Spring back 6-11

"BLOOD TRAITORS! FILTHY SCUM, BESMIRCHING MY HOUSE—"

"Ah, fuck," Remus muttered. Every couple of weeks, the silencing charms they placed on Walburga's portrait wore off. The last time, this had happened in the middle of the night and Remus had woken with his heart pounding, sure that Grimmauld Place had been compromised. Living with Walburga's portrait was rather like living inside a very prolonged game of Exploding Snap.

He wiped his hands on his apron and hurried out of the kitchen before Mrs. Black could start yelling about her degenerate son. "I've got it," he called out, hoping Sirius was either out of Walburga's range or at least within his. But when he reached the entryway, Sirius was there.

"YOU ALWAYS WERE A DISAPPOINTMENT, SIRIUS BLACK! HOW DARE YOU RETURN TO THIS HOUSE! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE—"

"Merlin's balls," Remus gritted out, pointing his wand at the screaming portrait. "Silencio."

"YOU DARE TRY TO SILENCE ME—"

"Oh for fuck's sake. Sirius—"

Sirius, moving rather slowly, pulled his wand out of his pocket. Together, they performed the charm again. Walburga fell silent, though her lips continued to move, spittle flying as she waved her fist mutely in their direction.

Remus pulled the curtain across her portrait and let out a sigh.

"Ugh. Sorry. I was hoping she'd last another few days at least—"

"I was going to leave."

Sirius spoke quietly. He wasn't looking at Remus, or at his mother's portrait. He was staring at the front door.

Remus fell silent. "What—" His lungs did a funny spasming thing that made him have to catch his breath. "What do you mean, you—"

"I woke up this morning and I decided to leave." He was still facing the door. "I was going to transform into Padfoot and run to the park. I was going to chase squirrels and let Muggle children pet me. I was going to steal somebody's newspaper and make them run after me. Then I was going to come back here and if you'd noticed I was gone I was going to tell you I'd been in the basement running on the treadmeal."

"Treadmill," said Remus' mouth before his brain caught up, then, "Oh my god."

"I didn't," said Sirius. He turned to look at Remus. He didn't look guilty, but he didn't look defiant either. He looked only terribly weary. "I didn't, Remus. I stood here for half an hour and then when I decided not to and started walking back to the sitting room, Mother's portrait began screaming."

Remus stared at him. The blood was churning in his ears: danger, danger. "Sirius—" He took a breath through his nose. "Sirius, you cannot—"

"I know."

"The danger, Sirius, you know you were spotted as Padfoot at Kings Cross, you know they're watching—"

"I know."

"I know being stuck here is terrible, Sirius, I know it's—it's completely ruining your head, I know that, but you can't get captured, you can't—you could get tortured or given up to the Ministry and sent back to Azkaban, and either of those things would be so much worse than being here—"

"I know." For the first time there was a bite in Sirius' voice. "I didn't do it."

Remus tried to get his breathing under control. He hadn't done it. He hadn't done it.

But he had thought about doing it.

"Sirius—"

"I'm telling you so I won't ever do it," Sirius said sharply.

Remus pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Okay," he said. "Yes. Sorry. Thank—thank you for telling me."

His eyes were welling with tears. He fought hard to push them back.

"Right," he said. "Well, we should—why don't I make some tea. We'll just. Forget about it, then, and…"

"No. I—" Sirius' words were cut off as abruptly as they began. Remus, still breathing shallowly, looked at him.

A faint pink flush had risen high on his cheeks. He was staring resentfully at the carpet, as if it were the thing making him speak.

"I want you to punish me for it."

Remus' pulse surged again.

"For thinking about leaving. I want you to make me stay."

Remus said, slowly, "Are you…sure?"

"Please don't fucking ask me that."

All right. All right. Sirius is asking for what he wants, Remus told himself, so give it to him.

For a moment Remus didn't think he could do it.

He bit the inside of his cheek, hard, and dug his nails into his palms. He gave a short nod. "Okay. Come with me." He put out a hand. After a moment's hesitation, Sirius took it.

But Remus didn't know what he was actually going to do. His head was spinning as he led Sirius down the corridor and up the stairs. Punish me. Make me stay.

Punish me.

Make me stay.

"On the bed," said Remus. His voice sounded distant, even to himself. "Now. Clothes off, on the bed, on your back."

Sirius hesitated—not, it was clear, about getting onto the bed.

"I said, clothes off," Remus said, an edge to his voice. "I'm going to make it as difficult as possible for you to leave this house. Clothes off, now."

Of course, Padfoot didn't need clothes. But Remus wanted Sirius as helpless as possible. So.

Sirius, head bent, sat on the bed and began unlacing his shoes. He took them off, and then his socks, and then his sweater, and then stood to remove his trousers and pants. Remus watched, trying to will his heartbeat steady.

"Bed." He pointed. Sirius slowly got onto the bed, sitting up awkwardly, knees raised. "On your back."

Sirius complied. Remus, who had been trying to think of something he could use to restrain Sirius, remembered the box of rope he'd seen down in the basement, gathering dust amongst various miscellaneous items including rusty nails, extremely expired Sticking Serum, and what had appeared to be an abandoned embroidery project depicting a rather busty mermaid. "Accio ropes," he said, pointing his wand at the floor. After a moment, he heard the faint sounds of banging and doors slamming open as the box made its clumsy way towards them. Perhaps he ought to have gone and fetched it himself. It could shatter a lamp zooming through the house like this. He wasn't, perhaps, thinking quite straight.

Sirius blinked at him. The box appeared into the doorway and, as if exhausted by its efforts, promptly dropped to the floor with a thud.

Remus let out a long breath.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

He turned to Sirius.

"Count to one hundred. Slowly. Aloud."

Sirius looked uncertain. "Why…"

"Because I want you to," he said sharply. "I want you to get—focused."

The truth was, he wanted to get focused. He needed the time as much as Sirius did.

Sirius counted. Remus turned away and closed his eyes. He was frightened, he realized—unsurprising, but he hadn't quite clocked that fear was behind his peculiar reaction to Sirius' request. He was afraid of what Sirius wanted him to do; afraid he would want to do it. He also could not put out of his mind the terrified thoughts of what might have happened if Sirius had actually left Grimmauld Place.

"Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-eight."

Okay, thought Remus. All right. Make him stay, then. He considered, then glanced around the room. Did he know any knot-tying charms, or was he going to have to do it all by hand? He crouched beside the box of ropes and sifted through them. They were stiff and dusty. Remus couldn't tell what they'd been intended for; they were the kind of thing that just accumulated, as if of its own accord, in houses that had been occupied for a long time. He picked one up, feeling its heft. It was fairly light, and about the width of his finger, and made of some organic material. It might have been for boating, though he found it hard to imagine Sirius' family went in much for sailing holidays.

"Ninety-six, ninety-seven…"

Remus turned back to Sirius. He finished his count with a little exhale, looking a good deal less agitated than he had before.

"Good," said Remus. "Now. Sit up, and cross your hands in front of you."

Sirius obeyed. Remus picked out a length of rope and went to sit next to Sirius on the bed. He took Sirius' crossed wrists in his grasp. He didn't really know how to do this, but he supposed that Sirius could take a bit of discomfort and if it got worse than that Remus would be able to tell. He looped the rope twice around Sirius' wrists and tied a knot, sticking one finger in between the rope and Sirius' skin to make sure there was a little extra leeway and that the rope didn't chafe too much.

Sirius let out a noise, something small and indeterminate. Remus looked at him sharply. Sirius bit his lip and cast his gaze down, not meeting Remus' eyes. A faint flush had risen in his cheeks.

Remus tugged at the knot to make sure it was secure. "I'm going to make you stay," he said.

"Yes," Sirius whispered. "I know."

Remus pointed his wand at the coil of rope that hung down past the knot. He had chosen quite a long length.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The end of the rope shot up into the air. Remus flicked his wand and they rose higher, enough to lift Sirius' bound hands up above his head. He tinkered with the charm until the ropes were taut and Sirius' arms were hanging nearly straight up in the air.

Sirius eyes had gone glassy. His raised shoulders revealed masses of damp dark hair in his armpits; his naked chest and belly looked vulnerable, unprotected, and his soft cock nestled between his legs, which were bent beneath him so that he was kneeling, his arse resting against his heels.

Strung up, Remus thought.

"I could leave you here," he said evenly. The stretch of Sirius' arm muscles was doing odd things to his pulse. "All day long. Every day, tied up. Naked. You couldn't escape then."

He could see Sirius' Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"I expect your arms would get a bit sore, but we could deal with that. Give them a break one at a time, perhaps. Massage a little feeling back into them. It would hurt, I suppose. Pins and needles."

Sirius watched him mutely.

Remus' breathing had sped up a bit. "I'd bring you food, of course. You'd need to eat. Keep up your strength. I'd feed it to you. You could take your soup and veg like a baby, spoon-fed right into your mouth."

"I'd let you," Sirius said hoarsely.

"I know you would," Remus said. "And if you wouldn't, I'd make you."

Sirius swallowed clumsily. Remus said, feeling somehow both reckless and steady as steel, "You'd need to relieve yourself, of course. A bucket would do."

"Oh god."

"I'd clean you off. Wipe your arse for you."

"No," Sirius breathed, voice strained. "No, that's too much."

Remus shook his head. "You don't get to decide that."

"But—" He was struggling, tugging on the ropes that held him fast. "But Remus—"

"I'll wipe piss and shit off your arse if I say I will," Remus said sharply. "And I'll hit you if you try and resist."

Sirius let out a little cry. Now he was really squirming. That was good, Remus thought, a little distantly; he needed to struggle. It would be good for him to try and struggle, as long as he couldn't actually get away.

Remus pinched Sirius' arm. Hard, and deliberately.

Sirius cried out and jerked away. But the ropes held him tight, and he couldn't get out of Remus' reach. Remus pinched him again.

"Why—?" Sirius asked plaintively.

"You thought you could get away from me." Remus pinched him a third time, this time just below his armpit. "You can't."

Sirius tugged at the ropes as Remus continued to administer sharp pinches across his arms and chest. He gave a little gasp with each one and flailed harder.

"You're going to hurt your wrists," Remus said calmly. "You'll hurt yourself if you don't stop struggling."

Sirius didn't listen. Remus pinched his upper thigh and Sirius jerked back, wrenching his shoulders. He cried out in pain, and then went still.

They stared at each other, breathing heavily. Slowly, Remus reached out and took a nub of Sirius' skin between his thumb and forefinger and twisted.

Sirius hissed in a breath, but didn't move.

"Good boy," Remus said quietly.

His head was so clear it was almost ringing. Everything seemed extra-sharp, like a camera lens set to a level of focus the human eye couldn't quite comprehend. He looked at the little red splotches he'd made on Sirius' skin. With a rush of decision, he put out his hand and touched Sirius' cock.

"Remus—" Sirius said, flinching back.

"Stop," said Remus calmly. "This isn't about your pleasure."

Sirius looked at him uncertainly. Warily.

"I will do what I want with you," said Remus. "I thought I made that clear."

Hurt shone in Sirius' eyes, but it was laced—dosed, even, like some opiate concoction was seeping into his veins—with heavy, syrupy relief. Remus felt along Sirius' soft cock and dipped his fingers lower, brushing against Sirius' balls. He could feel Sirius trying to keep his breathing under control and smell the anxious sweat pooling in his armpits. He took his time. His own cock stiffened. He almost wished it wouldn't.

"I should fuck you," he said softly. Sirius flinched, but he didn't try to worm away. "You're tied up. You told me to punish you. That would be punishment, I think."

Sirius made a choked-off noise. He looked utterly dazed.

"Would you let me stick my cock in you, Sirius?"

"I—" It came out garbled, incomprehensible. "I—I—"

"I know you wouldn't like it. Would you let me?"

"Yes," Sirius said in a rush. His eyes filled with tears. "Yes."

Remus had to shut his eyes briefly and take a breath. His cock was pulsing with want.

"Good," he said. He got to his feet and picked up his wand. He pointed it at the ropes. "Finite—"

"Wait!"

He stopped, looking at Sirius questioningly.

"Aren't you…" Sirius gulped. "Aren't you going to do it?"

Remus stared at him.

"Please," Sirius whispered.

It had been dirty talk. Remus hadn't been planning to actually stick his cock in Sirius any more than he'd been planning to make him piss in a bucket. He had wanted Sirius to struggle, and then to stop struggling. He'd wanted to get Sirius to say yes to whatever he asked.

There were lines. Surely there were lines. Boundaries they didn't cross. If they had done this right, if they had mapped out all their stumbling-block foothills and treacherous chasms and here-be-monsters edges before setting out on this strange and perilous journey, then Remus would know precisely where those boundaries were. But if they had tried to do this right, they'd never have set out at all.

So he pictured it: himself behind Sirius, lifting up Sirius' arse as Sirius dangled there helplessly and spearing Sirius on his cock. The image at once compelled and repulsed him.

"I want you to come in my arse," Sirius said through gritted teeth. "I want it, Remus."

Remus looked at Sirius' limp cock.

"I don't want it like that," Sirius said, "but I want it."

Remus put down his wand. He stood and, with impossibly steady hands, undid his trousers.

Sirius let out a swift breath, his body going limp in the ropes. He'd been hanging there for seven or eight minutes by now; perhaps Remus ought to…no. Soon enough he would let Sirius loose and massage his no doubt aching shoulders. First he was going to fuck him.

His cock was dripping with precome. He stripped off his trousers and pants and climbed onto the bed behind Sirius, settling onto his knees.

He grasped Sirius by the hips. "Are you scared?" he murmured into Sirius' ear. Sirius gave a short, sharp nod.

Remus was scared too, but the fear was somewhere underneath everything else that was reeling inside him. Underneath the windstorm, the vortex, the swirling dark of Charybdis' whirlpool. He reached down to press at Sirius' arsehole: Here be monsters. Sirius twitched minutely, letting out one small half-suppressed whimper, and then held himself still.

Remus breathed an internal sigh of relief. He got the lube from the bedside table and prepped Sirius methodically, not lingering, though his fingers ached to linger inside him. Sirius let out little grunts from time to time, his head bowed. Remus didn't try to slick him up more than was necessary. He put the lube away and pressed the head of his cock up against Sirius' arsehole.

"Ready?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"No," Sirius whispered. "Do it anyway."

Right. Remus lined himself up and, slowly, contending with the odd angle and Sirius' inability to fully hold himself steady, pushed inside. Sirius was tight and hot. Remus' cock burned as it entered him.

"Sirius," Remus murmured, gripping him tightly around the waist. "Stop clenching your arsehole."

After a second, Sirius relaxed a fragment, and then, letting out a held-in breath, relaxed a few fragments more. The resistance Remus had been feeling lessened, and he sank in deeper.

He held himself there for a long moment, his face pressed against Sirius' back. It had been so fucking long. His eyes started with tears. But they receded almost immediately. The thing was, this felt almost nothing like what he was used to anyway. Being buried in Sirius like this, so close and yet so far away from him, was such a strange, hushed, strained sensation. His cock pulsed. He pulled it out most of the way, then steeled himself and began to thrust.

His fucking wrung little whimpers from Sirius, whimpers that might have been shock or pain but might just have been little involuntary meaningless noises. Remus gripped Sirius so hard it probably hurt and thrust into him again and again.

Sirius was whimpering constantly by the time Remus came. His orgasm rocked through him like the detonation of an explosive, shaking him to his core as he spurted into Sirius' arse. When he pulled out, a little faster than he should have, a drizzle of come leaked out of Sirius and onto the bedsheets.

The silence was deafening. Even their labored breaths couldn't fill it up.

Remus took himself shakily off the bed and hurried around to look at Sirius.

His cock was limp. His face was wet with tears. "I'm not—" he tried, hiccupping, then swallowed hard and said, "I'm not going anywhere, Remus. I promise."

Remus let go of a tight coil of anxiety he hadn't realized he was still holding and buried his face in his hands. He took a second there, then looked back up at Sirius and, taking up his wand again, released the rope from its charm. Sirius' limbs dropped down, a wince of pain flashing across his face. Remus scrambled at the knot with trembling fingers and when he had gotten it loose Sirius slumped into his arms.

"Oh, fuck," Remus murmured helplessly. "Fuck, Sirius."

"I know," Sirius whispered.

"I love you so goddamn much."

"I know. I know." Sirius gave a great shuddering breath. "You too."

"Yeah?"

"Of course," Sirius said, voice thick, "always—"

"Fuck," Remus breathed. He pulled back and grasped Sirius' shoulders. He squeezed them gently, digging his thumbs into the muscles. Sirius gritted his teeth.

"Hurts?"

Sirius nodded.

"Lie down," Remus said. He helped Sirius position himself on his belly, head resting on one side. He began to massage Sirius' neck and shoulders and upper arms, loosening them up from all the strain. Sirius let him, lying limp and exhausted.

Once he'd done that, he summoned some balm from the bathroom and applied it to Sirius' chafed wrists. Then, looking down, he realized what he'd forgotten; so, whispering reassurance as he briefly left the bed, he fetched a warm wet rag and cleaned his come from Sirius' arsehole.

Sirius was lying there so heavily, as if he'd never move again. All the angry fight had gone out of him. Remus thought of the wild look in his eyes as he'd stood at the front door and felt a great twist of regret and relief in his chest.

He stroked Sirius' hair. "Going to get some sleep?" he asked.

"Mmm," Sirius murmured in assent.

"Good," said Remus. He touched Sirius' forehead very gently. "Good."

Chapter 7

Notes:

a heads up: some daddy kink in this chapter, and some verbal abuse from Walburga's portrait.

Chapter Text

Christmas came, and with it a flurry of people. More like a blizzard, really: countless Weasleys running in and out of the house—except Arthur, who was, troublingly, at St. Mungo's after his attack—Hermione Granger, various Order of the Phoenix members, and of course Harry, whose very presence seemed to lighten the invisible burden Sirius was carrying by at least half. In fact he looked healthier and more alive than Remus had seen him in months: he laughed and joked and pulled Christmas crackers and put on a silly paper hat that flashed pink and gold till the charm wore off. Remus was incredibly happy, massively relieved, and secretly hurt. Why could Harry do what he could not?

He knew the answer. He knew that being there for Harry gave Sirius the chance to feel he was being useful; he knew Harry was a change of pace; he knew that having all these people around making noise and disrupting the tedium of their daily life was the closest Sirius had come to excitement or even normality since they'd moved in. Yet he could not quite stop the little curl of resentment when Molly said how well Sirius was looking: she didn't know what Remus had been going through, had no idea how exhausted he was.

But mostly he was conscious of a great weight lifting from his shoulders. There had, he realized, still been a part of him afraid Sirius would be dimmed and distant forever. The holidays confirmed what the rest of him had known—that though Sirius would likely always harbor dark places inside him, they'd exert less of a pull when the rest of the world was a bit brighter.

He waited to give Sirius his final Christmas present until the house had cleared out. The young people were all back at Hogwarts; the cookies had been eaten; the tree had nothing left below its boughs. Sirius was already casting moody glances around the empty rooms.

Remus had wrapped the gift in tissue paper and slipped it into a simple black velvet bag. Then he'd tucked the thought of it away in one of his mental compartments until he and Sirius were alone again. Taking it back out had caused him a certain amount of anxiety.

"What's this?" Sirius asked when Remus presented him with the little bag.

"One more gift," Remus said, trying to make it sound as though this were a good thing.

Sirius looked at him curiously, then tugged at the drawstrings and opened the bag. Remus bit his lip as he pulled out the thin silver band.

"A bracelet?"

"Yeah," said Remus. "Well."

It was a single silver piece of metal, a thin flat circle with a small opening so Sirius could fit it around his wrist. Remus had found it in a small shop in Diagon Alley and made his own alterations.

Raising an eyebrow, Sirius slipped it on. "What, er…"

"Yeah. There's more to it than that," Remus said quickly. He flashed Sirius a nervous smile. "It's real silver, though, so if you hate it you can melt it down into a bullet and shoot me with it at the next full moon."

"Remus—"

"Yeah, yeah. Come here."

He put out a hand for Sirius. After a moment, Sirius took it, and Remus led him out of the room and down the hall, stopping only once they'd reached the entryway where Walburga Black's mercifully silent portrait stood.

Remus' pulse was racing. This had, perhaps, been an extremely stupid idea.

"Walk forward," he said. "Till you're almost at the front door."

Warily, Sirius did. He'd just about reached the doormat when he jerked back, giving out a little yelp of surprise.

He raised his wrist to his other hand, touching the bracelet gingerly.

"Ow," he said.

Remus' stomach churned. He tried to call up the little speech of explanation he'd planned, but the words didn't want to come.

Sirius stepped toward the door again, more carefully this time. He winced as he crossed that invisible threshold but didn't jump back.

"It's not really that painful," he said, looking at the silver band. "More like—a little bit of burning." He looked curiously at Remus.

"It won't cause any damage," Remus said quietly. "And if you…" He took a breath. "If you went out the door, it would stop."

The silence wrapped around them as they met each other's eyes. Sirius looked down at his arm, then stepped away from the door. He shook out his wrist a little, gaze pensive.

"I thought it might help…slow you down," Remus said quietly. "If you're ever feeling like you were that time you…when you almost went outside. It'll just—remind you. To take a second. It won't actually stop you from leaving, of course, and like I said, once you're out of the house the charm goes away, so you're still totally in control of—of yourself, I just—"

"You want me to think of you," Sirius said. His voice was low and he was looking right into Remus' eyes. "You know I already do, right?"

Remus swallowed. "I know you know it would hurt me if you put yourself in danger. But I know that doesn't always…work, in the moment. When you're feeling—" He hesitated. "Reckless."

"So…"

"So I want you to think of me punishing you, Sirius," he said. "And holding you down."

Sirius bit his lip, hard.

Remus waited, trying to still the chaos of voices whirling around inside his head. This was such a delicate fucking balance, he'd gone over and over it, the same circular thoughts whirling as he fiddled with the bracelet and worked out the charm; Sirius' autonomy, Sirius' freedom of choice, Sirius' depression, Sirius' wild impulsive moods, Sirius' regret, Sirius' self-loathing; and Sirius pleading, Make me stay.

"Okay," Sirius said softly. He pressed the bracelet tighter around his wrist and tugged his sleeve down over it. "I can't promise—"

"I know," Remus said quickly.

"But I'll wear it. I'll…think of you. If…"

Remus nodded. "Thank you. I—"

Sirius gripped the hem of Remus' shirt and pulled him in, pushing his face into Remus' shoulder. After a second's hesitation Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius and held him close.

"Can you…" Sirius murmured after a minute. "I'm so tired, Remus. All those people. I just want…"

He trailed off. Remus said slowly, "You want me to take care of you?"

Sirius' hand spasmed where he was holding Remus and he nodded, face still buried in Remus' neck.

"All right," Remus said. He rubbed small circles over Sirius' back, feeling the anxiety of the previous interaction trickling away as Sirius relaxed into him. "All right, love."

"Like that night," Sirius whispered. The words were so quiet Remus almost didn't hear.

"Like that night," he repeated. He swallowed. "You mean."

"When I had a bad dream."

A wave of protectiveness slammed through Remus. He put a hand on the back of Sirius' head, pressing it to him, and then pulled away enough that he could look Sirius in the face.

"All right, sweetheart." He tucked a strand of hair behind Sirius' ear. Sirius' eyes had gone dark; he looked afraid. "All right, my sweet boy."

Sirius breathed in, a shaky breath through his nose, then out again.

"D—" He stuttered. "D—"

He couldn't get the word out. Remus understood; it felt impossibly outsized, here in the daylight and so close to the outside world; a lumbering thing, hopelessly incongruous and yet somehow slightly threatening—a sliver of shame, a lump of embarrassment, a grown adult shoving themself into a babyish dress too tight and frilly and pink. But Remus needed him to say it.

"What do you call me, honey?"

Sirius bit his lip, hard. "Da—" He swallowed convulsively. "Remus, I—not here, can't we go to bed—"

"Here," Remus said firmly. It felt, somehow, important. "Say it here, and then I'll put you to bed."

Sirius's hands clenched into fists. He opened his mouth, and then with a jerk of frustration kicked out against the wall. His foot connected with a loud thud.

"BLOOD TRAITORS!"

At the sound of curtains sliding violently along a rod, Remus and Sirius looked up. Walburga's portrait stared down at them in fury and disgust.

Shit, Remus thought, his impulse to shut her up as fast as possible galvanizing him. He thrust his hand into his pocket, feeling for his wand.

"YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE, SIRIUS BLACK—"

Sirius, now pinched and pale, raised his own wand and pointed it at his mother's portrait.

"Wait," Remus said suddenly.

There must have been a note of authority in his voice, because Sirius paused.

"Why—?"

"BESMIRCHING THE FAMILY HOME WITH YOUR HALF-BREED FRIENDS—"

Remus took Sirius by the wrists, gently extracting his wand from his hand. Sirius stared at him.

"YOUR PERVERSITY BEFOULS THIS HOUSE!" Sirius' mother shrieked.

"Say it," said Remus quietly.

"Say what?"

"Say what you were going to say. What am I, Sirius?"

"YOU ARE A STAIN ON THE NAME OF BLACK—"

"What am I, Sirius?"

Sirius looked like bile was rising in his throat. He shook his head violently. "Remus. Please."

"Tell me."

"DISOWNED!" Walburga shrieked. "YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME, SIRIUS BLACK—"

Sirius had gone green.

"Tell me."

"YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A DISAPPOINTMENT AND A FAILURE, I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN, WE SHOULD HAVE DROWNED YOU AT BIRTH LIKE A SICKLY KITTEN."

"Tell me, Sirius."

Sirius' eyes flickered to his mother's portrait. Remus took his chin firmly in his hand and looked him straight in the eye.

"What am I?"

YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE—"

"My daddy," Sirius whispered.

"Silencio," Remus commanded, pulling his wand out of his pocket and pointing it straight between Walburga's eyes. For once, the charm worked without anyone else to back him up. The old woman fell immediately silent, mouth opening and shutting like a fish. Remus flicked his wand and the curtains slid shut, a cloud of dust coughing out as they slammed into each other.

The air in the room was very still. A few dust motes floated in the light from the mullioned glass window above the front door. Sirius looked stunned, eyes dazed as if he'd been hit over the head.

"Come," Remus said, putting out a hand. Sirius took it. Remus felt as if he were made of steel, his chest an impenetrable plate of armor and his grip unbreakable.

He led Sirius up the stairs, into his childhood bedroom. He sat him down on the twin bed with the Gryffindor sheets.

"I'm very proud of you," he said.

Sirius swallowed convulsively.

Remus pressed his hand in his own. "You were a very brave boy just then."

"Remus," Sirius whispered, desire and shame battling in his eyes.

"Daddy," said Remus calmly. "Right now, I'm Daddy. Do you understand?"

Sirius nodded.

"Good boy." He smoothed back Sirius' hair. "It's time for a nap, my love."

"But—"

He clicked his tongue. "No buts. You're very tired and overstimulated and you need a rest. Are you comfortable enough in those clothes, or do you want to change into your pajamas?"

"These are okay," Sirius whispered.

"All right. Lie down then, honey."

Sirius obeyed, sliding beneath the sheets. Remus pulled the covers up to his chin.

"There. Now close your eyes, okay?"

Sirius did. Then, after a second, he blinked them open.

"Stay with me?"

Remus smoothed his hair again. "All right, love. I'll stay with you."

Sirius nodded, looking suddenly exhausted. He closed his eyes again. Remus looked down at him, gently combing his fingers through Sirius' hair.

He was proud of Sirius. He was so very, very proud.

Chapter 8

Notes:

okay! a heads up for a few things in this chapter: more daddy kink, more ageplay (mostly implied, in the way remus and sirius talk to each other), and sirius touches remus while remus is sleeping. although remus is more than okay with this, they didn't discuss it prior to remus falling asleep.

Chapter Text

They fell asleep in Sirius' bed, curled up together on the narrow mattress, Sirius pressed against the wall and Remus hugging the outer edge, the red-and-gold quilt draped over their too-big, too-grown-up bodies. Remus drifted through vague dreams tinged with shadows and fog. When he found himself returning to consciousness it happened very slowly, like rising upwards towards the blurry light of the sun above the water while surfacing from a deep lake. Warmth enveloped him, tingling through him, wrapping him in a feeling of peace and well-being. Then his body was pulling him awake, gently, his mind floating behind in a syrupy haze. He let out a little sigh, barely conscious he was doing so, and inched closer to the source of the good feeling, the warm solid mass beside him that was drawing him back into the waking world. As he moved nearer the goodness seemed to swirl and concentrate, coming together, developing shape and specificity; he felt it in shivers, now, and soft imprints on his skin; it took tangible form, pressure and weight; he moaned. His breath was catching in his throat. Slowly, through a haze, he became conscious of the fact that his trousers were open and his pants were pulled down in front, the waistband pressing against his upper thighs. There were light touches happening, gentle, exploratory. Sirius was touching him.

His eyes fluttered open. Sirius had turned to face him and was lying still except for one hand, which was moving between Remus' legs. Sirius was watching himself touch Remus, watching himself run his fingers along Remus' cock, his balls, his thighs, watching himself play with Remus' pubic hair. He wasn't jerking him off. He was merely touching, pressing and feeling and stroking as if he were just…curious.

His eyes flickered up to catch Remus'. Remus could see him swallow.

"Is this okay?" he asked tentatively.

Remus, who still felt the heavy tendrils of sleep pulling at him, nodded, eyes closing briefly as Sirius' hand stilled against his prick.

"Yes," he said, the word coming out hoarse. "Yes."

"I just…" Sirius ducked his head, fingers moving once again, trailing lower and pressing light circles around Remus' balls. He whispered, "I wanted to see how it would feel."

Heat snaked through Remus' belly. The room was so quiet, so still.

"Is that okay, Daddy?"

His fingers traced down Remus' cock, rubbing gently at the precome gathering at the tip. Not teasingly; not with intention. At least, not with intention aimed at Remus.

"Yes, love," Remus said, breath gathering in his lungs as Sirius' evident absorption in his task fed Remus' growing arousal. His cock was slowly rising. Sirius traced the veins, felt it as it hardened.

"So big," he said breathily. His hand closed briefly around it. "It's getting bigger, Daddy."

Remus stifled a gasp. "That's what happens when it feels good down there, darling."

"It feels good?" Sirius asked hopefully.

"Yeah, baby."

Sirius gripped his cock again, a little more firmly this time. Remus bit his lip, hard.

"I make you feel good?"

"Oh, god. Yes. Yes, love."

Sirius squeezed a little. Remus' cock grew stiffer.

"Mine doesn't do this," Sirius said, looking down at Remus' prick. "Why not, Daddy?"

Remus' heart clenched painfully. Oh, shit, he thought, though the waves of good feeling were still pulsing through him. "It will, baby," he said, arousal giving an edge to his voice. "It will. Someday."

"When?" Sirius' voice had grown a little tighter, but he was still running his fingers over Remus' genitals; he was squeezing Remus' balls between thumb and forefinger now.

"I don't know, love," Remus said, swallowing hard. "It'll happen when you're ready."

"You mean I'm just not ready yet?" Sirius said after a pause.

"That's right," Remus replied, sparks shooting through his prick. "But you will be."

"When?" The word was almost petulant.

"I don't know, love. Your body will tell you. You…ah…you have to be patient."

Sirius was still playing with Remus as if he didn't know how to bring him to climax. Maybe as if he didn't even know he could.

"Be patient for Daddy," Remus said, back arching.

"Okay," Sirius said softly. He fingered Remus' cock gently. "Daddy," he said, "can I taste it?"

"Taste…" Remus gasped.

"Your…thing."

Remus closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. "My penis, love?"

"Yes."

"Okay. But it might not taste very nice."

"That's all right."

Sirius took his hand away and scooted down, the quilt bunching up as he went. He had to curl his legs up tightly to get himself level with Remus' groin while still remaining on the narrow bed.

Sirius held Remus' cock gently, almost gingerly, and then brought his mouth to the glistening head, touching it with just the tip of his tongue.

Heat shot through Remus.

"Oh," said Sirius. "It tastes…funny. I'm not sure I like it, Daddy."

For half a second the memory of the time Sirius had swallowed three loads of Remus' come in one night flashed through Remus' mind. Then Sirius gave another experimental lick and the image vanished.

"It's…"

"Bitter?" Remus suggested. He could feel Sirius' warm breath against his cock.

"Yes," Sirius said. "But…I want it."

He looked up at Remus, surprise plain on his face.

"I want it."

Remus exhaled shakily and ran a hand through Sirius' hair. "You can suck on me if you like."

Sirius paused, then bent closer and took the head of Remus' cock in his mouth. He sucked. It was only an inch or so deep. Remus gasped at the strangeness of it.

Sirius kept sucking, diligently now, pushing his lips farther down around Remus' cock. His tongue licked clumsily against it. Remus could hear him breathing hard through his nose. After about a minute, he suddenly thrust his head down and pushed his mouth almost all the way up Remus' prick.

Immediately, he choked, pulling off messily as he gagged, coughing and gasping for breath. "Sirius," Remus said, alarmed. Sirius looked up at him, face red and eyes watering, still swallowing hard.

"I took too much," he said hoarsely. "I wanted to—" He swallowed again, trying to get his breathing under control.

"Shh," said Remus, stroking Sirius' hair as arousal soared through him. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay."

Sirius pressed his face against Remus' groin for a long moment, till his breath came steady again.

"Here," said Remus, reaching down and taking his cock in hand. He offered the head to Sirius. "Just keep sucking. It feels good, I promise."

"But I want more, Daddy," Sirius whispered.

"You'll get more if you keep sucking. I promise."

Sirius blinked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. He bent down again and took Remus' cock back into his mouth. He resumed sucking, rhythmic and steady, as if he was determined to do a good job.

If Remus hadn't been so starved for Sirius' touch the small amount of contact with just the head of his prick might not have been enough to bring him off, but as it was, he felt his orgasm coming from a long way away. As it built, he said to Sirius, voice strained, that Sirius would please Daddy very much if he swallowed.

Sirius' sucking grew more frantic and he gripped Remus' legs, holding tightly as if they were keeping him anchored. Remus' arousal rose and rose and balanced just on the edge; then it crested, spilling hot into Sirius' mouth.

Sirius made a little noise at the back of his throat and Remus could feel him trying hard to swallow fast enough to get it all down. He gagged a little again and the sound sent more come flooding out of Remus; Sirius whimpered and strained to breathe through his nose. When Remus had finally finished, Sirius took his mouth away. Remus blindly pulled him up into his arms. There was come around Sirius' lips where it had leaked out despite his best efforts; some had dribbled down onto his chin. He hugged Sirius hard, stroking his back with trembling hands.

"It was a lot, Daddy," Sirius whispered.

"I know, love."

"It was hard."

"I know. You did beautifully."

Sirius sighed and burrowed into Remus' chest. "Thank you for letting me, Daddy."

Remus almost asked—wanted to ask—Did you like it? But he stopped himself, the words stumbling to a halt behind closed lips.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." He hesitated. "You're—a very brave boy, you know."

He could feel Sirius squirming a little against the praise; squirming, for a moment, against the fiction. But Sirius merely murmured, "Thank you, Daddy," and pushed himself deeper into Remus' arms.

Chapter 9

Notes:

uhhh...happy Valentine's Day? this is a chapter you'll probably want to take some care with if you've got feelings around mental health and/or loving people with mental health issues; Remus and Sirius are having a lot of feelings about that here. there's also some touching on the fact that they haven't been verbally negotiating the kink stuff so far. if you want more information about either of those things before reading, I'm going to post a little more info at the end of the chapter so you can scroll down and read those notes first.

also, whatever insights there may be in this chapter I share entirely with the people I love who have been through some of this stuff with me. enormous gratitude for being okay with my putting those experiences into writing and sharing them with the world.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Order meetings were getting longer and more frustrating. Everyone had more bad news and different ideas about what to do about it. One rainy morning saw them disbanding in exquisitely awkward silence after a heated debate over the question of reaching out to giant communities in the Welsh mountains. Remus had been asked to weigh in a few too many times for his liking, given that werewolves and giants were entirely different and expertise in one area did not mean expertise in another. Sirius was particularly moody as the members trailed out; his suggestions that they begin implementing a more aggressive strategy for tracking down Death Eaters had not been taken seriously.

He glared at the closed front door, a sour expression settling onto his face.

"I know," said Remus. "That was not a particularly standout meeting."

"Fucking idiots," Sirius muttered. "What are they waiting for? You-Know-Who to start torching houses again?"

Remus shrugged. "I mean…it does make some sense to not make the first really public move. We don't want to be seen as the aggressors."

Sirius snorted. Remus put a hand on his shoulder; he twitched away. Remus reached out again to smooth his hair down. "Come on, love," he said, thinking perhaps it would be a relief for them both to try and put the morning behind them. "I think it's time for a rest."

Sirius jerked back. "Stop babying me, Remus. I'm not an actual child."

Remus blinked. Slowly, he lowered his hand.

"I—I know," he said uncertainly. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to…"

"Yes, you were," Sirius said. His fists were clenched at his sides. "You were trying to smooth me over. To make me stop feeling angry."

"Not—" Remus' eyes were, unaccountably, smarting. "Not that, just…"

"Just what?"

"Help you," Remus said, helplessly. "Make it—make it better."

"Make me better."

"I…"

"I'm not broken, Remus."

He turned sharply and strode down the corridor, into the kitchen.

Remus followed. "I don't—I don't think you're—"

He couldn't quite finish the sentence. It wouldn't have been entirely true. Sirius was looking at him like he knew what Remus was thinking.

"You think I'm broken."

"Not—" Remus drew in a breath and steadied himself against the doorframe. His head was spinning. "Not…exactly that, Sirius, just—something's not—not right with you, yeah? I mean. Not permanently, not—not something that will last forever, it's—it's not like you'll never get back to normal."

"Normal." Sirius's lips pressed together into a thin line. "This is normal right now."

"But…"

"I'm so fucking tired of feeling broken," Sirius bit out. "Like I'm supposed to be trying to fix myself."

"But…" Remus swallowed hard; it wouldn't do any good to start crying. "But you don't—I mean, surely you don't—this isn't what you want to feel like, is it?"

"It's how I do feel. And I just—I know you want me to be different, not the Sirius I am now but the Sirius I was before, and I just—I—I hate feeling like I'm not really myself. That you're looking at me and wanting me to be a different me."

Remus sat down hard at the kitchen table and put his hands over his face to hide the tears that had begun spilling out of his eyes. He tried to keep his voice steady, as if somehow he could stop Sirius from noticing he was crying.

"I don't…" He couldn't put the words together. "But…but you…" He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat. But you're not really you. "I don't—it's not that I think you should—should be doing anything else right now, I mean, I get it, you're not—you can't just—fix it, it's just—"

"See," Sirius said bitterly. "Fix it. You want me to fix it."

Of course I want you to fix it! Remus thought wildly, feeling as if he had gone suddenly mad; what else was he supposed to feel about the fact that Sirius was utterly miserable and barely wanted to touch him? "I'm sorry, I—I shouldn't have said it like that."

"I can't do anything differently right now," Sirius said, voice stubborn but strained. He wasn't crying like Remus was, in great floods, but small, infrequent tears had begun squeezing themselves out of the corners of his eyes and leaving glistening tracks on his cheeks. "I can't."

"I'm not asking you to."

He wasn't. He hadn't. He hadn't ever said that Sirius should be able to just deal with the situation or his depression, had been trying so incredibly hard not to say that, not to even think it, he knew, he knew, of course he did, how badly Sirius was suffering because of circumstances beyond his control and that Sirius wasn't choosing to suffer and that all he, Remus, could do was be patient and—and steady and—and wait. For—yes. For Sirius to be…better.

How could he not be waiting for that? Was he supposed to just—just accept that this was how it is?

"It just hurts," he said, inadequately, with a great inelegant sniffle that failed to stop snot from leaking out of his nose.

"Yeah," said Sirius, still a little bitterly. "I know. I can tell."

Remus' eyes overflowed again. His chest was clenching up, and his stomach; he felt a little nauseated. He had been trying so hard not to put his resentment on Sirius. He knew it wasn't fair to feel resentful, knew it wasn't helpful to pile his own hurt on top of Sirius' pain. He also knew it was okay for him to hurt, to be upset, to feel that yawning chasm of grief and loss when he wanted and could not have Sirius' hands on his skin. Wasn't it?

"I'm sorry," he said again, though he felt only half sorry and half a kind of stifled bemused anger. "I didn't mean to show you—"

"I'm not a child," Sirius snapped again. "You don't have to protect me. I know what you feel about all this, I can tell."

Remus frantically wiped at his wet face. He was trying to breathe steadily enough that he didn't let out the cramped animal noises that were threatening to emerge from his throat.

"I just miss you," he whispered.

Sirius looked suddenly very weary. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm not really here."

Remus pushed his palms hard against his eyes and stood up, opening one of the cabinets to find some paper towels he'd stashed away there. He tore off a couple, blew his nose, and wiped his face. His nose filled immediately with snot again. He took another paper towel from the roll, then another. He steadied himself against the kitchen counter.

"I'm sorry," he said, mostly managing to keep the tremor from his voice. Frustration and confusion and defensive anger were still roiling around inside him, but the guilt and the apology were real. He could understand why Sirius felt this way. He didn't know where that left him, but he understood.

"I'm sorry, I…" He blew his nose again. "Yeah. Okay. I won't—I'm sorry I talked about it like that, Sirius. You're not broken."

"Can I have a paper towel?"

Remus tore one off and handed it to him. Sirius wiped at his face, though most of the tear tracks had already dried.

"Thanks," Sirius said. He looked utterly exhausted now. "I. I needed to say that. I think I'd been needing to say it for a long time."

A few more tears pushed themselves out of Remus' eyes. Sirius stepped forward and gave him a hug, so brief that Remus didn't get a chance to hug back. "I love you," he said.

The words should have made Remus feel better, but they didn't. Maybe because it was never Sirius' love that had been in question. "I love you too," he said. He swallowed. "I think I'm going to, er. Wash up. Maybe a shower."

"Okay," Sirius said. "I'm going to make some tea, if you want any later."

"Er. Maybe."

Remus hurried out of the room. He climbed the stairs as quickly as he could. Once he'd made it into the bathroom he leaned back against the door and slid down to the floor. He buried his face in his hands. The sobs came out, louder than he wanted them to. His fingers itched to take up his wand and perform a muffling charm, but it seemed like that would be more of the sort of trying to hide his feelings that Sirius had said didn't work. That came out passive aggressive and bitter.

But what was he supposed to do instead? Tell Sirius every time he felt abandonment slice through him when Sirius didn't want to sit next to him on the couch? Describe in detail the hollow space left behind by the long nights of talking and touching and fucking they'd done in the year after Azkaban, when they'd relearned each other to such breathless levels of intimacy that Remus had thought it was impossible to be closer to another human being? That wouldn't help Sirius; that wasn't fair to Sirius, it…it just…

The only other option seemed to be that Remus not feel those things, and that hurt. The idea that Sirius might want him to just give up that intimacy they'd shared. To stop awaiting its return.

But broken, he didn't want Sirius to feel broken, that was horrible, of course it was, and he didn't want Sirius to feel that he didn't count until his depression lifted, that he wasn't himself or who Remus wanted. He just—he just thought they'd both been on the same page, that this was miserable, that Sirius wanted to be back to normal—

Normal, again, there, the word Sirius didn't want him to say; and of course he didn't, but after twelve years of burying himself in solitude while Sirius was in Azkaban Remus had been desperately, impossibly grateful to be able to say he felt normal again. Surely Sirius wanted that, too? But maybe Sirius' depression meant he couldn't want anything, really, couldn't feel the absence of Remus' intimacy the way Remus felt it—

He sobbed again, scrabbling for toilet paper to blow his overflowing nose. His eyes felt scraped raw but they were still leaking, still releasing tears whenever Remus doubled over with another burst of frustration or confusion or grief.

He didn't understand. He had been trying so hard. Had he been—fuck, had he been wrong? Had Sirius not wanted the—oh, god, had he not wanted the power play, the—the daddy stuff, all of that? Remus had thought—he had thought, thank Merlin we can do this at least, thought it was the one blessed way Sirius had been able to give himself up to being cared for—but—but—

He burst out of the bathroom, hands shaking, throat thick with snot and tears, and trembling with a kind of helpless terror he stumbled his way back downstairs.

"Sirius," he said, "Sirius—"

"Remus!" Sirius looked up from his cup of tea and stood, alarmed. His face was dry; in fact, he looked more peaceful than Remus had seen him in days.

"Did I fuck it up, Sirius, did I—hurt you, did I pressure you—"

"What?" Sirius said, hurrying over to Remus. "Wait, what?"

"Did I push you into something you—you didn't want, did you do it because I wanted it—Sirius—"

"Remus," Sirius said firmly. He took Remus' shaking wrists in his hands and pulled them gently away from Remus' tear-streaked face. "What are you talking about? When do you think you pushed me into something I didn't want?"

"The…sex," Remus whispered. "And the rest of it. Telling you what to do, and. And treating you like a child, you said you didn't want to be treated like a child…"

"Oh." Sirius pulled Remus into a hug. "No, love. No. That's not what I meant."

"But…" Remus couldn't get the words out. He wasn't breathing very well.

"No," Sirius said. He squeezed Remus hard. Harder than he had in ages. "You have not done anything to pressure me or coerce me and I haven't done anything I didn't want to do." He drew back and made Remus sit down. He sat next to him, pulling his chair close. "I only meant outside of that. In general. When it's…a thing we're doing, it's all right."

"I thought it helped," Remus said a little wildly.

"It did. It does." Sirius took his hand, though Remus tried not to let him, it was so wet and snotty and disgusting; "It's just that sometimes I feel frustrated by people acting like I'm too fucked up to be taken seriously. Not just you. The rest of the Order, Dumbledore, he doesn't think I'm fit for anything, and Molly…bless her heart, but she treats me like an invalid. If I ate all the cream soups and potato dishes she sent me I'd be made of cream and potatoes by now."

"But I…"

"Remus. It's not that. I'm not upset about the hitting, or the washing, or the feeding. Or the being put to bed. Or the bracelet." He showed Remus the thin silver band on his wrist. "It's just the other stuff, the ordinary daily stuff."

"I've been failing you," Remus whispered. "With the ordinary stuff. The daily stuff."

"Not failing—"

"Yes," said Remus. "Yes. You said. I've been saying the wrong things, feeling the wrong things or—or at least showing you the wrong feelings, and it's not fair, I've been trying so hard, I don't understand, I don't understand how I'm supposed to not wish we could be close again, it's like a fucking limb that's been severed, and I—I don't—of course I don't want you to feel bad all the time, I want to be here with you the way that you are now, but—but I've been trying, and I can't—I can't understand how I was supposed to do anything differently—"

"I didn't say you were supposed to do anything differently." Remus opened his mouth; Sirius shook his head. "I just needed to tell you how I felt."

"But…" Remus's stupid eyes were still overflowing. They felt dry and puffy but still they kept producing tears. "But I did it wrong."

Sirius looked at him for a moment, then said, "What on earth makes you think you'd be able to do it right?"

Remus stared at him.

"This is an absolutely, utterly impossible situation," Sirius said. "It's complete shit. I'm a disaster, and apparently," he looked Remus up and down, "you are too. Why should either of us be able to handle this perfectly? Why should we think it's possible for us to never hurt each other?"

"I…"

"Why is it so important to you that you do everything right?"

The switch turned off: the tears stopped. Remus' hands ceased trembling. He felt lightheaded, but the panicked flutter in his chest had abruptly disappeared.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Remus wiped his face again. Sirius held out a paper towel. He blew his nose.

"I guess that would be a pretty ridiculous thing to expect from myself," he said, giving a watery smile.

"Yeah, it really would."

Sirius squeezed his hand. Remus squeezed back.

"I'm sorry, I…"

"Remus John Lupin, if you apologize right now I'm feeding you to Buckbeak."

That startled a laugh out of Remus. He took a few very deep breaths.

"Seems like you've been pretending you're more okay than you are again," Sirius said wryly. "Classic Moony behavior. I'd have recognized it under different circumstances, but…" He shrugged. "Tea?"

"Yeah," said Remus. "Yeah, thanks."

Sirius stood up. He paused for a second, then kissed Remus on the top of his head before putting the kettle on.

"Lots of sugar," said Remus.

"Oh yes," said Sirius. "And lots of milk."

"Weak and sweet."

"Weak and sweet." Sirius smiled at him a little. "I love you."

This time, it did help to hear. "I love you too," said Remus.

Notes:

for those who would like more specific content warnings before reading: in this chapter, Sirius expresses frustration with Remus for the way Remus seems to want Sirius to "get better"; Sirius is tired of feeling broken. while working through that, Remus has a moment of worry that he's been pressuring Sirius into having sex/doing power play stuff he didn't really want. Sirius assures him (honestly) that Remus has not been pressuring him. they end the chapter having gotten to a good place with each other again.

Chapter 10

Notes:

a short one this time. thanks for reading, everybody.

Chapter Text

Sirius started touching him again. Just a little, but Remus noticed right away. It was a hand on his shoulder as Sirius passed by; it was a face pressed into his arm as they lay in bed. It was a choice to sit on the sofa next to Remus instead of in the armchair. It was—Remus shocked and swamped with gratitude every time—a kiss on the mouth in the morning.

He thought that some of it had to do with the weather. Spring was turning out to be unusually mild this year, and sunshine and brisk fresh breezes came in through the open windows, airing out the close and stuffy rooms. It might have been Harry's letters, full of teenage angst and worry about his O.W.L.s, which gave Sirius someone else's unhappiness to focus on instead of his own. And it might, Remus thought, it might in some small part be due to the little space they had carved out for themselves in Sirius' childhood bedroom, where Remus tucked him in on the nights when Sirius couldn't sleep.

After the March full moon, Sirius put Remus to bed. It was in their own bedroom under their own faded quilt, but he kissed him on the forehead just as Remus often did him. Remus, whose transformations left him exhausted and achy—side effects of the Wolfsbane that were preferable to the bites and bruises of his youth but still significant—dozed all day. Sirius fed him soup, even though Remus protested that he wasn't sick. Sirius stroked his hair and Remus couldn't pretend the weight of Sirius' hand on his head didn't raise a lump in his throat.

That evening, after clearing away the dinner tray he'd brought, Sirius lay next to Remus, hand moving gently over Remus' chest. Remus watched him, but Sirius didn't look back; he kept his eyes down as he did what could only be called petting Remus, stroking his upper arm, his wrist, his hand; his belly, his hips, his thighs; his knees, his shins. His elbows. The join of his neck to his shoulders.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, after maybe twenty minutes.

It was more than okay; it was like getting into a hot bath after standing outside in freezing rain. Like his frostbitten extremities were warming up. Remus nodded.

Sirius petted him more, rucking up Remus' shirt to touch his stomach. His fingers moved up Remus' ribs, tracing each one. Remus had to keep remembering to breathe; he felt like any too-quick movement would startle Sirius away.

Sirius bent his head and, lying down alongside Remus' body, kissed Remus' side. He nuzzled it with his nose, then kissed it again, and again a little higher up. It was almost as if he were still petting Remus, pressing his face against Remus' side, skin against skin.

Remus' cock had been filling from the moment Sirius began to touch him, but Sirius' lips and the brush of Sirius' tongue made him immediately hard. He let it happen, though, just breathed through his nose and let the feeling wash through him. Really, his arousal was simply automatic, almost an afterthought. It was his side, his torso, his ribs that were demanding his attention—starved, he'd been touch-starved, and he'd known it, but he hadn't known just how much.

Sirius kissed and nosed up Remus' side, pushing his t-shirt farther up with his face as he went. It bunched up when it reached the join of his arm. Sirius pushed it up a little farther—the brush of his fingers against Remus' skin sending another pulse of arousal through Remus—and resumed kissing. He kissed higher, nose tickling the hair in Remus' armpit. He kissed the hair. He licked up, into the crease.

Remus gasped. He'd been instinctively holding back any noise, uncertain whether this attention was meant to be sexual or affectionate or merely exploratory, but when Sirius licked into Remus' armpit, he gasped.

A slight pause. Sirius did it again.

He scooted himself close so he could get his mouth right in. He kissed, lips pressing down against the hair, and then licked, into the hollow, then into the crease. He kissed again, then sucked.

It felt utterly strange. Sensitive, surprisingly sensitive despite the hair in the way, and—and—Sirius licked deeper, harder—and it was like—what was it like? Then Remus realized that it was like the first time Sirius had eaten him out. The wrongness of it, the shock of a mouth in that place, warm and dark and—dirty—Remus' asshole, tender. Untouched. Remus' armpit. The same. And of course, there was the…shape of it, the V, Sirius' mouth buried in that V, and the…crisp tendrils of hair, the—the smell…

Sirius was eating him out.

Remus whimpered. He couldn't stop whimpering. He didn't know when he'd started, but he couldn't stop. It was almost too much, the sensation, Sirius' tongue relentless against that inside crease, that thin hidden stretch of skin, and—and—it was the unplaceability of it, the way he couldn't categorize what was happening to him, that familiar feeling but somewhere else in his body—

His cock was so stiff. It was pushing up against his pants. He didn't feel like touching it; he didn't have the attention to spare. He whined, because Sirius was still licking; still that strange sensation, being eaten out but—but in that place, in—licking his armpit, why—why would Sirius want—

He writhed; he was being fucked but it was never going to make him come. That was okay. That was okay. Sirius' tongue didn't feel like a tongue anymore, but some strange invading thing, some relentless invader that just—kept—burrowing inside—

Sirius pulled back, panting. He wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. He looked up at Remus; his eyes were a little glazed over.

"Wow. I…"

"Yeah."

"Lost myself there a bit."

Remus swallowed. "I liked it."

"I could tell."

A silence. Remus' cock was still hot and hard, but in a background sort of way, a hum in the distance.

"That was good for me," Sirius said slowly. "It wasn't…too much."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He reached up and petted Remus' armpit hair, which was damp with spit. "You taste nice."

Absurdly, Remus flushed.

Chapter 11

Notes:

turns out this is the last chapter--thanks for reading, everyone. sending you all the love.

Chapter Text

It could all have gone so differently.

If Sirius had been as miserable in the spring as he'd been at Christmas, he might have spent his nights pacing the halls of Grimmauld Place till his feet got blisters. He might have spent his days lying in bed, sleeping fitfully and staring at the ceiling. He might have forgotten how anxious Harry must have been getting as his O.W.L.s approached. He might not have written him quite so often or spoken to him so frequently through the mirror he'd given Harry over the summer. So Harry might have forgotten about the mirror, left it to gather dust at the bottom of his trunk, and he might not have thought to bolt straight up to Gryffindor tower to get it after experiencing the vision of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries, the vision Voldemort planted in his head. He might not have used the mirror to contact Sirius to check whether he had really been captured; he might have rushed straight to the Ministry, with who knows how many of his loyal friends in tow. He might have fallen into Voldemort's trap. The Order might have had to send a rescue mission and they might have gotten into a deadly battle with Death Eaters, maybe with Voldemort himself. Who knows how many of them might not have survived? If Sirius had been as miserable as he'd been several months before, Harry might have died. Remus might have died.

Sirius might have died.

But Sirius didn't die. He did, with Remus' urging, maintain close contact with Harry in the days leading up to his exams. He reminded Harry, with Remus' confirming echo, that if Harry ever needed either of them, he only had to call into the mirror. So Harry didn't forget, and he did call Sirius, and instead of his godfather bruised and bloodied in Voldemort's clutches, he saw Sirius' face blinking up at him warmly, Remus' hand just visible on his shoulder, and heard Sirius asking Harry how his exam had gone.

And everyone lived.

"Harry!" Sirius threw open his arms as Harry walked into Grimmauld Place, trunk hovering behind him and robes half-shed already in deference to the start of summer. Harry wrapped his arms around Sirius' waist and Sirius squeezed tight. After a few seconds, Harry started to pull away, but Sirius merely tightened his grip and Harry, laughing a muffled laugh into Sirius' shirtfront, gave in.

"Hey," said Remus, "what about me?"

He'd never been as affectionate with Harry as Sirius but he realized he wanted a hug very badly, and Harry gave it to him, not even an awkward-teenage-boy-one-armed squeeze but a real, family member kind of hug. It made Remus remember that he hadn't touched anyone but Sirius in weeks; hadn't hugged anyone since...when? Since Molly Weasley had last visited a couple months before?

Arthur Weasley, who'd accompanied Harry from Kings Cross, was politely waiting in the entryway, Hedwig's cage in one hand and a brown paper bag half-full of what looked like the remains of a trolley feast in the other. "Every Flavour Bean?" he asked, holding it out. "I suspect Harry and his friends have picked through all the best ones, but there might be a lemon or a chocolate hiding amongst the snot and the dirt."

"I like to live dangerously," said Sirius, plunging his hand into the bag. "Thanks for looking after him, Arthur."

"You're really the one to be thanked for that," Arthur said. As Harry grabbed Hedwig and left to get her situated in his bedroom, he lowered his voice. "We're all so relieved you've convinced Albus to let him stay here this summer."

"One week at the Dursleys," Sirius said flatly. "That counts as 'going home,' in my book, and if it doesn't, to hell with it." He hesitated, then said with a crooked smile, "It's done my head in to be stuck in my dreadful childhood home, and my family's all dead. Harry doesn't need that. There are more dangers to his health and safety besides You-Know-Who."

Remus, startled to hear Sirius speak so frankly about his experience at Grimmauld Place, didn't know what to say. But Arthur nodded and squeezed Sirius briefly on the shoulder.

"I wish we could have done more for you this past year," he said. "I think we'll be in and out a lot more often this summer, what with Ron and Hermione and the others all wanting to visit Harry. If that's all right with you."

Sirius nodded. "They can stay any time, all of them, if you want. Give you and Molly a night to yourself one of these days."

Remus listened to this extremely coherent conversation with a bit of astonishment. Sirius had been doing—not better, he told himself, he mustn't think of it as better, as if Sirius were a broken thing that needed mending—but he had been talking more often and with more of his old spark, cracking the occasional joke and resuming his old habit of playing with Remus' hair whenever Remus was sitting at the kitchen table. This, though, was something new; this was…

Not normal, he told himself. Not as if Sirius hadn't been Sirius all year long. Just…he seemed more there. More present. Like when he spoke to Arthur, he really saw him; like when Harry bounded back down the stairs in search of tea, Sirius really, truly wanted to get it for him.

Arthur left and Sirius and Harry went into the kitchen and Remus stood next to the still-silent, still-covered portrait of Walburga Black, intending to levitate Harry's trunk up to his room but finding himself caught by a few sudden realizations.

He realized the colors seemed brighter. The dour wallpaper, while still dour, had glints of bronze amidst its brown-on-brown curlicues. The sun coming through the small window above the front door caught dust motes swirling in the air. Harry's trunk had a gold-and-scarlet sticker depicting a Gryffindor lion plastered on its side; the gold shone and the scarlet nearly screamed.

He realized his body felt different. It was because of Harry's hug. Since Harry had given him that brief, affectionate embrace, his muscles had been loosening and his chest opening up. His skin felt sensitive, like if he touched something he'd feel every ridge, every bump, every bit of texture.

He realized that the future felt as if it were widening rather than narrowing to some inevitable endpoint. Voldemort was still at large; the war was not over. In many ways not much was different from how it had been all year long. Yet Remus felt different. Things seemed possible again.

And it was all because Harry had come to stay and now the house would be a different kind of place. Remus would have someone to talk to other than Sirius, and Sirius would have someone to talk to other than Remus, and Remus wouldn't have to shoulder everything alone. And he understood what he should have seen long before: that he'd been trying to shoulder everything alone when he ought to have asked for help; and that he had been very afraid all year long and had been trying to pretend that he wasn't.

He sat down abruptly on Harry's trunk and wondered how much better he'd have been able to cope if he'd realized before this moment that it wasn't only Sirius who had been struggling so badly. He wondered if he'd have put less pressure on Sirius if he'd realized sooner that he hadn't just been grappling with Sirius' depression, but with his own fears that the world was going to come crashing down and that he would be left all alone once again. He had thought himself so self-aware, so sure he had mapped out all the complex strands of his many and varied responses to everything that was going on; but the front door opening onto an early-summer day and a hug from Harry had revealed much more to him than he'd been able to parse alone in his head.

"Remus!" came Sirius' voice, hollering from the kitchen. He was louder than Remus had heard him in ages. "Tea!"

He left Harry's trunk in the corridor and went towards the sound of two people laughing.

"I'm sorry," he said to Sirius that night. "I should have done a better job taking care of myself. I shouldn't have put it all on you."

Sirius, whose knee was jammed comfortably into Remus' side, frowned a little. "What do you mean?"

"This last year. I haven't been okay."

Sirius laughed. "No shit."

"Well. Yeah. But…more than I realized. I knew I was…unhappy," Remus said slowly. "But I didn't know…I don't know. I thought…"

"You thought you were handling it better than you were. And that you could fix everything on your own. I know."

"If you knew, why didn't you say something?" Remus said, a little stricken but also a little miffed.

"I mean, I didn't know then. I certainly didn't have the words for it. But you've always kept it all in, Remus, you've always been like that. We had to work out you were a werewolf because you wouldn't tell us, remember? You thought you could handle it all by yourself when you were twelve years old."

"Oh," said Remus. "I guess so."

Sirius kissed his arm, just below his t-shirt sleeve. "It's what you do."

"I'm sorry."

Sirius shook his head. "We've both been surviving, Remus. That's okay. That's enough."

"But I could have…"

"I'm not sure you could have, actually. I'm not sure either of us could have done much differently."

Something in Remus rose up in protest at this: some flicker of resentment, a wish to say, But we should always try to do better, I missed you, it was so hard, are you saying you don't mind how far apart we've been; but he didn't say it. He wasn't sure if Sirius' attitude was the attitude he wanted to adopt for himself. He wasn't sure he wanted to conclude that this past year could only have been as hard and miserable as it turned out to be; he wasn't sure if that was what would serve him best. But it might not matter. They could both believe what they needed to believe, and if Sirius wanted to absolve Remus of his guilt, that, at least, Remus could accept. Could try to accept.

"It's too bad that I'm going to be horny again just when we have to keep quiet because someone else is in the house."

Remus' eyebrows shot up and his heart gave a little jump. He tried to tease. "Oh, are you planning on being horny again?"

Sirius gave him half a smile. "I think so. I'm…coming out of it. I can feel myself coming back."

Remus held at bay the crashing stormfront of emotion that rose rapidly up at Sirius' words, then grabbed a pillow and, only partially in melodramatic jest, covered his face with it as tears surged out of his eyes. Sirius grappled with the pillow for a moment and managed to wrench it from Remus' grasp. Remus brought his hands up to hide his weeping but Sirius pushed them aside.

"Sorry," Remus gasped.

"For what?" Sirius asked, looking at him steadily.

"For…" He shook his head, sniffling and wiping his nose. "I don't know."

"I don't know either. I love you."

"I love you too."

Sirius kissed the tear tracks on Remus' cheek and then lay back down alongside him, taking Remus' hand in his own.

"I do like bottoming for you," he said quietly. "I hope we can still do that sometimes."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

There was a silence.

"You know it might get bad again. For me. Someday," Sirius said.

"I know."

Sirius played with Remus' pinky finger for a moment. "Is it really worth it?" he asked. "All my shit. Is it really worth dealing with?"

"Yes," said Remus. He didn't need to think about it. He'd never even questioned it. "And mine?"

"Yep."

"Oh good."

"Yes."

"Good, good."

Sirius laughed and pressed up against Remus, lacing their fingers together on Remus' chest. "You know I don't ever plan to not be with you, right?"

It could have started Remus crying again, but for some reason it didn't. Oh, he thought, understanding why. I did know that. I actually did. "Same for me," he said.

"I'm going to make Harry pancakes tomorrow."

Did Remus resent, just a little, the fact that Harry, on the very first day of his arrival, had been able to do for Sirius what he couldn't in an entire year?

No, he thought, and it was true. He had done his best, and so had Sirius. Then the world around them had changed, and now they were both going to do much better. For a time, at least.

It was enough. He kissed Sirius, and neither of them pulled back.