Chapter 1 : Tugging At The Strings
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It was the little things. The way the dark-haired Gryffindor would steal his quills in class when he’d forgotten his own. The way he’d scribble inconsequential doodles on the corner of his parchment when he was bored, leaning close enough that Remus could feel his humid breath on the back of his neck and his hands as he wrote. The way he’d brush Remus absently and the sixth year would find his skin prickling at the contact, leaving trails of goosepimpled flesh in Sirius’ wake. The way the cocky pureblood would often neglect his towel on the way out of the shower, shameless, and Remus still coloured at the sight, although it was one he must have seen a thousand times by now. The way his heart beat that little bit faster and blood rushed where it oughtn’t every time he did.
This, he’d decided, was not normal. He didn’t see James blush, or Peter bother to avert his eyes, and it was only the many girls that trailed after the elegant Marauder that seemed to react like he did when an accidental touch graced them. He must have been cursed. It was the only logical conclusion, really, and Snape did have it in for him. Maybe he’d been poisoning his pumpkin juice, or he’d hexed him when Remus had had his back turned.
Or maybe, just maybe, the feelings were all his own, but Remus couldn’t entertain that thought. Sirius was Sirius after all, and Remus was far too sensible to let himself fall for someone who was clearly not interested. Not that he was interested himself. Not that he was interested in guys at all. The werewolf had dated girls before, and yes, he appreciated their inherent charms. Long coltish legs, full lips, the smooth swell of breasts- they were all perfectly nice, but that was it. Nice. While James and Sirius and sometimes even Peter could spend hours pouring over pictures of scantily-clad – if clad at all – women, Remus quickly found himself bored. After all, surely once you’d seen one nipple, you had seen them all? He failed to see the attraction in staring at them for hours on end and assessing the charm of each feature. It simply disinterested him.
What he periodically saw on Sirius’ exit from the bathroom, however, did not, and it worried him. Sure, Remus had tried to be interested in the dirty magazines, but he was never overcome with the sudden urge to take a short and presumably rather satisfying (or so he could guess from the expressions in his dorm mates’ faces following) trip to the bathroom. He did not tell the others this. He didn’t even let on. Because the strange twist he felt in his stomach when he saw that expression on Sirius’ face was not normal.
And writing about it in his journal probably wasn’t either, but if Remus didn’t try to get his feelings out he was going to lose his mind. He had pages and pages on the subject now, including some sketched diagrams and a couple of accounts of dreams he’d had involving or related to the other boy. In fact, the journal was almost full; a private account of Remus’ inner turmoil.
That is, until it was found, by the worst person imaginable.
“What’s this, Moony?”
Mouth still foamy with toothpaste, Remus craned his neck around the bathroom door. A feeling like someone had punctured a hole in the werewolf’s side and he was quickly deflating settled uncomfortably as his eyes fell upon the black journal, which had until that point been carefully concealed inside his pillow case. Long fingers held it by the corner, upside down, and a few pages fluttered open, whispering secrets to the very person they concerned. The sixth year blanched, spat in the sink, and ran out of the bathroom in his pyjamas, but Sirius pulled the book easily out of his reach when he lunged for it, holding the book tauntingly above his head.
“It’s nothing, and it’s mine,” he replied quickly, trying not to let panic enter his voice.
A eyebrow switched. A handsome smirk grew. “Nothing? Well then, it won’t matter if I have a little look then, you know, if it’s nothing.”
Merlin. He needed a better story. Fumbling for words that might seem believable, Remus seized upon the first thought that was not utterly ridiculous and blurted it hurriedly, still eyeing the book. “It’s poetry. You’d hate it. Please can I have it back now.” Better Sirius think him a pansy than… whatever the blasted term was.
The Sirius did not look convinced, and even worse took the golden moment to investigate himself. He lowered the book and flipped to a random page, grinning wickedly, and turned a blind ear and a strong hand to Remus’ protests. Held at bay, there was nothing he could do but watch as Sirius’ eyes skimmed over the page.
“ ‘…legs entwined as our bodies collided, kissing like we’d not breathe if we stopped and hands lingering in first one sensitive spot, then another. A moan escaped me, or several, and…’ Moony! You old fox! Only you would get off to writing dirty stories!” Sirius was all too amused by the idea, laughing wholeheartedly at Remus’ mortified expression.
Please stop there, stop reading right now, please, he thought desperately. “Well, now you know, please can I have it back; it’s embarrassing.” The lie came so easily, it could have been practiced.
“Oh no,” the other boy replied, as though the very suggestion offended him. “This is good stuff; I’m getting a little hot under the collar myself.” Before it could be helped, the grey eyes were on the words again, mouth forming the syllables that had never been meant to be read aloud. “‘Hands knot in my hair, holding our lips together. I can’t taste any other breath but his,” Sirius missed the pronoun- “‘hot in my mouth. I dig my teeth into soft lips and he gasps my name, and I gasp his; “Sirius”-'”
Suddenly the reading stopped, and Sirius fell silent, the ghost shape of his own name still on his lips. He stared wordlessly at the page, grey eyes still reading the following lines with the oddest of expressions on his face. Remus wasn’t foolish enough to waste the opportunity, late as it was, and grabbed the book from Sirius’ hand with an expression that was a mixture of stormy and mortified. Sirius didn’t move. “It’s mine. You had no right.”
“Moony, I had no-”
“Just shut up; you weren’t supposed to read that, alright? Now leave me alone.” He shoved past Sirius, knuckles turning white with the force with which he held the book, to get to his bed, but strong hands gripped his shoulder to prevent him from escaping the situation.
Sirius’ eyes were sincere, not glinting with their usual silver mirth. “You’re not just brushing this off Remus,” he told him definitely.
“Yes, I am.” He didn’t sound like himself; Remus was soft-spoken, but these words were harsh, more at home in James’ mouth than his own. He tried to free himself from the hold and bared his teeth ferally when the hands didn’t move. “Let go.”
“What the hell do you want with me Sirius? You saw it. Yes, I had a dirty dream and you were in it- what else do you need to bloody well know? Fuck off and let me go.”
Grey eyes bored into yellow, as if searching for something that Remus couldn’t define within them. There were moments like this in the journal, where Sirius would look deep into his eyes, into his very soul, and find something that pleased him. That tantalising curve of lips would meet his own, and there would be nothing friendly about it. Despite himself, Remus’ heart clamoured in his chest, and he quivered. Sirius leant close, his face inches from Remus’ and his eyes almost blurred and out of focus.
“You’re a fool.”
It was said so quietly it could have been anything; a confession, a secret, a declaration. Remus’ brow furrowed in confusion.
“What did you expect? I’d just let it slip by me, pretend everything’s the same? Or did you think I’d run straight to James so we could taunt you.” Remus watched Sirius’ lips as he spoke, studying the motion of his teeth and his tongue when they formed the words. “Did you expect me to hate you?”
He was close enough now that the shorter hairs framing Sirius’ face tickled Remus’, and the teenager felt like his body’s entire bloody supply had been redirected to the throbbing growth under his fly. He could smell Sirius’ breath, minty with a hint of… something else, but it didn’t matter. If this had been one of his dreams, the Black Gryffindor would bend his head and touch their lips together, gentle at first, and then with a hunger like the full-moon wolf. But this wasn’t a dream.
Sirius’ hands were still on his shoulders, and they pushed him back against his bed post so that Remus’ vertebrae dug into him, and he looked at Sirius in confusion. “What are you-”
All attempts at words ended when Sirius’ crashed into his own with all the grace of a car crash, uncertain and earnest simultaneously, pinching his lips between teeth that didn’t quite know what to do. It wasn’t the kiss he’d imagined at all, but Remus found himself responding, tilting his head and letting his tongue slide into the welcoming space. A hand found itself on Sirius’ waist and the other tangled in the jumper he wore. Sirius didn’t seem to know what to do with his own hands other than let them remain, so his fingers dug into Remus’ shoulder blades as he kissed with a childish desperation, movements sluggish with inexperience. Their hips pressed indecently close together, and Remus quickly found he wasn’t the only one having problems with circulation priorities right then. Sirius moaned into his mouth at the unfamiliar contact, and the sound broke through Remus’ lust-daze. He pulled back.
“What is this?” he tried not to sound breathless as he said it.
“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
He wasn’t the only one with a confused expression now. “Not if that’s the only reason you’re doing it.”
He could still feel Sirius, hard against him, and that was a better answered than the fervent but fumbled denial that passed the other boy’s lips. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, and the abashed look he gave as his teeth bit his now-swollen lips made Remus’ pulse race.
“You don’t have to; you just have to mean it.”
And Remus believed him. He raised himself to whisper into Sirius’ ear, bodies taut against one another for a tantalising but unsure moment. “Then don’t hold back.”
On command, Sirius didn’t. The kiss that followed was still unsteady, but it didn’t lack passion. His hands ran down Remus’ straining chest and he planted kisses and bites on the werewolf’s neck until Remus gasped aloud, clutching onto Sirius’ shirt hard enough that the fabric stretched a little under his searching fingertips and the seams grew wider than they should have been. Not much point in it at all, Remus thought idly, and didn’t waste time with buttons; instead he pulled the two sides of the shirt apart and away from Sirius’ skin, the sound of ripping fabric all that filled the air but the damp smacking of kisses. This was what he’d wanted, everything he’d wanted, for so long, but somehow…
It was wrong.
There was a movement to his left, and Remus broke the kiss, a spider-silk thin strand of saliva still clinging to either boy’s lip until he turned his head, grabbed his wand, and shot a hurling hex at the curtain the movement had come from behind. There was a curse as the darkly-dressed figure was thrown backwards, and a camera hit the floor with a dull crack that broke its thick lens. Shadows fell across the face of the intruder on Remus’ perfect moment, but a hook of nose and an unmistakeable sneer left little doubt.
“Get out.” Remus told him sharply, not particularly caring for that moment why he was there or how or why he had a camera.
Snape just sneered more widely, and beckoned to Sirius, who Remus turned to for a moment, confused. He hadn’t seen Sirius’ eyes on the Slytherin, the lovelorn expression he wore or the glaze on his eyes. The Gryffindor smiled happily and walked across to Snape. “Was that good? How you wanted me to do it? Did it make you happy?”
“Very,” Severus said indulgently, though his eyes conveyed little more than veiled disgust. Remus’ mouth was open with shock, confusion, and a hint of bile at the way Sirius was acting to his supposed enemy. What the hell was going on? What had just happened? Perhaps he’d been dreaming; hell, perhaps he still was. Snape’s hand fished a bottle from his pocket that Remus’ eyes found instantly, and even he could recognise the pink potion held within.
“Love’s a fickle thing, isn’t it?”
Remus wanted to throttle him, and Sirius for making doe-eyes at the boy. He wasn’t sure how the hell he’d known about his feelings for Sirius, but maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d just told Sirius to kiss him, so he could take a picture. What the hell did it matter; Snape had gotten his evidence, for both the embarrassment of Sirius and himself. As if thinking along the same lines, he scooped the cracked camera off the ground, and shot a spell at Remus. His limbs sprung together, and the werewolf fell back against his bed, staring up at the canopy. Out of his line of sight, Sirius giggled.
“Stupefy,” Sirius fell to the ground too, at Snape’s feet, and the Slytherin grinned to himself. Remus wanted to clench his teeth and yell and fight, but the body-bind held fast. A piece of paper dropped onto Remus’ chest, and he caught Snape’s jeering face out of the corner of his eye. “The Amortentia should have worn off by the time he wakes up, but do enjoy the memories,” Snape told him hatefully, before cursing him with a word Remus was shocked that even the Slytherin had the gall to utter.
A glob of spit landed on Remus’ cheek, and the other boy laughed before footsteps reported his progress across the room, and then the door slammed in its frame.
A/N: This ended up in a completely different place to where it started off, but I'm quite glad about that xD This should be another of my three-part stories, I think, unless this plot bunny breeds, and I'll try to update as soon as I can!
I hope you enjoyed- if you did, or even if you didn't and want to yell at me for all the things I did wrong, there's a box down there. Click it, just like that, and type some words. Now click add review. Wasn't that satisfying? You just made someone happy- have some cookies.
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