RATING: PG
PAIRING: Sirius/Remus/Harry
WORD COUNT: 256
The first time Sirius kissed Remus, they were fifteen, giggling, drunk on illicit alcohol and the luxury of private time together. In the morning Remus looked at him, and there was something haunted in his expression; and Sirius hadn't dared to bring the subject up.
The first time Remus kissed Sirius, it was very different; slow and deliberate and full of promise. They were eighteen, newly-graduated, unsure of what they wanted to do with their lives but passionately certain that they wanted to do it together.
The first time Sirius kissed Harry, he barely knew what he was doing. His hands roamed desperately over Harry's body, searching for injury, relieved beyong telling to find nothing but a startling thinness. He had escaped; somehow, miraculously, he was still alive. The kiss was a basic, primal, necessary reminder of all those things.
The first time Harry kissed Remus, Sirius watched, and smiled, and tousled the boy's hair affectionately, keeping his other hand on Remus's knee and thinking he had never seen anything so beautiful.
The last time Remus kissed Sirius, it was domestic and perfunctory, a goodbye kiss born of long habit. Harry wasn't there that week.
The last time Harry kissed Remus, Remus could taste tears in his mouth. They tasted bitterly of their loss, and as they clung to each other neither could pretend that that day would not bring further griefs to them.
And the last time Remus kissed Harry, his lips were cold, and still, and breathless, and it was the end of everything.