Author's note: This being fanfiction, the standard disclaimers apply.
Scars and Lovers
I.
Candlelight was feeble in the bedroom of Remus's ramshackle cottage. A little chiaroscuro: the great hollow pits of Sirius's eyes, each lit by a tiny jet of desire.
Or perhaps it was despair. Both. In his urgency, Sirius ripped the last few buttons off and slid the shirt off Remus's shoulders.
And stared.
" R-remus? "
Remus turned heavy-lidded eyes on him and takes one long, emaciated hand in his own. But Sirius still stared, caught up in guilt and memory. Remus kissed him hard. Sirius howled into his mouth, I'm sorry I'm so sorry and Remus thought, What for?
II.
" We don't have to do this, Harry, " says Remus, but he's lying. He could not resist James; he cannot resist Harry. Never Harry, who, with the myopic wisdom of his impossibly talented hands, has already coaxed such lovely sounds from deep down in his throat. Having disrobed the older man, Harry's laugh, nervous-shrill, chokes into a gasp.
" Let's go downstairs, Harry, " says Remus, his voice considerably firmer, making to push the boy away.
Harry pins him between Quidditch-strong thighs and rasps, " I- I think you're beautiful. "
But Harry's lying, too. Remus licks his lips.
III.
There will be no apology, no bold over-ride. Remus's body is a battlefield of old, ugly grey claw marks; Remus will not wish to talk about it. Nor will Severus. Neither of them will say a single word. In the darkness, Remus will sigh and relax into that unexpected, delightful, tenderness. The heavy fall of Severus's hair will draw tiny shivers as it brushes against Remus's stomach.
Then there will be Severus's strange, sweet, aching half-kisses that fall like cool rain on scorched earth. And Severus's hard, sharp fingernails, sinking like half-moons into pale flesh. To erase scars with scars.
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