How can one thing with so much meaning be so meaningless? How can something with so much emotion be so empty, make him feel so wrong and dirty? Yet here he was, doing the one thing he had dreamt of doing for longer than he could remember, and he knew it wasn't right, wasn't what he needed to be doing.
There was Remus. There was Sirius. There were two tongues, two young bodies pressing into one another's. There was passion and there was love. But Remus felt wrong, he felt bad. He felt like this wasn't at all how he'd imagined it to be. In his mind, in his dreams, when he closed his eyes, he saw Sirius whisper sweet nothings into his ears, serenade him. He had an idea of Sirius that wasn't true to the real Sirius. The real Sirius was caring, yes. Considerate, yes. Loving, very. But he didn't live up to Remus' expectations, and he hated himself for it.
But Remus couldn't let himself down. He couldn't let Sirius down. He couldn't let his hopes and dreams fail just because he was unhappy with the way he was being treated. He knew that, someday, he would come to love Sirius as he was, and all the quirky things about him. He knew that, one day, these feelings would be a distant memory, washed away by a tide of love and happiness as Sirius goes down on him, oh oh ohh, on a lazy Sunday morning after orange juice and toast.
But now, right now, Remus could see that grey eye with its storm and its raw pure emotion, and hated himself for not falling in love with the beast that Sirius was. Lust, yes, there was lust, sheer lust, attraction, pure passion. But there wasn't love for the true Sirius, the Sirius that he was friends with, who all the girls had a crush on, who anyone would jump at the chance to be with. Maybe Remus was wrong. Maybe Remus was broken.
There was Remus. There was Sirius. There were two tongues, two young bodies pressing into one another's. There was passion and there was love. But Remus felt wrong, he felt bad. He felt like this wasn't at all how he'd imagined it to be. In his mind, in his dreams, when he closed his eyes, he saw Sirius whisper sweet nothings into his ears, serenade him. He had an idea of Sirius that wasn't true to the real Sirius. The real Sirius was caring, yes. Considerate, yes. Loving, very. But he didn't live up to Remus' expectations, and he hated himself for it.
But Remus couldn't let himself down. He couldn't let Sirius down. He couldn't let his hopes and dreams fail just because he was unhappy with the way he was being treated. He knew that, someday, he would come to love Sirius as he was, and all the quirky things about him. He knew that, one day, these feelings would be a distant memory, washed away by a tide of love and happiness as Sirius goes down on him, oh oh ohh, on a lazy Sunday morning after orange juice and toast.
But now, right now, Remus could see that grey eye with its storm and its raw pure emotion, and hated himself for not falling in love with the beast that Sirius was. Lust, yes, there was lust, sheer lust, attraction, pure passion. But there wasn't love for the true Sirius, the Sirius that he was friends with, who all the girls had a crush on, who anyone would jump at the chance to be with. Maybe Remus was wrong. Maybe Remus was broken.
