DISCLAIMER: J K Rowling thought it all up and now I am playing with some of her characters and situations. David Bowie thought up quite a bit of it, too, including the story and chapter titles and some other sentences and situations.

WARNING: Drunkenness. More Angst. Smut (eventually).

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the end of the story. For some reason, this chapter ended up being twice the length of all the others. I hope you're pleased. If you've enjoyed this story then don't forget to review!

A LOVE I COULD NOT OBEY

When he saw how quickly Sirius downed the first glass, Remus realised they were in for a proper session. As Sirius refilled and he sipped his first, he set about preparing the hangover potions. When the two flasks were ready and sitting up on the worktops, he took his empty glass back to his friend for the next one.

Sirius filled both glasses - his being nearly empty again - but stopped Remus before he began to drink. This time it was he who said, "To Regulus" and Remus who echoed him. Then they drank.

It truly was hideous stuff, a harsh burn and a putrid taste with fumes that seemed to strip the insides of the nose during the swallow. It was what they both needed.

"Do you think it hurt?" Sirius asked.

"What?"

"When they, you know. When he … In the paper …"

"Shouldn't think so. One of their own. Quick flash of green."

"But his …" Sirius pointed to his own forearm, "that hurt."

Remus took a deep drink and winced. "Sure you want to talk about …?" He certainly wasn't drunk enough yet.

His friend didn't answer, just raised his glass and declared, "Death Eaters are bastards!" before emptying it. He looked pointedly at Remus' half-full drink and said, "Hurry up."

"Just top it up."

They toasted Regulus again and this time Remus added, "He really was beautiful." As he heard himself he realised that the alcohol must be having an effect. Sirius just snorted, so he carried on, "When he was singing. His arms up. He knew how to do that …" he found himself filling up, his throat closing over, so he stopped.

"He was alright," Sirius grunted.

Remus laughed, stopping the welling tears before they started. "If he was only alright," he said, "then how come you were so jealous?"

"What?"

"You wanted to see him make a prat of himself and then he was brilliant and you hated it. That's why you were in such a huff!"

Sirius sneered, and said sarcastically, "Oh yeah, I really want to ponce around in girls' gloves and a wig --"

"Wasn't a wig," Remus corrected.

"Bloody hell! So he walked round school all the time with it like that? Merlin!"

Remus splayed his fingers, tried to recall the exact feel of those long locks through his fingers, but couldn't.

Sirius watched him, an oddly serious look on his face. "So, do you think my brother was as big a tart as you are?"

Stung, Remus glowered at him without replying.

"Oh come on! How many men do you reckon you've had?"

"What is it with you lately? What's your problem?" Remus muttered into his glass, his golden brown fringe falling over his face.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, then took a deep drink and persevered. "How many though?"

"Mind your own business!" Remus snapped. "How many girls have you screwed?"

"Eight." Sirius admitted promptly.

Surprised, Remus looked over at him then. "OK," he admitted, "I can beat that."

"And I knew all their names, first names and surnames."

Remus concentrated on drinking, on not showing any emotion. Why did he let Sirius make him feel ashamed like this? So, he liked nameless fucks? So what? What did it matter that he had thought his friend had been doing the same thing with girls when he hadn't? Tastes vary, that shouldn't make him feel dirty and worthless. He finished his drink first this time and held it out for a refill.

"Was he good? Was he good at doing it? Was his dick big? Does it matter?"

"Just fill my glass, wanker!" Remus slammed it down on the coffee table, hoping it would break. It didn't. "I'm not saying anything."

"Was it bigger than mine?"

"I haven't seen yours!"

Sirius looked unaccountably crestfallen. He obediently filled their glasses. "You never peeked?" He checked, quietly.

"Just cos I'm a poof?" Remus knocked his whiskey back in one. Then he fell to the floor with his hands over his forehead.

"What the …?"

"Headache!" Remus explained. "Bastard one! Haven't you got one?" He raised himself to all fours. "This muck is vile!"

"It's cheap and it gets you drunk," Sirius stated, leaning over his friend. He pointed his wand at Remus' temple and muttered. Just as the pain began to ease, he suddenly dipped in his head down and put his lips to Remus' eyebrow. Just as swiftly, he sprang away, saying, "Drink more slowly then, don't be such a girl."

Remus raised his fingers to the spot where the ghost of the kiss sat, feeling dizzy. That wasn't fair.

"I must be a girl. What was that for?" It came out sounding more aggressive than he'd intended.

Sirius shrugged, "Kiss it better. Always worked when Nanny did it."

Remus slowly shifted into a sitting position, leaning his back against the old couch.

Sirius had started to prowl round the edges of the room. He was remembering Regulus lying his head back on those cushions, the bliss of relief across his features.

"Nanny said I should share nicely, but I never would. He was right. I never shared my toys when we were kids. Mama said I didn't have to, that Blacks should never give in, we should fight for the things that were important to us. I thought she meant tin valkyries and brooms and model castles. I used to push him out of the way and take his things, too. He had a wooden frog puzzle. Then Nanny would kiss him better and tell me to share nicely." Sirius paused and crossed back over to the slumped figure by the coffee table, but it was only to fill their glasses again. He resumed his drunken monologue, "Only years later did I realise that Mama had meant values and purity of blood and not playthings. By then I knew that I wasn't ever going to fight for those things. If I had, if I'd been a 'good son', then maybe he wouldn't have had to be good enough for both of us. Bloody Sorting Hat put me with you lot and then she knew too. Put him in Slytherin. Right place, sneaky bastard. Was that my fault? I got my own way by pushing him around. I was bigger and stronger. All he had was sneakiness. Stupid twat, why take the Mark? I mean, I'm sure she was delighted, but he didn't need to be that 'good'."

Sirius took a deep breath and Remus wondered if he'd finished, if there was an answer to all that. He should probably say something at some point. His eyebrow still buzzed lightly.

Sirius kept pacing and soon started muttering again, "He never beat me at Wizard Chess. Kept challenging me, though. Always coming back for punishment. We were close, before school, even though I bullied him and he squealed to Nanny, we were friends. Then the Sorting. I had you lot. I lost interest in him. I could have kept friends with him. He was only repeating what the parents were saying. For years I lived with him without speaking to him. Then I left, I left him alone to deal with them --"

"You didn't have a choice!" Remus interrupted to remind him.

Sirius looked over, as though remembering that he was there. He stumbled over and collapsed onto the floor. They sat next to each other, almost touching but not quite. Remus kept his eyes on the faded pattern on the carpet. Sirius managed to Accio the two-thirds empty bottle from the coffee table. It wobbled in flight, but it came. He swigged out of it, then muttered, "To Rellus!" before passing it over.

"Regulus," Remus corrected.

"I know what his bloody name was," Sirius growled. "I never even tried to talk him round to the Light. If I'd just talked to him, do you think he would have --?"

"He told me, that night in the pub," - in a toilet cubicle just before I shagged him - "that he'd been chosen by the Rightful Lord. He was as pig-headed as you. You'd never have talked him round."

"S'pose he warned you about the mole too?" For some reason Sirius was all truculence and resentment again.

Remus was picturing a small blind animal, with the Blacks' dark hair. He shrugged, looked confused.

"Spy in the Order," Sirius elucidated, he seemed happier.

Remus shook his head. There was a spy in the Order? Oh, that sort of mole!

Sirius took back the bottle and, after a few glugs, said, "He told me not to trust anyone. Not even you."

Remus looked sharply over at his friend. "How'd he know it wasn't you?"

"He didn't."

Remus pouted.

"It's not," Sirius reassured him.

"He didn't warn me!" Remus knew he sounded like a sulky child and wished he could undrink just a bit of the liquor.

Sirius was eyeing him oddly. Remus met his gaze. Gradually his confusion cleared and he said, grimly, "It's not me." He continued to look into the grey eyes - nearly the same but not quite.

"Don't get shirty! I said it first!"

Remus snatched the Bold Nagdens back and drank from it, almost immediately regretting it. He thought about taking the Hangover potion now to sober up and just going to bed.

His friend's next utterance drove such ideas from his head, because it reminded him of why they were there, why Sirius needed him to be there.

"He's dead." Sirius pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Remus looked away, not wanting to know whether Padfoot could cry.

There was a loud sniff and then, unexpectedly, Sirius said, "At least I'm the best looking Black now."

"You're unbelievable."

"But am I handsome? Do you think I'm attractive, Moony?"

"Sirius, for Godric's sake!" Remus snapped. He became very aware of his friend's shoulder, warm and only inches away. "You're straight!" He tried to shuffle away, but found he couldn't co-ordinate his movements.

"I'm not that straight!" Sirius protested. "See me at the end of a party, I'll snog anything: man, woman or cat."

Remus looked quizzically at him, not sure if that could be true, nor why his friend would be saying it.

Sirius' expression was creased with confusion, too. But then, in the slow-motion of intoxication, it rearranged itself to show something close to disgust. "You wouldn't know that, of course," he sneered. "Never takes you longer than the first hour to find some strange man to disappear with."

Remus felt sick. He chose to blame the drink and the ice cream, which was all he had eaten that day. He staggered to his feet and made it to the sink almost in time. By the time he had finished vomiting and cleaning up the multi-coloured, curdled mess, Sirius had passed out on the floor.

Remus wondered how anyone could manage to look that elegant when in an alcoholic coma. Somehow Sirius' long limbs just naturally fell in the perfect pattern. Most of his face was covered by his hair, half of it was pressed against the carpet and yet what was visible drew Remus the way blood draws a vampire. He gently sat beside his friend, careful not to disturb him. One hand hovered over the long back, but Remus decided not to touch. He would just look.

He stared the way he had stared at Regulus when he had been singing. He stared the way he seldom could. He drank in and memorised every feature, noticing every likeness and every difference.

"I lied to him," he said. Although he had thought he was whispering, his voice sounded too loud in the silent room. Sirius did not stir, though, so Remus spoke again, even more quietly this time. "I lied to him and now he's dead. He said he wouldn't be a substitute and when I told him he wasn't, I thought it was true. But they all are. Every fuck a substitute for the love I can not obey. That's why they're all one-night stands, all strangers. I'm trying to scratch an itch that's too deep. I could never be in a relationship. There's no space left in my heart for falling in love. It's all full of you. Sirius. But I can't …"

His lungs were suddenly knocked empty of air and he found he was lying on his back. A heavy object was preventing him from moving. It smelled of spirits and some blurred darkness was swooping towards him. He struggled as much as he could, instinctively trying to free himself.

"Stupid twat!" growled Sirius' voice.

"Look, I'm sorry. I thought you were asleep!" Remus gabbled, realising both that it was Sirius attacking him, and what he must have heard if he had been conscious after all. "Padfoot! Mate! You're drunk, I'm drunk! We'll discuss this in the morning!" He hoped desperately that Sirius would have had one of his memory blackouts by the morning and that they would never have to discuss it.

Remus thrashed about as much as he was able, but his shoulders were pinned to the floor. The out-of-focus shape that was Sirius' head crunched down painfully on his nose. Remus swore.

"Stop moving, you twat!" Sirius barked.

"Get off me!" Remus responded.

With an exasperated sigh, Sirius released his grip on one shoulder. That hand took a painfully tight hold on his friend's jaw and he lowered his head again. This time he found his targeting, managing not a head-butt, but a kiss.

It was a long kiss - just a press of lips together, but firm and long. By the time he ended it, Remus had stopped moving.

"What was that for?" the werewolf demanded breathlessly.

Cautiously Sirius loosened his grip answering in a confused voice, "What's a kiss usually for?" His face was too close for Remus to get his expression into focus.

"You're drunk, Padfoot," he responded, smiling sadly.

Sirius pulled away and Remus saw that his face was as confused as his voice. "I thought that's what you wanted. Didn't you just say that was what you wanted?"

"You're straight."

Sirius took hold of Remus' hand and brought it down between their bodies. "Apparently not," he said softly, bringing it up against his clearly aroused cock.

"That me?" Remus asked stupidly, the sensation dulling his brain and half-closing his eyelids.

"Of course."

"Since when?"

"Months. At least. Months since I realised that's what I was feeling."

"Why didn't you say?"

"Couldn't have coped with being just another one of your conquests. One time would have broken my heart, would have been even worse than watching you with all those others. You never explained, you twat. I had no idea I might be different."

Sirius began to move in for another kiss, but Remus sat up instead, pushing his friend away, and stumbled over to the kitchen worktop. "I don't get it," he muttered, before downing one of the flasks of Hangover Potion.

As its effects got to work he stared at the other man, sitting on the floor staring up at him uncomprehendingly, then offered the other flask.

"I want to do this sober," Remus explained, adding, "Whatever we go on to do."

As Sirius drank and the effects of the alcohol in his system were neutralised, Remus said softly, "How could I tell you, my heterosexual best mate? I couldn't risk losing you as you ran for the hills. Wasn't weird, you know. He looks like you. Gorgeous. Not weird. Nearly perfect."

"But not quite?" Sirius checked, one cocky eyebrow raised.

Remus moved towards him. "Like perfect. Only queer. Only possible."

"I am possible," Sirius reassured his best friend, standing up to slide his arms round his waist and kiss him.

This kiss was not just a firm pressing together of lips. This kiss had gentle licks, moving jaws and thrusting tongues. It was accompanied by caresses and soft strokes. It was accentuated with light moans and deep grunts.

When Remus moved his mouth down to kiss and suck his long, pale neck, Sirius said, croaky and apologetic, "Of course, I haven't got a clue what I'm doing."

"I do."

"Should bloody think so by now! Ow!"

"Barely slapped you."

"Liked it actually."

Remus chuckled and smacked the other tight, oblong buttock a little harder.

"I've never done this with a man," Sirius mumbled. "Can we take this upstairs?"

Sirius had admitted earlier to having kissed men. He was clearly intending to take things further, to move on to something he hadn't done before. The thought made Remus moan as he ran his hands over the smooth form of the strong body against his.

"I've never done it in a bed," he replied.

"I can do lying down and sleeping together all night and everything," his partner teased. "But let's make it my bed."

He didn't need to say, they both knew, that he didn't want to be with Remus where his brother had been.

For the first time, Remus didn't bother with hiding his chest - Sirius already knew everything about him - he was comfortable being naked. He would have liked to have examined every beautiful inch of Sirius' bare flesh, but once they had taken off their clothes, they were both too frantic for that. Anyway, he knew there would be time enough, that there would be plenty of other occasions.

He knew, too, that Sirius' deflowering was one that he was going to be keen on. It was something he would relish, would take his time over. He would not let it get messy. That would not be possible tonight.

Sirius arched back and cried out as he watched his dick disappear into Remus' mouth. He gripped the sheets, trying to control his reactions to the warm, moist sucking and darting, massaging tongue. He wanted this to last for ever, but knew it wouldn't be long.

"Slow down, I'm gonna … Slow down, I'm gonna …"

"Mmmhmmm" Remus agreed, his voice vibrating deliciously, dangerously. One hand was between Sirius' legs, stroking and squeezing his balls, the fingers of the other played through the dark curly hair round his belly button.

Yes, Remus certainly did know what he was doing.

His head rose, fell, rose - and Sirius couldn't force his eyes open any more. He could feel his hips bucking, being pushed back, held firm, stardust started to fall behind his lids. Warmth gathered, the sensations rose and he knew the inevitable was imminent. He had lost the power of speech, though. Remus must be able to sense it, he must be about to move away.

Sirius' orgasm exploded like hexes, come pumping out of him hard; Remus stayed just where he was, holding it all in his mouth and then swallowing round the sensitive, softening, head of the cock. Sirius panted as he was licked clean.

Remus crawled up the bed, up his lover's body, to kiss him gently on the cheek.

"OK?"

"Oh, OK doesn't even begin to …" Sirius shook his head. Then he stroked his palm down the scars old and new, down the fading bruises, wanting to kiss every one better, but not yet. He gripped his friend's erection the way he would grip his own. It felt different. He started to move his hand slowly up and down as he said, "Now, you'd better give me some clues about what I'm going to do with this."