Just a little one-shot I though up. Leave a review if you like it!
The first time Remus met Sirius Black, slumped in the booth at the back of the bar, looking like he owned the place, Remus thought he was a model. One of those sickly thin male models, all sharp angles and dark cervices, clothes draped over their frames like they were honored to be there.
He was James' old school friend, visiting for the holidays. Rich and posh and so infuriatingly handsome that Remus hated him. Passionately. For good measure, Sirius was stuck up and entitled and immoral and always right about everything and it seemed like he had been sent to Remus' run-down bar purely to taunt his meager existence.
Years later, after Remus learned to tolerate Sirius' existence. After they bonded through drunken bar fights and all-night clubbing marathons and getting stuck in a snowstorm overnight in Remus broken-down station wagon. Sirius confesses it. He is high in Remus' kitchen, chain-smoking cigarettes perched on the edge of the counter, and he confesses that he used to be a model. For a time. When he was a teenager. He tilts his head back, his neck long and pale in the dim lighting, and he looks like a portrait. A picture. A photograph.
Remus wants to burn Sirius into his memory right then. Right there.
Sirius blows the smoke from his soft lips and tells Remus about the clothes, the catwalks, the hair and makeup and shoots and model apartments and parties and afterparties—
He tells Remus he was good at it. That he liked it. Loved it.
Modeling got Sirius his first kiss, blowjob, fuck.
It got him a lifelong drug addiction, sexually assaulted, a bulimic tendency when stressed.
He loved it.
But he stopped. After James said it was 'gay' and laughed at him. A harmless joke, Sirius tells Remus. But Remus can see the hurt in his eyes.
Remus asks him why he doesn't go back to it. Start again.
And Sirius, who happens to be shirtless for some reason, laughs. Picks at some nonexistence flab on his stomach and says, 'I'm too fat now.'
.
Later that week, Remus brings it up again. Sirius laughs it off.
And just like that, it's something meant to be forgotten.
But Remus doesn't forget. Doesn't laugh it off.
He pokes and prods. Until Sirius finally gives in. Gets his old friends in the business to take new photographs for his portfolio.
Stark black and white.
Remus remembers holding the thick, high-quality print in his hands. A glossy 8x11, his fingerprints blurring the image. He panics, tries to wipe them off. Sirius just laughs at him. Tells him not to worry, that print is for him and him alone.
A gift.
Remus puts in on the fridge. Framing it seems too personal, too emotional, but somehow the fridge feels right. Sirius beams when he sees it there, holding on for dear life between NYC skyline and a miniature t-rex magnet.
They go from agency to agency in his run-down station wagon. Get rejected again and again.
Sirius falters, fumbles, falls.
Tells Remus he's too fat, too old, too ugly.
Remus can't see it. But he can see the business changing Sirius already.
But then Sirius gets signed.
And he beams. A light so bright that Remus can't possibly look away.
A light so bright no one can dim it except for—
.
James.
.
"You're doing that modeling shit again?" James laughs at the bar and Remus watches as Sirius' face falls.
"Just until something better comes along," Sirius says, waving it away. Like it's nothing.
Remus tries to catch Sirius' eye.
But Sirius' stunning gray eyes are focused on the wood grain of the bar. And nothing else.
Remus refreshes his drink, fingers skimming Sirius' soft skin. It's meant to be reassuring.
Sirius doesn't look up.
.
"James, can I have a second?"
James looks away from his girlfriend, Maddie, a Lily Evans lookalike with bottled red hair and dull green eyes. She's close, maybe as close as James has ever gotten, but she's not Lily.
Remus smiles at her in apology as he steals James away to the end of the bar. Away from Maddie. Away from Sirius.
He takes a deep breath. Pours himself a shot of whiskey and downs it. Smooth.
"Stop giving him shit," Remus says, trying to be brave.
"What?" James asks, confused.
"Sirius." Remus goes on, he hates awkward conversations, hates having to correct his friends, lecture them. But he's doing it. For Sirius. "Stop giving him shit about modeling James, he likes it."
"I don't—"
"You tease him about it, call it gay. And he…he doesn't say anything, but it hurts him. He likes modeling, he likes doing it, he's good at it."
James pushes his glasses up his nose. Hazel eyes shining wetly behind them.
"I didn't…mean to..."
He looks shaken, Remus thinks, or uncertain, pained. And that's how Remus knows that James didn't mean it.
"I know."
"What should I say?"
Remus shakes his head. Pours himself another shot.
"Just support him."
James nods to the shot glasses and Remus pours him one as well. They knock their glasses together and drink down the alcohol in one long swallow.
"I love him," James says, voice cracking. And Remus nods.
He loves Sirius too.
.
It didn't happen overnight.
Nothing ever does.
Remus watches as Sirius grows slimmer every day. His body, which was already thin, becomes sleek, angular, toned.
Sharp.
All sharp angles and jutting hip bones and rippling abs and long lean muscles running likes ropes down his back.
His face is thinner. Cheekbones glinting like the edge of a knife. His eyes are dark and hallowed, deep-set and haunting in his face.
Long thin fingers run across his long thin legs and Remus watches as Sirius paces back and forth in the living room. Practicing his walk.
He books jobs. Here and there at first.
And then more frequently.
And then, he's in London. Walking in fashion week. He comes back and sleeps for twenty hours straight. They've cut off his hair for a show, a side of his head shaved down.
Remus mourns its loss, but Sirius tells him it'll grow back.
And it does.
.
They're out on the streets walking to a new bar uptown when Sirius stops them at a news cart on the sidewalk. Pulls down the latest copy of Vogue and flips through it and there he is.
Centered on the glossy page.
James smiles brightly and claps Sirius on the back and tells him that he's proud of him.
And Sirius beams.
Remus buys the magazine.
Places it proudly on his coffee table. For display.
.
First, it was London. Then Paris. Madrid.
Sirius flies around the world. His face plastered across the glossy pages of fashion magazines.
Remus tries to buy them all, but soon it becomes too much.
The pile next to his bed tumbles over when Sirius brings him the latest copy of GQ and Sirius roars with laughter.
A sound so perfect, that Remus is momentarily stunned.
Sirius smiles at him, a hand cupping his face, and holds it there for a long moment before the laughter takes over once more and he collapses on Remus' bed in a fit of giggles.
Remus can still feel his fingers. Against his skin.
.
The music fills the edges of the large loft apartment of the latest up and coming design Sirius walked for. The after-party for the show in full swing. Remus watches from across the room as Sirius pulls James aside. Watches as his lips move.
"I'm gay."
Watches as James' eyes widen, his mouth forming a small 'O.'
And then James embraces Sirius and Remus lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
The after-show party continues around him, models in skimpy dresses and too high heels dancing the night away.
Beautiful people.
Remus is surrounded by the most beautiful people, drinking the most beautiful drinks, snorting the finest of drugs.
It's a party for the ages and he knows that any other man would be dying to be here. And yet, he really wants nothing more than to leave.
To get out.
Away.
Across the room, Sirius introduces his most recent boy toy to James and they're laughing, smiling, hands all over each other.
"You're Sirius' friend right?" A tall thin, strikingly beautiful girl asks him, a hand on his arm.
Remus tears his eyes away from Sirius, "yeah."
"You're very handsome." She says, "Sirius has such handsome friends."
Remus examines her hair. It's a bright, unusual shade of yellow blond. It looks natural but it's cut in such a clean geometric cut that makes him think it's not. Remus raises an eyebrow and the girl raises hers.
"I'm coming on to you." She states, clearly deciding Remus is too thick to get the message on his own.
"Oh."
It was a fair assessment.
"So?" She asks, her body settling into his like it was made for this. She's wearing an expensive perfume, a spicy but still clean scent that makes Remus breathe in deeply. It works for her, on her. He bet that perfume cost more than his rent each month.
He bets everything on her body costs more than his rent each month and he doesn't know how he feels about that.
Not yet.
But he knows how he feels about her.
"I'm sorry, but you're not…my type…"
The girl untangles herself from him and eyes him with crystal clear blue eyes.
"What? You don't like blonds, or you don't like women?"
Remus stutters, blushes, "I'm…bi…but I prefer…men."
The girl laughs and kisses him on the cheek.
"Sure baby." She glances at Sirius across the room and back to Remus with a knowing look. "Sure."
.
"Where are we going, Sirius?" Remus asks, he's slightly drunk after his shift at the bar. Drinking for free is all that keeps him going when he is forced to deal with customers all night, but still. Remus wonders if the job is really doing him any favors. Then again, he doesn't have any other job so.
"Just trust me," Sirius tells him, a dangerous smile on his lips that Remus has most recently seen on the cover of Vogue Italia.
"The last time you told me to 'trust you' we got stiffed on a drug deal in the back lot." Remus reminds him.
Sirius snorts, "forgot about that, I've got a new dealer now."
"Of course you do." Remus quips and Sirius smacks him lightly. Playfully. Continues to drag him down the dark sidewalk, weaving through drunk couples and club kids and tourists swarming around Times Square.
"Can we do this later?" Remus asks, a soft whine in his voice that he hopes Sirius will respond to. But Sirius doesn't. Just rolls his eyes and grabs Remus' hand, fingers gently lacing through Remus' as he continues to pull him along.
"Will you at least tell me where we're going?"
"No," Sirius says sharply and Remus flinches. Sirius gives his hand a squeeze in apology. "Come on, we're almost there."
Glinting glass buildings line the street around them and Sirius slows as they reach the corner of Times Square. He twists around so he's walking backward, facing Remus, hand still in Remus'.
"You ready?" He asks and Remus nods. Uncertainty if he's actually ready.
Because he's ready for very little when it comes to Sirius.
They turn the corner, billboards and screens flashing around them, and Remus blinks up into the chaos that is New York's most popular tourist attraction and sees—
Sirius.
Sirius staring down at him with a seductive look on his face and slicked-back hair and sharp cheekbones and brilliant gray eyes.
"Holy shit." Remus' jaw literally drops and Sirius laughs. "You're on a fucking billboard in times square."
Sirius nods, his eyes sparkling in all the flashing lights.
Remus looks from his face, up to the billboard, and back.
"Oh my god." He says. All around them are people, pushing and pressing and talking and yelling and laughing and then there's Sirius.
Standing in right in front of him.
Hand still clasped in his.
Sirius.
Stupid fucking beautiful Sirius.
"None of this would have been possible without you." Sirius breathes into Remus' skin and Remus is on fire. Fire.
"That's not true..." He tries to focus, "you would have figured it out."
Sirius shakes his head, thick glossy hair flying about his face. "No, I wouldn't have. I would never have even thought about going back to modeling if you hadn't pushed me. I never would have come out to James if you hadn't pushed me. I never would have had any of this, without you Remus."
"I always knew you were a model," Remus says softly and Sirius takes a step towards him, his other hand hooking under Remus' chin. Tilting Remus' face towards his.
"You did," Sirius tells him, staring into Remus' honey brown eyes.
And then—
Sirius kisses him.
And Remus explodes.
With happiness.
A camera flash blinds him and he feels Sirius break away and opens his eyes to a tourist snapping their photo.
"You should be model." The older Asian man says to Sirius and Sirius nods along, a smile on his face so big it looks like it might crack in two. He snakes his arm around Remus and points to the billboard behind them.
Remus watches as the man's eyes widen. In the end, he's forced to take what feels like a thousand photographs of the man, his wife, and his children with Sirius in front of the billboard.
While he's checking that the photos turned out good, which the man tells him over and over to do, Remus finds the photo of him and Sirius kissing.
Sends it to himself.
Sirius laces his fingers through his once more as they leave, weaving through the crowd.
.
When Sirius movies in, he brings with him an ornate silver frame. It cost him five bucks at a thrift shop, its edges tarnished black. Remus thinks it's perfect.
.
The photograph sits on the nightstand next to the bed that they share. The only one of Sirius' many photographs to be framed.
.
The only one that matters.
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