Unsure, Insecure

Disclaimer: I had wanted to own everything but I decided to share eventually. Characters belong to JKR and the plot is mine. She gets the money, I get hot smex .

Warning: This story contains Yaoi / Slash / Smex or whatever you may call it. For those who don't know, it means sexual actions and situations between two men. That means without women. If you don't like it, I won't ban you from reading, but don't flame me. Remember that it's pointless - I won't stop writing this stuff just because some people don't read warnings (or ignore them).

You, intelligent readers who have something constructive to say, are welcome to review (puppy eyes) and please (feel free to) do so.

Dedicated to all those people who love Bill x Remus and those who love me too...

Remus' senses awaken long before he is willing to wake up. He leaves his eyes closed, listening to the almost inaudible sounds that bare feet are making on the wooden floor. Soon, he feels the mattress moving and the warmth of Bill's body returns to his side.

Sweet apples and spicy cinnamon touch his lips just for a second, lingering there and making him sniff, even if he recognized the taste and smell of Bill's morning tea a while ago.

Remus snuggles up to the warm body, savoring the feeling of the softness that is weaved into the skin of Bill's thigh, the tenderness reserved for the skin of those who are neither asleep nor awake. He buries his face in the fabric of Bill's shirt and breathes the scent of the dreams and nights, scent that is unique and familiar to Remus and almost lulls him back to sleep again.

Rustling of old paper pulls him from his slumber and he growls with discontent.

"Don't read that crap, go back to sleep."

"It's interesting," hears Remus as an answer somewhere above him. "Funny."

A hand caresses his hair, entwining fingers in honey-colored locks, some of them already stained with silver.

"Listen. Werewolves are incapable of leading a normal social life. This is because they are loners and often attack people or even the younger of their own kind. Sounds like you, doesn't it?"

Deep purr of Bill's laughter and a faint touch of irony hidden in his words make Remus smile and raise an eyebrow, though his eyes remain closed.

"If I remember correctly, it was you who stalked me in the middle of a night then."

"Then maybe the book is wrong?" Bill suggests as he puts the mentioned publication on a bedside table along with the teacup. He sinks to the bed as he is pulled down by a pair of strong hands wrapped around his neck.

"I wonder what millennium is that damned book from," Remus manages to growl before he is drawn to the kiss, slow and gentle, their lips barely touching and brushing. Apple and cinnamon reappear in Remus' mind, caressing his senses together with Bill's fingers in his hair and on his bare chest – when they managed to sneak under his shirt? – and Remus pulls Bill closer, his friend, his protégé, his lover. His Bill.

An impatient knock on the window breaks the atmosphere building in the tiny space between them. Remus growls, displeased.

"God damn the owls," he prays and frowns, when Bill starts to move away. "Shoot the bird and come back."

"It's Errol."

"Great, I will remember to carve it into her tombstone," Remus mutters when he realizes Bill's really not coming back to the bed until he reads the mail.

Younger man throws Remus a reproachful look and opens a window to let the tired bird in.

After a long moment of silence broken just here and there by rustling of a paper, Remus feels the mattress sinking under the other man's weight once again.

"That must have been a whole novel," he smiles, finally opening his eyes. The first thing he sees is Bill's hunched figure and strange stiffness in his shoulders as he runs his fingers through his long tangled hair.

"What's wrong?" Remus asks, softly kissing the small of Bill's back and then sits up to pat the younger man's shoulder reassuringly.

Muscles under the tanned skin tense immediately.

"Fleur's back."

Two words fill the air, fill Remus' world for now, whispering a deadly threat right in his ear. He knows what it means, he knew all along and still he had hoped he would never have to face this situation. Thoughtlessly he clung to the faint hope that Fleur, Bill's former lover, his fiancée, for God's sake… that this girl won't come back.

But she did. And now, he has to smile and let Bill go.

"What are you…" he tries to sound normal, friendly and interested. But he knows his voice is too hoarse, he himself does not believe that lie about being just friends again. Fortunately (really?) Bill knows what Remus wants to ask. How could he not know?

"I'll meet her, Rem."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed," Bill turns to face him and Remus is unable to look him up in the eyes, afraid that he would lose that little bit of self-control he managed to gain. "I have to talk to her. I owe it to her."

Remus knows what he means. He knows about the night that decided everything, about that unfortunate (or fortunate, he thinks secretly) bite that scared Fleur to the point of leaving Bill and going back to the France. He knows he should be happy for Bill, because his fiancée returned, because he was given another chance to have a family with children and loving wife. He knows all this and it tears him apart, because he knows.

Red-haired man notices the sour grimace on his lover's face and moves nearer immediately. Long fingers touch Remus' face as Bill speaks, his own voice too rough to ascribe it to the cold November.

"Come on, Rem, I'm not gonna screw her the moment I see her."

"Yeah. You exchange greetings first," Remus manages a wry smile against Bill's palm and then pulls away. "I'm acting like a child. Go talk to her, Bill."

Younger werewolf smiles, placing a chaste thank-you kiss on Remus' forehead and then another onto his lips.

Ten minutes later, Remus is alone with one idiotic book and a cup of cold tea. He shivers from cold, gets up to close a window that Bill left open and goes back to bed. It seems strangely empty and big without the other man, though it is designed for a single person.

Remus reaches to the bedside table for the cup and slowly brings it to his lips.

Staring through the window and seeing nothing because of the fog, sipping on a cold essence that used to be so hot and alive on certain lips, Remus feels he is fading.

TBC…

A/N: Let me know how you liked it… ideas welcomed, though I am not saying I will use them ;)