right: only a handful of people had been listening, and of them, he didn't really care who had heard his mistake. Lily already knew, Elijah was harmless, and no one else had seemed to notice or care.
Except perhaps Moody. But Moody didn't know who Remus was. If he asked, he trusted that Lily would handle it. Moody would probably just file Sirius away in the category of film stars too full of themselves to bother with memorising lines. Surprisingly, the thought didn't bother him at all. It simply did not matter.
What did matter was finding Remus, finding a bed, and taking a nap. However, before he had a decent chance to look, Kristy was shuttling him through the door and back to his trailer, Belinda just behind. He followed the current of the motion, unresistant. The euphoria and cortisol that had floated him through the long morning and afternoon were beginning to fade.
He dropped bonelessly into the makeup chair and kept silent as Belinda freed his hair and Erika gently sponged the makeup from his face.
"You know, some actors do this for themselves," she needled. "But if I left it up to you, you'd probably sleep in the makeup. If you ever slept, that is."
Sirius mustered a smile and an eye roll but made no other reply. She was un-offended, making short work of the layers of pigment while Belinda unpinned his wig cap. When they were done, they trooped from his trailer in a flurry of carrying cases and dire warnings to take better care of himself.
Sirius stepped out of his tunic and replaced it on its hanger. He realised he had hung it inside out and was just debating whether or not he should redo it or leave it for the assistant dresser to fix later when there was a knock on the door to his trailer.
He was wearing only his boxers.
"One moment," he called as he looked blearily around the room for his clothes. He wasn't sure where they had gotten to, which was very irritating. He wanted to get dressed and find Remus and disappear. Instead, there was someone knocking at his door — someone who would surely want to talk to him for ages and ages — and all he could find was his fluffy white robe. Sighing, he tied it around his waist and crossed to the door to let in his guest.
Despite the heat, Remus wore a woollen jumper. There was a deep flush of pink high across his cheeks and his scars stood out white against the warm skin. His eyes were bright, betraying none of the exhaustion Sirius was certain he must also be feeling.
"Hi," Sirius greeted, pleased but a little taken aback.
"Hi," Remus replied, breathless. Then he was surging forwards, pushing Sirius backwards into the trailer and kicking the door shut behind himself.
This was not the tender, curious kissing of the night before. Remus kissed ferociously, his nose pressing hard into Sirius' cheek. It was not comfortable, but wild and ravenous. It set Sirius aflame.
Eventually, Remus pulled away slightly so that they might both catch their breaths. Sirius, who cared very little for oxygen at that point, leaned forward, chasing his lips. Instead of meeting Sirius' lips anew, Remus dropped his forehead to rest in the hollow of Sirius' shoulder. He noted with surprise that his robe had fallen open. Remus' curls tickled the bare skin of his collarbone.
"I can't believe you," Remus sighed.
"Oh?" Sirius asked. His hand, which had been resting in the middle of Remus' back, crept its way up to twine through his tawny hair.
"I can't believe you said my name," he said. "Fuck, Sirius, I wanted to jump you there and then."
Sirius' breath caught. "What are you talking about?" he asked, although he knew the answer. "You didn't have headphones." He was sure Remus, his ear nearly pressed against his chest, could feel the quickening of his heart.
"I did," Remus said. "Ewan gave me his, when he went for Moody."
"Oh," Sirius said. " Oh ."
Remus lifted his head to find Sirius' eyes. "Is that alright?"
Sirius found he could not speak. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, his face was warming with a blush.
The thing was, he hadn't been out of character when he made that misstep. Or, at least, he hadn't been entirely out of character. In that moment, he had felt acutely what it was to be Achilles. The rawness of youth; the wonderment of someone new, someone who could disrupt the habitual rhythms of life. He was sixteen, interested in the world, and eager to see what might happen next.
And in that moment, he thought not of his character, but of himself. He thought not of Patroclus, but of Remus. Remus, who was familiar and exciting, comfortable and terrifying. Remus, who helped him to feel unburdened in a way he had never felt before. Even when he had actually been sixteen.
Remus, who was watching him now, a quiet concern in his whiskey eyes.
"Is that alright?" he asked again. He held the lapel of Sirius' robe in his hand, thumbing at the terry cloth. "I'm sorry if you didn't want me to. It, uh — it made me very happy."
Before he knew what he was doing, Sirius was using his hand — his hand that had never left the curls at the back of Remus' head — to pull Remus in for another searing kiss. It was better even than the first one, both of them now riled high and hungry. Keeping his fingers tangled in the hair at Remus' nape, he stretched his thumb forwards, pressing into the hinge of Remus' jaw and easing his mouth open further. Then there were only tongues and teeth and a lingering taste of cloves and ginger and garlic that should have been disgusting but wasn't.
When he felt something hard against his hip, he pulled back, breathing heavily.
"Sorry," Remus said. "Fuck, sorry. It's been like that since, ah—"
Sirius could only shake his head, smiling. It served both to quiet Remus and to communicate his own sense of amazement. He'd been carefully angling his own hips away, aware that the only thing covering him was a pair of cotton boxers and a robe that refused to remain closed. However, he now permitted himself to grind forwards, letting Remus feel how much he was affected, as well. The sensation was almost too much, and he sighed deeply as the open fly of the shorts was pushed open and the sensitive skin beneath rubbed directly against rough denim. In his ear, Remus moaned, low and guttural. Nearly a growl, really.
Dropping his head down to mouth at the corner of Remus' jaw, Sirius whispered, "I've never really… not with another guy—" He'd been terrified to admit it, the worry of it dancing around the edges of his mind the entire night before. But now, in the heat of the moment, he couldn't imagine what he had been scared of.
He trusted Remus. And he trusted anything that felt this damn right.
If Remus was surprised, he did not show it. Tilting his head back to give Sirius better access to his neck, he hummed deeply. Sirius could feel the vibration of his throat beneath his lips. It sent another jolt of desire down through his stomach. Unable to help himself, he rutted harder against Remus.
Remus took a step back, and Sirius felt his blood run cold. Had he been wrong? Was Remus disgusted? But no, Remus was tugging at the robe around his shoulders, a question in his eyes.
Sirius nodded jerkily, and then the robe was off and Sirius was wearing nothing but his pants.
"You—you're wearing too many clothes," Sirius said. He'd meant for it to sound suave and possibly even roguishly demanding, but instead it just sounded like a whiny sort of observation. He cringed inwardly for a split second, but then Remus was laughing, a deep, resonant sound, and he had no space in his mind for worry any longer.
"Help me take some off, then," Remus coaxed, and Sirius needed no more encouragement than that. He wrapped his hands around the hem of the ridiculous jumper, pulling it upwards and getting caught on Remus' nose.
Remus laughed again and swatted Sirius' hands away, pulling the offending garment the rest of the way off by himself. Underneath was the light grey t-shirt he'd been wearing that morning, and Sirius crowded forwards to tug it all the way over his head. He threw it aside without looking, consumed in yet another kiss as his hands roamed down the delicious expanses of bare skin, newly revealed.
Then Remus was pushing him away again, undoing his own belt and pushing his jeans off with an impatience that might have been funny if Sirius hadn't been so far gone. Kicking his jeans aside, Remus surged forwards again and reattached himself to Sirius' lips. The kiss was messy, two mouths panting hotly against one another. Then Remus' lips were moving, first to the corner of his lips and then to his jaw and then down the column of his neck. He paused for a moment in the hollow of Sirius' collarbone, lapping out with his tongue to lick away some of the sweat that had begun to pool there. Sirius, his left hand once again in Remus' hair and his right splayed across the middle of his back, contracted his fingers involuntarily at the sensation.
Sirius opened his eyes and glanced down, checking to see if he had caused pain or distress, but Remus remained focused on his ministrations, his eyes closed as he continued to nibble across the ridge of Sirius' collarbone before continuing down the midline of his chest.
Remus dropped to his knees, drawing his hands slowly down from Sirius' shoulders and over his chest. His fingers lingered near Sirius' nipples, playing with the sensitive skin that surrounded them.
He paused and looked up between his eyelashes. "This alright?" he asked, and Sirius wasn't sure if he meant the nipple play or everything else it was obviously leading to, but either way, the answer was an emphatic yes . Sirius groaned appreciatively, using his own hand to guide the man's fingers directly to the place on his chest where they might do the most good.
Remus' fingers were strong and nimble and Sirius was lost in an ocean of sensation for a few moments. He was pulled from his reverie when those same fingers dropped from his chest and began plucking at the waistband of his boxers.
"This alright?" Remus asked again, his lips moving against sensitive skin as his nose pressed into the ridge of Sirius' hip.
"Yes, fuck yes," Sirius chanted, burying all ten fingers into Remus' springy curls. "Please," he added, although it came out more groan than English.
Then Remus was tugging his boxers down the rest of the way and mouthing at the tip of his cock and any sense of cogency fled.
Remus
Finally, they were lying together on Sirius' sofa. They had not arrived there exactly as Remus had been imagining earlier in the day, but that certainly didn't mean he had any complaints.
Sirius was gloriously responsive, moaning when Remus tugged on his nipples and positively keening by the time his mouth found his cock. Remus was proud of his skills when it came to giving head and he pulled out all the stops for Sirius, studiously leaving nothing unattended.
When Sirius came, squirming and swearing, his fingers tugging rapturously at Remus' hair, he swallowed and hummed until Sirius had ridden his wave out. Then, his forehead pressing hard into the meat of Sirius' thigh, revelling in the feeling of Sirius' fingers in his hair and the constant stream of curses and sighs drifting into his ears, he brought himself to a long-awaited release.
Now they lay sticky and boneless on the broad couch cushions, Remus' head pillowed against Sirius' stomach.
"Fuck, I'm tired," Sirius groaned, still twining his fingers through Remus' hair. "And fuck , I love your hair."
Remus snorted sleepily. "Look who's talking, Mr. Pantene."
"Huh?"
"Y'know," — Remus raised his arm to gesture airily — "you've got famous person hair."
Sirius laughed heartily then, and Remus enjoyed the rolling up-and-down motion of his taut stomach. "Fuck off with that," he said. Then, he tacked on: "Anyways, I use Redken. So."
Remus laughed in earnest and Sirius reached out to lay a large, warm hand across Remus' vibrating chest. His fingers found the long, pale scar that stretched down the middle of his torso, from the bottom of his ribs to the top of his belly button.
"What's this?" Sirius asked, his voice light and free of concern.
Remus, who had felt his breath catch a moment before, only shrugged — not the easiest feat when one was lying on his back. "A scar," he said.
"I guessed that much," Sirius chuckled. His thumb was now drifting down, past the line of scar tissue, to thumb through the patch of hair below his belly button. "Do I get to know the story?" he asked. The words were light but his tone offered a clear way out: if Remus didn't want to tell, Sirius would not push.
Remus, more relaxed and happy than he had felt in ages, wrinkled his nose. "It's a long story," he said. "I'll tell you another time."
Sirius hummed contentedly at that, raising his hand again and drawing his forefinger along Remus' left eyebrow.
"You know," Sirius said. "I have this fantasy."
Remus' eyes, which had been drifting shut, flew open again. "Oh?" he asked, his belly fluttering.
"Yes," Sirius said. "My fantasy is to take a nap with you. Right here. Right now."
"Well, wouldn't you know," Remus murmured, his eyelids closing again. "I've been fantasising about the same thing all bloody day."
Regulus
When Regulus woke up that morning, it was to an empty house.
He liked it that way. James was funny and Lily was lovely and Sirius was — well, he'd die for the git without hesitation, but seeing his infuriating mug on a Wednesday before noon was a leap too far.
There was a note for him propped up on the kitchen counter, written in a messy scrawl he thought must belong to James.
Brought Harry to set for a bit, then heading to beach. Feel free to join!
Beneath that, he scribbled the name of the beach and a symbol that was probably a cursive J , although Regulus honestly couldn't be certain.
However, he elected to stay at the villa, and passed an exceedingly pleasurable day by himself, dozing in the backyard, reading paperbacks, and clearing the fridge of leftovers.
When James returned to the house at five, it was to find Regulus passed out on the white sofa, book splayed open across his nose.
Regulus woke up to find James leaning over him, leering, with a drooling Harry in his arms.
Regulus startled and James roared with laughter, tickling Harry on the belly as the little boy giggled along.
"Is that how you usually wake guests?" Regulus asked sourly.
James shrugged. "I guess not," he said. "But family doesn't count."
He was wandering into the kitchen to fetch Harry a bottle from the refrigerator and didn't notice the way Regulus froze. Shouting over his shoulder, he added, "I'm due to pick Lils and Sirius up in an hour. Want to come along?"
Regulus shrugged, then nodded, then realised James wasn't looking at him. He cleared his throat. "Er, sure."
"Brilliant," James said. "Well, I'll just feed Harry and you can wake the rest of the way up, and then we'll go."
An hour later, Regulus was fully awake and searching for his darling brother's darling trailer. He'd visited the set the day before but it was still a veritable maze of trailers and tents, populated exclusively by people dressed in all black, holding clipboards, and walking very fast.
James had peeled off immediately upon entering the lot, Harry strapped cosily to his chest, to find Lily in what he proudly referred to as "the Video Village". Regulus wasn't entirely sure what it meant but based on James' tone, he was guessing it was a film arsehole way of saying, ' the place where the cameras are' .
He had now walked past at least forty-five trailers — if it was an exaggeration, it was not an egregious one — searching for the one that had a large number one painted on its side. Of course his big brother had Trailer Number One. Because Sirius really needed the boost to his ego.
He was passing by number three, eager to end his quest and happy his goal was finally in sight, when a tall man with a limp and eye patch drew even with him.
Regulus startled but the man said nothing, just pacing along beside him, evidently heading to the same place he was.
"Er, hullo?" he finally said, because he didn't like it when strangers stood so close.
The man glanced at him briefly, his one visible eye small, dark, and piercing. He grunted a hello and continued walking.
Regulus stopped walking. "I'm Regulus," he said. "And who are you?"
The man stopped and turned around to face him. "Alastor Moody," he rumbled. "You the brother?"
Regulus, who had been known as 'Sirius' younger brother' his entire life, took this in his stride. He nodded, inwardly rolling his eyes. "And you're the producer," he said.
Moody grinned, a gruesome, lopsided thing. "That I am, sonny." He turned to continue his trudge but stopped, glancing back at Regulus.
"Say," he said. "You wouldn't happen to know who Remus is?"
"Remus?" he asked, nonplussed. He knew precisely who Remus was. But the way this man was asking made something cold clench in his stomach.
"Yeah, Remus," Moody said. "Only, your brother said his name earlier, by accident. Just curious. Gotta keep abreast of the drama. Ready for every inevitable crisis and all. You know how it is. Film's a business."
Honestly, Regulus didn't know how it was, but he supposed he could imagine. Something about Moody's description of "drama" reminded him sickeningly of his parents. He squared his jaw and raised his chin, meeting Moody's eye.
Erasing every shred of emotion from his face, he said coolly, "Sorry, can't help you. Never heard of him."
Moody laughed — or, Regulus thought it was a laugh. It sounded more like a coughing fit, but his eye was crinkling.
"Ah, son," he said, thumping Regulus far too hard on the back. "Nothing to worry about on my account." Then he stumped away in the opposite direction. Regulus watched him go, intense dislike curdling his stomach as a bitter taste pooling in his mouth.
When the moment had passed, Regulus tried to shake his head clear. He recommenced his journey and arrived, finally, in front of Sirius' trailer. He walked tentatively up the steps and rapped gently on the door.
There was no response. He supposed Sirius could be elsewhere, but James had been fairly certain this was where he'd find him. He knocked again, a little more loudly, but still, there was no reply.
He tried the handle and, to his surprise, it turned. The door creaked as he pushed it open.
There was no one at the little table, no one standing in the kitchenette, no one preening at the vanity. Turning his head, his eyes fell upon the sofa pushed against the far wall.
There, lying in a tangle of boxer-clad limbs, were Remus and Sirius, both asleep. Remus snuffled gently against Sirius' shoulder and Sirius' chin rested atop Remus' curly head.
Regulus had to snort. The bloody idiots. The door wasn't even locked. No wonder Moody was suspicious.
He found the locking button on the inside of the door handle and depressed it. Then, creeping quietly back down the steps, he gently pulled the door closed behind him. Smiling when he heard the locking mechanism click into place, he went off in search of the Video Village.