Boy's and Swords
By Sal-Chan
Remus was looking at pictures.
He normally did that when Sirius was gone - off on a mission he knew nothing about. There was a fire lit in their small shared flat, warming their small living room but stealing the warmth from all the other rooms. Remus smiled around the lip of his scotch glass and thought about how it matched Sirius and his relationship.
Flipping the photo album's page and smiled. Sirius and James were drawing their swords - well, sticks they had found the the forbidden forest, and were fighting. Sirius kept falling into fencing position, James copying g them, and they would go at each other again and again and again.
Remus remembered when they took that picture. Of James and Sirius sword fighting. Peter had taken that picture before the end of the fight, before James hand landed a good, solid, whip-like hit against Sirius side. Sirius had crumpled with a howl, a long line of red appearing along his side. His blood had soaked through his shirt, James' shirt, and half way through Remus' vest before Sirius had looked up and said "I think I'm hurt worse then I thought..."
Remus missed that - both the pain and the happiness. He missed laughing and James and Sirius playing. Missed the trust between them all - the fun they had. He missed the sense of family he had with his friends - having to lend out socks, or notes, or meeting behind the Quidditch shed for prank planning. Yes, he knew that he was living with Sirius. he knew that they were...well...they had a...connection. Remus curled his toes and sipped his scotch, trying to not think about the loss he felt at Sirius absence.
There was mistrust now, Remus thought as he flipped another page. It was a picture he had taken during James' first Quidditch game...
An hour later, Remus closed the book with a clink of ice in a dry glass and the sound of a door opening. It closed with a thud and, followed by another as Remus' photo album fell to the floor.
Sirius was drenched, hair matted to his face, dirt covered, and looked surprise to see Remus as well. Remus' fingers were cold, the warmth the scotch had brought fading. Remus was cold again - Sirius sucking out any warmth he had in him.
Sirius' smile was crocked. "What're you doing up?"
"What are you doing home?" Was the response.
Quiet seeped in. Remus was flexing his toes against the floor - his feet in Sirius' socks. Sirius' sweater - his old Gryffindor sweater - hanging large over Remus' thin shoulders. Sirius was staring at him with a expression Remus had only seen once before. It was almost unreadable in the lighting of their living room, and that warmth - weather from the scotch of the fire - began warming his stomach.
Remus remembered the day he woke up on the hospital bed, then day after i that /i prank. Sirius was sitting at the end of his bed with that same exact face on. That day, Sirius had told him exactly what had happened - how, why - and that face, that look in his eyes, had been there the entire. That night Sirius had slept curled around Remus frame, one arm around his waste, the other tucked under Remus' head. Sirius had mumbled words of apology and friendship and trust the entire night, and Remus just didn't sleep because he couldn't let that sound. That was the night Remus both hated Sirius with all of his being, and loved him just as much.
Now, that same look had taken over Sirius face again, and Remus was standing in their cold flat wearing his clothes. Sirius was still dripping.
"Are you cold?" Remus found himself asking. Thought Sirius smiled, that look stayed in his eyes.
"Are you wearing my clothes?"
There was nothing Remus could say to that. Sirius, after a moment, let out a long breath and dropped his bag, letting his coat slip off with a slick sound. He hung it up on their coat rack next to the door, and returned to the living room. Remus hadn't moved - he felt that if he moved he would break this all. This feeling, a mounting feeling of something impending. A pressure on his chest - straining his breathing.
He then saw the blood.
Remus' heart almost stopped.
Sirius must have seen this - the sudden sharpening of his pupils and tensing of his entire body - and quickly raised his hand. He was smiling again, that look in his eyes darkening, and if anything it made Remus' heart race.
"Are...are you alright?" Remus manages to stammer.
"Are you?" Sirius countered, taking a step toward Remus.
He could see it now - what was bleeding. A cut made by a spell, charring his skin and creating a scar that only curses could make. Remus found himself stepping toward Sirius, who was looking white and cold. His lips were almost blue, the normal rings around his eyes almost as dark as his hair. His shirt - despite being bloody - was dirties and covered in grime. His pants were brown and covered in dirt and dust. Remus had to wonder what Sirius crawled through in he back of his mind, but the foreground was completely concerned with the fact that Sirius was still bleeding.
"It's fine...I'm fine." He heard Sirius say, a soft mumble, then cold hands touches his face. Sirius raises his head so he could see Remus' eyes, his smile fading into a soft look.
"You're cold..." Was all Remus' brain could produce, reaching up to cover Sirius cold hand's with his own.
"I'm fine." He repeated, slowly leaning closer. "You're so warm..."
Sirius lips were as cold as his hands, chilling Remus even more. He was afraid for a minuet, scared, and then the scotch, or something from his heat, roared up and ate at his body like fire. It raced into his hands, through his chest, to his head. And Sirius ate at his warmth like the cold sheets, pulling Remus closer.
This had been what as missing. This feeling of the exchange of warmth, giving that warmth that grew inside him. He knew there there was an exchange of that - that warmth and cold - flowing in-between them for the longs time. But it had never felt this good, this rich, this...perfect.
Sirius broke it off with a hiss, Remus pulling his hand back with the tacky feeling of blood on his palm.
Remus was so close to Sirius - he felt the cold reaching out toward him, taking his warmth - his breath feeling cold against Remus' skin. He had never felt this before - this so sure that it was right. He understood why he had forgiven Sirius - for what seamed - so long ago, why he could hate him. Why he put up with living in this flat while Sirius was away, why he always want to be home, why he tried to trust Sirius even with the trundles of doubt sneaking through his brain. This was the reason - pure and simple.
"I think," Sirius was breathless, and Remus now recognizing that look. "That I might be hurt worse then I thought..."
Remus almost laughed, placing his warm hand on Sirius cold shoulder.
"Were you sword fighting again, Sirius." He mumbled, and Sirius laughed, then groaned.
"He was much better then James." Was the response, and Remus knew. He knew, with out a doubt, that he loved Sirius.
"I was better then James..."Remus was whispering, taking a deep breath of Sirius air and closing his eyes.
"Everyone was better then James." Sirius whispered back, then collapsed.
Sirius woke up, later that night, breaking through a fever to hear Remus' voice mumbling over and over again. He was surrounded by the smell of Remus - of books and tea and chocolate and Remus. He rolled his head toward the sound of his voice, which stopped immediately.
"Moony..." Was the mumble, and a pair of lips touched the crown of his head.
"Sleep Sirius...tell me tomorrow about your sword fight...I'll be here...I'll always be here..."
Sirius found himself smiling despite the pain in his side, the heat racing through him, the uncomfortable potion his head was at. But he felt Remus' heart beat under him, heard his soft breathing, and he fell asleep with sweat whispers and comforting words about times long ago when the only weapon that could hurt them was a sword made of a stick.