by Victoria P.

Sirius wakes to the sound of Remus thrashing about on the bed next to his. He hates the nightmares, hates the way Remus becomes thinner and more drawn as the moon waxes. The room is flooded with the moon's hateful light, and he can see that James isn't in his bed. He's probably off somewhere with Evans. Peter's curtains are drawn and soft snuffling sounds emanate from behind them.

Remus's bed creaks as he moves, and Sirius pads silently over to stare down at him. Over the years, they've all taken turns comforting Moony after his nightmares, and after full moon nights, but since the beginning of term this year, since their reconciliation after the Snape incident, James and Peter have left the job to him. Penance, they think. And one he'd gladly do for the rest of his life. They don't know how much he longs for the opportunity to slip into bed beside Remus, to hold him, hear his heartbeat and taste his breath.

Sirius loves the nubby feel of the worn cotton sheets of Remus's bed against his skin. He loves the soft warmth of the flannel pajamas Remus wears, though he's had a growth spurt recently, and two inches of ankle and wrist peek out from the cuffs now.

Mostly, though, Sirius loves Remus, and has for a long time now.

He climbs into the bed, curling around Remus, a solid weight at his back, anchoring him against the pull of his nightmares, even as he wishes he could do more.

"Sirius?" Remus asks, voice hoarse with sleep.

"Of course," Sirius says. "Who else?"

Remus settles against him and smiles, his usually angular features soft-edged and shadowed in the half-light of the moon, eyes heavy-lidded, pupils large and dark.

"No one," Remus whispers. "No one else."

He reaches up a hand and cups Sirius's cheek, and Sirius has to stop breathing for a moment, because the heat that floods his body is too intense, the need that courses through him is almost frightening. Not quite as frightening as the idea that Remus may not feel the same about him. Or maybe he's afraid that if they both feel so much, the heat will consume them. He's not sure, and he doesn't have time to wonder.

Remus brushes a thumb across his lips and Sirius realizes that what he felt a moment ago is nothing compared to how he feels now.


Remus's teeth gleam white in the darkness, the flash of a smile, and then his hand moves from Sirius's cheek to the back of his neck. His fingers splay out, tickling a little, tangling in Sirius's hair, sending chills down his spine. Remus exerts the slightest hint of pressure, and Sirius leans down. He closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment, trying to capture every bit of what's happening so he can replay it over and over again in his mind, just in case it's only a dream.

Sirius can taste the slight staleness in Remus's breath before he presses his lips against his. Remus's mouth is warmer and softer -- better -- than he imagined, and he's spent hours imagining it. Not a dream, then.

Remus pulls away and Sirius whimpers in protest, but he doesn't care.

"Wait," Remus mutters, "let me --" But he doesn't finish the sentence. He turns so they're facing each other, and kisses Sirius again, this time sliding his tongue into Sirius's mouth.

My bones are melting, Sirius thinks, hands clutching at Remus, holding on for dear life. He's drowning in this kiss, awed by it, and he knows it's only the beginning.

Remus is playing with his hair, and his other hand slides down his back, sending another jolt of heat through Sirius's body. Those long, flannel-clad legs are moving against him, and he needs to touch, to reach out and take--

He brushes his hands through Remus's hair, shivering at the feel of it, whisper- soft against his skin, then continues down over his neck and back -- Remus has finally begun to fill out a little, shoulders broadening before his body narrows to lean hips. Hips that are currently thrusting against Sirius's leg, and he realizes that they've moved beyond a simple -- no, a complicated kiss.

They break for air and he says it again. "Remus?"

"Please, Sirius?"

He can't say no. He can't refuse Moony anything, and certainly not something he himself wants just as much.

"Yes." It's not so much agreement as a prayer of thanksgiving, or an act of supplication. It slips out before they kiss again. Remus rolls them over, presses Sirius into the mattress. Remus is in control, which shouldn't surprise him -- Remus is always in control -- but it does.

Remus isn't as good-looking or popular as Sirius and James are, but he's had one or two boyfriends that Sirius knows of, that they've discussed while huddled in a booth at the Three Broomsticks, or during long chats on dark nights in their dorm room. And he himself has had enough experience at this point to know what he's doing, but it never mattered before, it was all just in fun.

This is Remus.

This is for real.

His fingers tremble a little as he moves his hands up under Remus's shirt, using his nails to scrape lightly at hard nipples. He grins at Remus's sharp intake of breath. And then Remus returns the favor -- he's always been a quick study -- his hands are subtle and long-fingered, skating down Sirius's chest as his mouth latches onto Sirius's throat.

The frantic thrust of Remus's hips against his, the knowledge that only two thin layers of flannel separates them, is driving Sirius crazy. He reaches down and pushes at Remus's pajama bottoms until they are somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. Sirius gets rid of his own immediately after, and--

"Fuck. Sirius," Remus chokes out as Sirius wraps a hand around their cocks and begins stroking. Remus may be on top, but Sirius isn't going to be the only one losing control tonight.

Remus kisses him again, fiercely, lips and teeth and tongue demanding a response Sirius is only too happy to give him, though it's difficult to concentrate when he feels like his body is about to explode. Remus continues to move his hips, and Sirius's world narrows to the slick, hard heat in his hand and the lingering slide of Remus's tongue in his mouth.

Remus covers Sirius's hand with his own. "Together," he says, and Sirius feels it more than hears it, Remus's lips moving against his.

Again, Sirius can only answer, "Yes."

And then he can't speak, can't think at all, he can only experience the rush of pleasure that thunders through his body as he comes. He tries to keep his eyes open, to watch as Remus throws his head back and groans, shuddering in the throes of his own orgasm.

"Remus," he says when he's finally able to speak again. "Oh, Remus." Then, "Are you okay with this?" he asks, suddenly worried that their friendship is going to suffer, that this isn't the beginning of something more, but the end of everything.

"Oh, god, Sirius, I've waited years for this," Remus replies, and a different sort of warmth floods Sirius's body, making his chest tight.

"Me, too," he says.

Remus draws away, fumbles for his wand. "Scourgify," he murmurs, cleaning up the sticky mess they've made. They pull their pajamas back on slowly, and fall asleep tangled in each other's arms.


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