Coffee And Cigarettes
by Victoria P.

When Sirius arrives, Remus is already at the coffee shop, long fingers wrapped around a mug, eyes closed in blissful appreciation of his bloody tea.

Sirius remembers when he was the cause of that look on Remus's face, but it's been a while now since that was so.

He nods at the waitress, stalks over to the booth and slides in across from Remus. He keeps his feet to himself; there will be no secret games of footsy to make the heat rise in Remus's cheeks.

Remus doesn't open his eyes, but the smile disappears.

"You look well," Sirius says, though it's a lie. Remus looks tired, worn. It's only been two weeks since they last saw each other (two endlessly long, dark weeks), but Sirius would swear Remus is thinner, and there's already more grey in his hair, more lines creasing his parchment pale face. And the full moon is still two weeks away. He steels himself against the treacherous voice in his head that says, 'maybe it isn't Remus. How could it be? Remus would never--'

But it's too late for those thoughts now. If Remus isn't the spy, all will be well, and no harm done.

At least, that's what Sirius keeps telling himself.

He tries not to think of what will happen if the Death Eaters capture him and try to find out where James and Lily are. Because the switch has been made, and though Sirius is willing to die for them, and little Harry, he doesn't want to. He wants everything back the way it used to be, the way it was when he and Remus could finish each other's sentences, when he believed they were two parts of the same whole, as close and complete in themselves as James and Lily were.

Remus's smile is tight but his voice easy when he replies, "I look like shit." Sirius hates that he can hide his emotions like that, as if they never existed. Maybe they don't. Maybe it had all been one huge lie, from the moment they'd met. Remus is certainly capable of it. "You look good, though," he continues as the waitress saunters over, cutting off Sirius's reply.

She sets an ugly brown mug in front of him and fills it with coffee. He hasn't been here in months, not since Remus moved out, but she remembers.

"What'll it be?" she asks. Sirius winces at the rust coating her voice, the way she tortures the vowels until they shriek, and the stale grease and burnt coffee smell emanating from her cheap polyester uniform.

"Just the coffee," he says, having lost what little appetite he'd had.

She looks at Remus. "And you?"

"I'm fine."

'Liar.' "Remus." His tone is cajoling, and he can see amusement in those tired eyes; it heartens him for a moment.

The waitress glances between them, settling on Sirius, who says, "Eggs, toast, and sausage for my friend."

She scribbles on her pad and walks away.


"Tell me you've had something more than tea in the past twenty-four hours."

Remus looks away, and Sirius knows he's won this round, for whatever it's worth. He's been looking after Moony since they were ickle firsties, and he can't seem to stop now, even when it's probably aiding and abetting the enemy. 'Moony. The enemy.' He still can't quite believe it. He sips his coffee, and the heat feels good on this chilly October evening.

He pulls out a fag and taps it against the chipped yellow tabletop. The color reminds him of the hunter's moon, the last time he and Remus were together. He doesn't know why he chose this place; they used to eat here after nights spent dancing and drinking in clubs across London right after they left Hogwarts, and Remus used to drag him here for coffee and Danish early in the morning after they'd spent the night doing research for the Order.

Sirius doesn't like to think he's sentimental; he can't afford to be now, but he's still looking for a sign, a word, something to tell him he's wrong, that Remus hasn't been systematically betraying them for at least a year.

He lights the cigarette with the Zippo Lily bought him for Christmas three years ago, and inhales, enjoying the heady nicotine rush in combination with the caffeine already buzzing along his nerves.

"Here," Remus says, putting a hand into his jacket and withdrawing a small bag. "It's not much but--" His mouth tightens and his fingers stroke the brown paper absently. Sirius shivers, remembering how those fingers felt on his skin, wrapped around his cock. "Some Halloween sweets for Harry, since I won't be seeing him."

"Right." Sirius takes the bag, deliberately brushing his fingers against Remus's, feeling petty triumph at the way Remus's eyes widen at the heat arcing between them. He can't keep the smirk off his face as he drops the bag into his pocket.

Whatever else they've lost, they've always had the physical. Sometimes Sirius thinks it would have been easier if that was gone too, but even when the shouting stopped and the silences began, they never stopped fucking. Maybe that's all it ever was -- meaningless fucking -- but Sirius misses it desperately, the feel of Remus around or inside him, heat and friction and the pure joy of losing himself for a few moments in the soft-hard warmth of Remus's body.

He shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore his body's response as the waitress sets the food down on the table.

"Anything else?"

"More tea, please," Remus says. She nods and walks away, trainers squeaking on the linoleum.

Sirius takes a long drag on his cigarette and blows the smoke out his nostrils, amusing himself.

Remus butters his toast and takes a bite, neatly and unobtrusively. Remus has exquisite table manners, something they used to tease him about mercilessly. Sirius knows it's because the wolf has no manners at all, and Remus has spent his whole life denying he is the wolf. Maybe he's not denying it anymore.

"Are you going to smoke while I eat?" Remus asks after swallowing a mouthful of the omelet. His tone is pleasant, but Sirius can hear the annoyance underneath. Remus hates the smell of smoke while he eats, has been known to get up and walk out of better restaurants than this because of it.

"Is that a problem?" Sirius replies.

Remus bites his lip, fingers tightening on his knife, and Sirius can see pride warring with hunger (Oh god, he's starving), but as usual with Remus, pride wins out. He places the knife and fork carefully on the plate and slides out of the booth.

"Thank you, Sirius," he says, as though they are acquaintances and nothing more. Maybe, Sirius thinks, that's all they've ever been. Remus drops a handful of Muggle money on the table, money Sirius knows he can't afford to spend, squares his shoulders in his threadbare corduroy jacket, and pushes his way out of the coffee shop.


Sirius explodes out of the booth, angry with himself as well as Remus. He stubs the cigarette out in the eggs, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and fumbles with his own money. He leaves far too much on the table, and then follows Remus out.

He catches up with Remus around the corner, grabs him by the arm and swings him into a small, garbage-strewn alley.

Remus feels too thin under his hands, light as one of the dry, brown leaves swirling at their feet in the chilly autumn wind, and Sirius has no trouble moving him, though Remus was always the immovable object to his own irresistible force.

Sirius shoves him against a brick wall, heedless of passersby, the conflicting voices in his head, and the cold evening air. He wants, and he takes while he still can.

Remus's mouth is hot and hungry beneath his, tasting of tea and eggs and desperation. His fingers tangle themselves in Sirius's hair and Sirius groans at the familiar feel of Remus's body pressed against his, planes and hollows fitting together perfectly, two halves of a whole.

They don't speak, because they've already said everything that needs saying. Sirius knows this won't change a thing, but he needs this more than he's ever needed anything in his life, because it could be the last time they are together like this, and the idea is so foreign, even now, that Sirius cannot bear to think of it.

Sirius's hands are trembling as he undoes Remus's flies, and his own prick is already aching for the touch of Remus's hands, which push at Sirius's trousers, all grace gone in the rush. They shove each other's trousers and y-fronts down just far enough to let their cocks, hard and hot and already damp with pre-come, rub against each other. Sirius tries to hold Remus's gaze, but Remus drops his head back against the wall, baring the strong line of his throat. He grunts and tightens his grip on Sirius's hips when Sirius licks at his collarbone. Sirius slides his lips up to nip at the fluttering pulse just beneath Remus's jaw, then takes his mouth again in a bruising kiss.

Their teeth click but Sirius doesn't care, thrusting his tongue in the same wild rhythm as his hips, as if they were still sixteen and new at this, overwhelmed by how unbearably good it feels. He shoves his hands up under Remus's jacket and jumper, eager for the feel of warm, soft skin against the pads of his fingers, reveling in the heat firing in his veins, centering in his cock and radiating all through his body.

"Fuck, Sirius," Remus growls when he breaks the kiss. He leans forward to sink his teeth into Sirius's neck, hard enough to sting. Sirius knows that will leave a mark, and he's glad. He wants to be marked, wants to mark Remus, show the world they belong to each other, and not the dark or the light, Dumbledore or Voldemort.

And then he can't think at all because his balls are tightening and as Remus loses the rhythm, comes with jerking hips, resting his head on Sirius's shoulder as he gasps.

Sirius's whole body shakes as his orgasm pulses through him and the world drops away. Nothing exists but him and Remus, the two of them wet and sticky and reeking of sex and cigarettes.

They cling for a long moment that Sirius wishes would last forever, but Remus finally pulls away (too fast, too soon), leans back against the wall. The cold air stings almost as much as how quickly Remus cleans up, removing all sign of Sirius from his body and clothing. He turns his wand toward Sirius then, and as much as Sirius wants to tell him no, scream at him to leave it, this proof that they can still be as close as any two people ever get, he doesn't. Because he isn't sure he believes two people can get close anymore, if he and Remus have drifted so far apart.

Remus pushes those long fingers through his graying hair, and his eyes are so very tired when he looks at Sirius, but they hold a hint of softness now.

"Give my regards to James and Lily and Harry," he says finally, pushing away from the wall and shoving his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunching against the chill.

That jacket can't be warm enough, Sirius thinks, and he almost offers his, remembers wanting to give Remus his money back, and knows how badly it would go now.

So all he says is, "I will," as he watches Remus walk away for what may be the last time.

He stands there until Remus is out of sight, then slips his cold hands into his own pockets, and comes up with the small bag of sweets Remus had given him.

He pulls it out, opens it and looks over the contents in the dim light of the street lamp. Cheap Muggle chocolates that are already melting, probably all Remus could afford. Sirius's chest tightens, but he drops them to the ground, wary of any spells that might hide within. Sirius can't believe Remus would hurt the baby, but he can't take that chance. He comforts himself with the fact that Harry couldn't have eaten them anyway.

He turns and walks the other way, resolving to check on Peter soon, and hopes he's doing the right thing.


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