Once over his initial hesitancy, much to Sirius's delight, Remus proved an enthusiastic convert to the art of snogging. Two or three times a day, Remus would pull him aside for a stolen moment that would leave Sirius weak-kneed and dizzy and utterly blissful. Any moment alone with Remus not spent snogging one another's faces off was, in Sirius's opinion, a moment wasted. Remus had only to catch his eye to set Sirius panting with eagerness.
But it was only in those stolen moments, when they both knew that there was no time, that Remus seemed comfortable kissing Sirius. On the afternoons when Peter had choir and James was with the rugby club, Remus was skittish of letting Sirius get too close. Sirius understood Remus's reluctance, and tried not to feel frustrated by it. He wanted to touch Remus, and be touched in return, but only if Remus wanted it, too. He took pains, therefore, to respect Remus's need for space, never cornering or grabbing him, letting him make the first move, and always leaving him an escape if he needed it.
Gradually, Sirius remembered why he had so enjoyed spending time in Remus's company, even before they began snogging. He liked Remus, and not only aesthetically. He liked talking to him, and hearing his thoughts. He liked making Remus laugh. They were friends. Sirius had never imagined such a thing before. On those quiet afternoons they would sit, each on his own bed, talking in low voices. Sometimes their fingers would lace together, or their feet would nudge one another between the beds, a compromise between the comfort of touch and the need for space.
"Your family really don't know you're queer?" Sirius asked, one grey afternoon in early December as the sky bulged with rain outside the window.
Remus shook his head, idly running a thumb over Sirius's knuckles. "Didn't see any reason to tell them."
Sirius was surprised. Remus usually spoke so fondly of his family. He had never considered that close families might have secrets from one another. "Don't you think they'd want to know?"
"It's not that simple, is it?" Remus sighed. "They'd probably think it's because of - what happened. One more thing to blame themselves for, you know? Not exactly a discussion I'm keen to have."
"Do you think it's because of - that?" asked Sirius. He had always assumed people were born preferring one or the other - or both, if they were greedy sods like Dorian Gaveston. Sirius himself had never had the slightest interest in girls.
Remus frowned. "I don't think it works that way. Nothing happened to you, and you like blokes."
"True." Sirius glanced down at his hands, holding Remus's, his index finger tracing the end of a pink scar that the cuff of Remus's shirtsleeve did not quite cover. "Why did you do that?"
Remus's hands twitched as if he might pull them away, then his fingers closed over Sirius's, preventing any further exploration.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "it feels like - like there's so much going on inside me that I'll explode if I don't do something. When I cut myself, it feels like I'm letting it out, I guess. Sometimes it helps."
The breath caught in Sirius's throat and he looked up from their joined hands at Remus's face. "You've done it before?"
In answer, Remus let go of Sirius's hands and unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve, pushing the fabric back to his elbow. His forearm was crosshatched with thin scars, old and new. Outside the window, the first drops of rain began to patter down. Sirius bit his lip and hesitantly reached out a finger to trace the harsh lines. Remus did not pull away, but Sirius felt a tremor run through him when his fingers caressed a shiny white pucker the size of a fifty pence piece on the outside of his wrist.
"What's this?" he asked.
"It's a burn."
Sirius winced. "You burned yourself?"
"No." Remus's voice was flat and emotionless. "He did that."
Sirius did not have to ask who Remus meant. He muttered a curse under his breath, hastily removing his fingers from the scar.
"He liked hurting me," Remus said matter-of-factly. "Afterwards, it didn't seem like a few more scars would make much difference."
Hot, sick rage bubbled up in Sirius's throat. He clasped Remus's hands tightly. "I want to fucking kill him for what he did to you." His voice was low and rough, almost a growl.
Remus smiled bitterly. "Join the queue behind me and my mum. Probably Dad and Nat, too."
"Would you really do it?" Sirius asked. "If you had the chance and there were no consequences?"
Remus turned Sirius's hands over in his. "I used to want to make him suffer. He deserves to. But now I just want him gone from the world." He looked up, mouth set in a grim line. "Yes, I'd do it. I'd cut his throat in a second, with a song in my heart."
Sirius supposed he should be shocked to hear Remus speak so calmly of the desire to commit murder, but he could not blame Remus for feeling as he did. "Would it help, do you think?" he asked. "Would you be better if you knew he was dead?"
"I don't know." Remus's shoulders drooped. "Maybe not. I expect I'll find out one day."
The door to the room crashed open and Remus dropped Sirius's hands as James blew in, wet and muddy from the rugby pitch.
"Good practice?" Remus asked mildly as Sirius hastily tried to shove his tumultuous feelings back under control.
"Until it wasn't," grumbled James, stripping off his grubby kit without a hint of self-consciousness and rummaging in the wardrobe for clean clothes and a towel. "I'm for a shower. You lot haven't seen my brolly, have you? We'll want them to get to supper."
Sirius jumped up, glad to have something to do. By the time James's umbrella had been located, and James had departed for the showers, modesty preserved only by a haphazardly-wrapped towel, Peter had returned from choir rehearsal, damp and winded from the dash between buildings.
For the rest of the afternoon, and at supper that evening, Sirius's mind kept returning to his conversation with Remus. He had not thought it possible to hate Remus's kidnapper more than he already did, but knowing that the man could drive a usually friendly, mild-mannered boy to thoughts of murder made him seethe with impotent rage. The man might be in prison, but in too many ways, he still held Remus captive. Sirius wondered if Remus was ever able to have a single thought or action that was not somehow affected by what had happened to him.
He wouldn't be who he is, if it hadn't been for that.
The thought made Sirius feel funny all over. He liked a lot of things about Remus. Would he have been so drawn to a Remus who had never known suffering? Remus might never have come to St Godric's in the first place, if not for his past. Sirius's feelings wove themselves into such a confused tangle of disgust and longing that he decided it was best not to think about the "what ifs".
Part of his hatred for Remus's kidnapper, Sirius was forced to acknowledge, was rooted in selfishness. Remus could not bear to be touched when he had been thinking or dreaming about the man. Sirius liked touching Remus, and hated feeling helpless in the face of Remus's suffering.
When his own nightmares haunted him, there was nothing Sirius craved more than the comfort of touch. He had not had one of his own hellish dreams since before Remus kissed him, but that night, after their discussion on the merits of vengeance, Sirius was torn awake from visions of sand and stone and blood by Remus bending over him, urgently whispering his name.
He sat bolt upright, grabbing the other boy's arm and holding on as if he were drowning. Remus started, but did not pull away, instead awkwardly patting him on the back as Sirius panted and shook. Remus eyed James's snoring profile, visible beyond the carelessly-drawn curtain, and tugged at the arm in Sirius's grasp.
"Come on," he whispered, drawing Sirius out of his bed and towards Remus's own.
Sirius would have followed Remus into a minefield, and came willingly, sliding under the covers as Remus moved over to make room for him. Sirius turned instinctively towards the other boy, seeking solace. Remus was warm and solid and real - the antithesis of all his nightmares - his arms around Sirius felt like safety.
"Please," whispered Sirius, tilting his face up. "Will you kiss me?"
Remus bent his head. His lips were as warm as the rest of him. As Sirius's needy mouth moved against his, he deepened the kiss, tongue teasing its way into Sirius's mouth. With a sigh of relief, Sirius's body relaxed. The blood in his veins began to warm with desire. His arms wrapped around Remus, drawing him down.
"Remus -"
Remus's comforting weight was on top of him, and he could feel their hearts pounding, hear their panting breath through the messy kiss. It felt good, having Remus's body pressed against his. It felt very good. Something nudged at his lower belly, and Sirius realised that it was Remus's cock, hard as his own. He moaned into the other boy's mouth, hips canting instinctively. The shift brought their bodies into alignment and then his prick was touching, moving, sliding alongside Remus's through the thin fabric of their pyjamas as they ground together, mindlessly seeking pressure and friction.
Sirius's hips bucked upwards, and he muffled a cry against Remus's shoulder as the sudden hot rush of orgasm flooded through him. He was barely aware of Remus's own thrust and shudder and groan.
As damp heat spread between them, Sirius's eyes flew open. He found Remus staring down at him, the same shock on his face, wide eyes almost black in the moonlight. Hastily, Remus rolled off of him and sat up, back rigid against the headboard, eyes fixed on a point in space somewhere over the foot of the bed.
Wondering what had just happened, and what it meant, Sirius shakily rummaged in the nightstand drawer, where he had stashed a wad of tissues for emergency late-night wanking sessions. Sitting up, he wordlessly handed half the crumpled tissues to Remus.
"Thanks," mumbled Remus, gingerly plucking up the waistband of his pyjamas to deal with his half of the mess.
Sirius dropped his own used tissues onto the floor, but Remus kneaded the wad in his hand, still looking stunned.
"You OK?" asked Sirius, voice low.
"I think so."
Sirius was not sure that he was OK at all. He was very worried that he might be falling in love with Remus. He swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not."
"Oh. That's - good?"
"I never thought I'd be able to - you know - with another bloke. Didn't know if I'd want to."
"But - you liked it?" Sirius asked.
"Yeah," said Remus quietly.
"Me, too," Sirius confessed. "I've never -" He broke off, flustered.
"Never what?" Remus turned to look at him, and Sirius blushed under his scrutiny.
"You know. Come. Like that. With someone else."
"Haven't you?" Remus looked surprised. "I thought you said you'd gotten off with half the blokes at St Godric's."
Sirius shrugged. "That was just snogging. A bit of fun, you know? Not like this."
Remus found Sirius's hand and gave it a squeeze. "This is different, isn't it?"
Sirius nodded. He leaned his head against Remus's shoulder, and Remus wrapped his arms around him once more as they settled back onto the pillow. For a while, they lay holding one another, silently pondering the meaning of what they had done.
"I should probably go back to bed," Sirius said reluctantly when his eyelids began to droop. It would have been pleasant to fall asleep beside Remus, cocooned in warmth and comfort, but sharing a room with James and Peter made that impossible.
"Probably," agreed Remus.
He bent his head and touched his lips to Sirius's in a soft goodnight kiss. "Thank you," he whispered.
Sirius slid back into his own chilly bed and closed his eyes, but his mind was all in a jumble. When at last he fell asleep, the nightmare that had awakened him was long forgotten.