Chapter Text
Sirius gives absolutely nothing. Remus sends message after message until he realizes that they're not even being opened anymore. He responds to Sirius's tweets just so that he'll have to acknowledge him, comments on every Instagram post. Nothing. Sirius gives him nothing.
Remus's methods of burying his feelings in work are slowly failing. After a week, he can't fall asleep without a healthy dose of melatonin. After two, he starts seeing Sirius's face in every man with dark, curly hair. After three, Marlene won't take I'm fine as an answer anymore.
Remus lets it all spill out. Well, most of it.
"It was really bad, Marls," he says. He wants to cry but the idea of it is so humiliating that he chews the inside of his cheek raw instead. "I said something really awful to him."
"Oh, Rem," she sighs, rubbing his back. "It'll be ok. He has to know you're sorry by now."
Remus nods. He's said it, texted it, enough times. It still doesn't feel like enough. The stakes are higher now than they were that first time they dug their claws into each other. Now they're closer to friends than business associates. Now Remus has seen the want in Sirius's eyes, seen him give in. Remus was ready to give in, still is, but he doesn't think he'll get the chance.
"I hope so," he manages. Marlene frowns at him, sympathetic and pitying.
"Well, when do you see him next? He can't avoid you when you're supposed to be pretending to be in love for the cameras."
"This weekend."
Lily was upset about not getting any good photos from the Paris trip, just a few posts on Twitter from fans who happened to see them during their short time out for dinner. She was more worried about Remus's "family emergency", which just makes him feel even worse. Since then, Sirius and his own Instagram feed has been sporadic posts from her backlog of photos. Remus even finds one of the two of them at the coffee shop, that day they first kissed and Remus started slipping. Sirius comments a generic heart emoji - more likely Lily's doing than his own. It's damn near devastating.
"It's going to work out, I know it," Marlene tells him again. Remus really wishes he could believe her.
The weekend comes too slowly and too quickly all at once. Remus is on the verge of throwing up by the time he gets into the car. Lily isn't there, she isn't coming tonight. Dorcas might make an appearance, but Remus is on his own for this one. It's daunting. It's exactly what he needs to try to make everything alright again.
He won't be walking the carpet with Sirius. He would be dreadful in front of all those cameras, trying to pretend he knows how to pose. Lily let him off easy and told him to use the other entrance. The sidewalks are crowded with people anyway, vying for even a glimpse of the hundreds of celebrities that will be here tonight. Remus spots a couple actors he recognizes and feels the weight of how out of his depth he is here. What the hell is he even doing here?
What on earth, all those months ago, possessed him to believe that he could do this and be fine with it all? What on earth allowed him to believe that he could kiss Sirius Black, really kiss him, and not lose his ever loving mind?
He steps out of the car, wearing the same suit from Paris. It's the only black-tie conforming thing he owns. Someone calls his name but he doesn't turn to see who. He's laser focused on getting inside, on getting to the table where Sirius will be soon. He's bubbling over with anxiety and desperate. He wants to prove himself, show Sirius that he isn't a complete asshole, as much as he acts like one. Maybe he is a bad person, deep down, but he doesn't want to be a bad person to Sirius.
"Remus Lupin," he says to the first usher he finds.
"Table fifteen," they answer.
Back on a mission again. He weaves through crowds, other people looking for their seats. He literally brushes elbows with the rich and famous.
The placard on the table reads his name in elaborate cursive. Next to it, Sirius Black. Remus sits heavily, sharing polite smiles with the others at the table. One of them is an up-and-coming indie artist that he knows Marlene would absolutely fawn over. There's the girl with the huge voice that opened for Sirius in London. Remus exchanges a few words with her, it's both of their first award shows. She's beyond nervous about the close-up she's bound to get when the nominations for Best New Artist are read out. Remus assures her that she looks great.
Remus pulls out his phone to scroll Twitter. He finds a page that's posting live updates of who is walking the carpet. He refreshes, refreshes.
Then, a clip of Sirius looking very elegant, very brooding in a tailored maroon suit. He's absolutely stunning, as always, and Remus's breath still catches in his throat. He knows that Sirius finds suits constricting, boring, but damn does he look good in them.
The thing is, Remus would be alright if he never got to kiss Sirius again. He would be ok if he never got to have Sirius like he did in January. He could live with it, with suppressing his overwhelming need to touch him. If only Sirius would look at him again. He just wants that stupid perfect smile directed at him one more time, wants to earn that barking laugh.
He knows he doesn't deserve it, but he would do fucking anything to get it back.
Twenty minutes pass. Someone brings Remus a glass of champagne that he can't stomach. He watches the Twitter page obsessively, itching for another glance of Sirius. He knows he won't stop for interviews, just speed right on past the people holding microphones, especially when he's got that dark look in his eye that Remus knows far too well. It's agony to wait for him, wondering if it might be better if he never does show up.
Finally, the girl says, "Sirius!"
Remus watches her stick out both hands, reaching for him. He watches two pale ones clasp them, freshly painted black fingernails, a clattering collection of silver rings, the edges of two deep red sleeves. Remus's heart is in his throat and his stomach is somewhere near his ankles.
"Hey, Em."
Sweet, and gravelly. Remus wants to turn to look at him, but his neck is suddenly frozen to his shoulders. His hands are clutching his phone, still hidden in his lap. The chair next to him shifts and Remus swallows.
Sirius does not look at him. He engages in conversation with Em and the other people at the table. When a glass of champagne arrives, he heartily thanks the deliverer. Remus tries not to watch him swallow around his first sip.
It's aggravating, being frozen out, but Remus is out of anger. He doesn't want to be angry at Sirius. It's utterly exhausting and has proven to get him nowhere. Instead, he settles somewhere between frustrated and crushed.
The lights go down and the first round of awards are given out to tearful and grateful men and women in sparkly outfits. Sirius is up for a handful, best alternative album, best alternative single, best rock vocals. Remus has no doubt that he'll be up on the stage at least once tonight.
The show cuts to commercial and Remus watches a man with a microphone being trailed by a camera a few tables over. Interviewers, you can never escape them.
Which is why he really shouldn't be surprised when their table is the next one approached. The man zeroes in on Sirius.
"Sirius Black," he says jovially. Sirius's smile is tight and forced. "Up for five awards tonight, how do you feel?"
"Really honored. I'm happy to be here," he answers, short and sweet. Remus wants to reach for him, offer support. Sirius had allowed him to do that before, when the cameras were blinding them both and he needed a push to get going. His hand fidgets against his leg, itching to find Sirius's.
"And, is this your plus-one?" The interviewer waggles his eyebrows.
Oh. The camera is on Remus now. He'd thought he'd get out scot free from this one.
"Sure is," Sirius says. He reaches over and puts an arm around the back of Remus's chair. It's almost what he wants. Almost.
"Here to cheer him on tonight?"
The microphone is in his face. Remus tries to find his voice. "Yep." He hopes his smile doesn't look as nervous as he feels.
"Tell me," the interviewer continues, "what's your favorite track off the new album? I've been listening to it nonstop."
Remus falters. He hadn't been expecting a further question. He can feel Sirius's eyes on him. He's sure he's bright red. He swallows around his nerves. "Probably Deep End," he says. It's the song he heard when he was falling asleep that first night as his parents' house.
"Oh yeah, that's one of my favorites," the interviewer says.
Remus risks a glance over at Sirius, finds something like surprise written on his face.
The interviewer becomes distracted with the other patrons at the table and Remus can breathe a sigh of relief.
Sirius leans in, making him tense all over again. "So you actually are a fan," he says.
He's teasing, and Remus is so fucking glad for it. "I did my research."
Sirius chuckles, his chair edging closer.
The lights go down again and Sirius is still in his space. He's watching the stage just like everyone else in the room, but Remus is unable to focus on the two comedians giving their introduction to the next category. He hears Sirius laugh at some joke they're making. The sound sparks a warmth in his chest. It feels so good to hear him laugh.
The comedians announce that Sirius has won, obviously, and Remus watches him head toward the stage.
"Thank you, this really is an honor," Sirius says into the microphone, cradling the golden award. "I really couldn't have done it without my amazing team - Dorcas Meadowes, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans, and of course my lovely partner, Remus."
Oh god. The camera is on Remus again. He's sure Sirius mentioned him just to put him on the spot. He's such a dickhead. Why does Remus put up with him again?
He smiles and waves, feeling stiff.
When Sirius is seated next to him again, Remus leans in and mutters, "I fucking hate you."
There's a sly smirk and a hand on his thigh in response. Remus looks down to see alabaster skin and silver rings contrasted with the black fabric. He sucks in a breath. The hand shifts up, pinkie nearly at the crease where Remus's hip reaches his leg.
Sirius leans in close once more, hot breath on Remus's neck. "I'm staying in room two-oh-five across the street."
Right. This is why Remus puts up with him. Just his hand on Remus's leg is setting his whole body alight, making all the blood that had previously been powering his brain rush south, forgetting its priorities. Remus is a weak man for pale skin and silver rings and unruly hair.
It takes far too long for Remus to get out of the building. He loses Sirius to the crowd, tries not to knock anyone over in his search for the car that Lily sent to take him back home. He knocks on the window to let the driver know his services aren't necessary, hoping to god that Lily doesn't find out and ask follow up questions.
But, finally - finally - Remus is walking down a hall with thick carpets, scanning doors for the number he's looking for. At two-oh-five, he pauses, takes a deep breath, and knocks.
He knows what he's doing. He knows why Sirius invited him here. He knows he shouldn't be here, shouldn't come everytime Sirius calls. But, just a few hours ago Remus was willing to accept that Sirius might never look at him the same way again. Now, he's here and walking away seems impossible.
"Hello, darling."
Sirius has showered, hair damp around his shoulders and significantly less curly. He's not wearing a shirt. Remus is frozen for a moment faced with all that skin. The plaid pajama pants he's got on should not be doing things to his insides, but he's suddenly afraid his knees might give out.
Remus clears his throat. "Hi."
Sirius moves aside to let him in, and Remus watches as he walks over to the loveseat in the room. The phases of the moon are tattooed in a line up his spine, and Remus likes the way they shift as he moves, imagines them contorting as Sirius arches up off a bed. Maybe the bed just a few feet away from him right now.
He sits on the opposite side of the couch, hands trembling a little with nerves. Sirius does not seem to share the same sentiment, he kicks his feet up into Remus's lap with a sly smile.
"So, what'd you think of your first award show?" He asks, casual and smooth. Remus wants to take him apart, see what's under that layer of confidence. He wants to see how Sirius will beg if he doesn't get what he wants, how he'll say please.
"Terrible. I'm never going to one again," he answers. His heart is racing. He didn't come here for small talk, but he's also too nervous to make the first move.
Sirius pouts at him. "You'd make me suffer all alone?"
Oh, how Remus crumples when Sirius bats his eyelashes and looks at him with the face of an angel.
"Maybe I would."
His hand is circling Sirius's thigh, just above the bend of his knee. He can feel the muscle there, the strength of his body hidden inside of his lithe frame.
Sirius is back to smiling at him now, a knowing, satisfied look. "You would?"
Remus tugs on his leg, sliding him closer. Sirius falls back on his elbows looking like he's just gotten away with murder. He slides a hand up Remus's arm, agile fingers wrapping around his bicep. He tilts his chin up to meet his eyes.
Remus can't speak, only focus on the inches of space between their lips and how badly he wants to close it. Sirius bites his bottom lip, innocence back in his eyes, like he has no idea how he's been teasing Remus all night.
"I don't think you would," he says, leaning closer. Remus can feel his breath now, hot and enticing. Remus wants to swallow the very air that Sirius exhales.
"You overestimate my kindness," Remus manages. His voice is low, strained.
Sirius kisses him. It's like that first breath of air after being underwater for too long. Remus's body has been aching for this again, desperate and delirious with his need for it; because it is a need. Remus needs to know how Sirius will look spread out on the bed in this hotel room, how he will sound when Remus fucks him, how he'll moan when he pulls his hair and bites his neck.
Remus wraps his fingers up in Sirius's damp hair. It smells like the hotel's shampoo and feels like silk in his hand. Sirius grabs a fistful of his shirt, clinging to Remus in order to keep himself upright. It seems as though he's been waiting for this kiss just as long as Remus with the way he opens his mouth willingly and lets his tongue be brutalized.
It's still not enough. Even as Remus is digging his fingers into Sirius's hip, spreading his palm out so he can feel the expanse of bare flesh on his back. He yanks Sirius onto his lap to straddle him. He runs his hands over his thighs, his waist, the line of his jaw. He needs all of it, he needs to know what it feels like to be so consumed with the sensation of touching him.
Sirius half unravels his tie, pulling back just long enough to get it up over Remus's head. His hands go to the buttons on his shirt immediately as Remus works to get his coat off. He wants to have Sirius's skin directly on his own. He wants to absorb his warmth and let it heat the colder parts of himself. Just for tonight, he wants to let go.
When his chest is laid bare and Sirius can run his hands over it, sending goosebumps all over Remus's body, he moves along to mouth at his jaw. He scrapes the skin with his teeth, turning his neck into blotches of red. He might leave a bruise or two - something he knows he shouldn't - but he can't be bothered to hold back now.
"You want me so fucking bad," Sirius pants. He's tilting his head back so that Remus can continue his assault down to his shoulders, across his collarbones. Even now, when they're both breathless and worked up beyond themselves, he's still taunting Remus. And it's absolutely working.
"Shut up," Remus mutters against his skin. He bites at his neck one more time before relenting. "Get on the bed."
Sirius clambers off of him quickly, grinning like a madman. Remus watches him, pausing at his suitcase to dig something out. He tosses it onto the bed and then quickly follows. He props himself up on the pillows, his pajama pants now pulled down low on his hips. Remus can see how they dip into a v, closing in between his legs. His mouth waters.
He's momentarily frozen, shocked at what he's faced with. He's imagined this so many times and now it's actually happening. It's all surreal.
Remus watches him run a hand over his chest, his stomach. He pauses just before his waistband, pinning Remus with a look of pure sin. Then, he palms over himself, sighing softly, arching up into it.
"Are you going to fuck me, or should I do it myself?" He asks. Cocky fucking bastard he is.
Remus stands, feeling dizzy. Is he going to fuck Sirius? He wants to, but this is another one of those lines that cannot be uncrossed. Doing this will change things. This is his last chance to bail out. He could shake his head and say this was a mistake, that he doesn't want to abuse their business relationship.
But, then again, Remus is also absolutely desperate to pin Sirius into the mattress. He can allow himself this one time. He can have a taste of Sirius without it becoming a thing. Maybe then his brain will become his own again and he can stop fantasizing about this. He can give in tonight, and then go back to who he was before.
So, he kicks off his shoes and sheds his shirt the rest of the way and covers Sirius's body with his own. The feeling of their skin pressed together is just as euphoric as Remus thought. He grabs Sirius's wrists and pins them above his head.
"What? I'm not allowed to touch myself?" His smile is sly, teasing.
"No, you're not," Remus answers. He wants to be the one to take Sirius apart, to coax his orgasm out of him. He rolls their hips together as if proving his point.
Sirius gasps, pressing up into it. Remus is so turned on it hurts.
"Fuck," Sirius breathes. Remus does it again. "Oh my god, I - fucking hell."
"You're so mouthy," Remus says. His voice sounds like a growl, a sound he wasn't quite aware he could make. Sirius seems to like it. He looks up at Remus with his lips parted and his eyes wide. The silver there is cloudy.
"Make me shut up, then."
"No, I think I'd rather you be loud."
Sirius moans, a soft, whining sound. Remus drinks it in. He drops a hand down between them and presses against Sirius, a hard and heated line. Sirius moans again and Remus feels his stomach flip.
Maybe it's put on - Sirius is a performer after all - but Remus is eating it up.
"I think you want me so fucking bad," he echoes Sirius from before.
"Obviously," Sirius says, sounding strained and breathing hard. Remus can feel him throbbing against his palm and slips his hand inside of his pajama pants.
The feeling of Sirius in his hand sends heat sparking across Remus's body. He strokes him slowly, dragging his hand so that he can feel every inch of him. He swipes a thumb over the tip of him, feels the wetness already gathering there. He spreads it down Sirius's length to make the slide of his fingers easier. Sirius groans through lips pressed tightly closed, breathing hard through his nose. Remus watches him press up into his touch, searching for more friction, trying to fuck the circle of his fingers.
More precome beads up. Remus wants to taste it.
He pulls his hand away, the soft noise of protest that Sirius makes is causing arousal boil in Remus's stomach. He leans back so that he can tug off his pants, finally getting a full look at him. That line of muscle along his hips is adorned with vines of leaves, curling up toward his stomach. Remus bends to trace them with his tongue.
Sirius practically keens when Remus finally takes him into his mouth. Under the lingering soap, Remus can taste the heady, muskiness that is Sirius. It's overwhelmingly good, impossibly good.
"Oh my god, Rem," Sirius groans. And Remus really fucking likes it when he says his name like that.
He hums around Sirius's length, feels a hand rest tentatively in his hair.
He, unfortunately, possesses a gag reflex, unlike Sirius, so he wraps his fingers around what he can't take. He presses his tongue along the underside of him, feels the vein there throb against him. He hollows his cheeks, starts to bob his head, and pulls sounds from Sirius that make him want to come in his pants right then and there. It seems his vocal skills do not only pertain to singing.
"Remus, fuck - fuck," Sirius whines. His legs are bent up at the knee, falling apart further as Remus starts to run his free hand along the inside of one thigh. He trails his fingers along to his balls, then further down. He presses against the skin there, and Sirius makes a high-pitched noise that makes Remus groan. "Rem - please."
And that's exactly what Remus has wanted. To hear Sirius beg. To make the icon of modern rock who can scald with a single look, who can command a crowd of thousands with a single word, writhe with need beneath him. It's almost more than Remus can take.
He pulls his mouth away from Sirius, grips the base of him with one hand, and presses two fingers of his other to his lips.
"You want me to fuck you?" He asks, voice thick and gravelly.
Sirius answers by letting his mouth fall open, swallowing up Remus's fingers. He circles them with his tongue, lapping at them with enthusiasm. Remus can remember exactly how this mouth felt on his own cock, how entirely consuming it was to have Sirius's full attention like that. He certainly has his attention now.
He lets Sirius suck on his fingers longer than necessary. He just enjoys the view of it far too much. But, he finally relents and pulls them away, liking the way Sirius's lips stay parted, breath passing through them in puffs. He presses the pads of both of them between his legs. Sirius whimpers.
"You must be really enjoying yourself," Sirius says as Remus teases him. His legs are trembling a little.
"And you're not?"
He pushes both fingers inside then. Sirius cries out, arching up off the bed. The serpent on his ribs stretches with him.
"I thought so," Remus murmurs. Maybe he's the cocky bastard.
He fucks Sirius with his fingers a little harder than he normally would. He crooks them up sooner too. Sirius gasps at it, fisting the sheets and trying to pull Remus deeper. Remus mouths at his hips, biting at the jutting bone. He can see where his fingers disappear, his cock now straining against his trousers. He wants to bury himself inside of Sirius. It's a bodily ache for him. He feels as if he might die if he doesn't get to soon. Or come prematurely - an equally tragic outcome.
He takes Sirius's cock in his free hand, laving his tongue over it. It's not enough pressure to give him what he really wants, and Sirius groans with it. It's a bit cruel, really, but Remus really likes the way Sirius sounds when he's worked up, he likes the way his body moves with Remus's touch. If he's only going to do this once he's damn well going to enjoy it.
"Remus," Sirius gasps. His name is like a prayer on those lips. Remus presses harder against the spot that makes Sirius moan loudest. "Fucking - Remus, I -" Sirius stumbles over his words, grinding against Remus's fingers like he can't help himself.
Remus sits back to look at him, fingers stilling. Sirius's chest is heaving, his hands still wrapped tightly up in the sheets. His cock is leaking heavily now, flushed a deep red against his pale skin.
He stands, shedding his last bit of clothing, and searches over the bed for the two items that Sirius tossed there before. He grabs up the condom and rips it open with his teeth. He has to pull his fingers out of Sirius to put it on, which makes him let out a pitiful whimper. It really is something to see someone as aloof as Sirius Black fucking whimper.
Sirius is watching him intently, lips parted and eyes wide. He's splayed like a piece of art, legs open and chest bared. Remus lets his eyes rake over his body, cataloging it, committing this scene to memory.
"How much longer are you going to make me wait," Sirius groans. It would be snarky if it weren't for the undertone of desperation in his words.
"God, you're needy," Remus answers. He would be lying if he said he weren't just as needy right now.
He spreads a generous amount of lube over himself and lines up with Sirius's hole. The tension is palpable, the way Sirius's feet lift up off the bed to press into Remus's back. Remus's whole body is rigid with the anticipation of it all.
He presses in, just an inch.
"Oh, god," Sirius breathes, eyes falling shut and head pressing back against the pillows.
Remus pushes in further, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. Sirius is impossibly tight around him, a delicious hot, slick slide against him. When he bottoms out, he lets out a loud breath.
"Jesus Christ," is all he can say.
Sirius still has his eyes screwed shut, his legs rigid around Remus's waist. His heels dig into the small of his back, his hips lifting so that Remus is just that much deeper inside of him.
It's just as mind blowingly good as Remus had thought it would be when he starts to fuck him. It's a whole body tingle, a heat that encapsulates his entire body. It's been a very long time since Remus had sex this good - maybe not ever. He doesn't want it to end. He feels like he's already come a dozen times.
Sirius finally looks at him, reaching up and grabbing him by the back of the neck. Their mouths meet with a violent crash, teeth biting into lips. Remus digs his fingers into Sirius's hips as a way to ground himself. He fucks into him so hard that he's momentarily afraid that he might break him.
Sirius is moaning into his mouth, though, and meeting Remus's thrusts halfway. It's as though he's been waiting just as long as Remus for this to happen, like now that it is he can't get enough. Remus gives him everything, letting Sirius abuse his mouth with his tongue while he leaves bruises on his hips.
"So fucking good," Remus hears him mutter at one point. He clenches around him like a vice, his nails scratching against Remus's neck. He's sure that when this is over they'll both look like they've lost a fight.
Remus is on the edge. He feels like he's been teetering there for hours, staving off his orgasm in some desperate plight. He reaches for Sirius, swiping up the moisture at the tip of him to spread down the rest of his cock. He can feel his pulse in his palm, echoing how tight he is around Remus.
He leans back to push one of Sirius's knees against his chest with his free hand. It's nearly animalistic now, the way Remus is fucking him. He drinks up every last sound that falls from those perfectly red lips, the flush on his cheeks, his chest. His whole pale body is stained red.
When Sirius comes, his eyes roll back and a broken moan tears its way out of his throat. His leg not pinned against his chest wraps around Remus's back tightly, holding him in place as he spills over Remus's hand.
As soon as he's given an inch to move again, Remus fucks him right through it. Sirius's legs go limp, falling wide around Remus's hips. An unbearable heat rises in his stomach, makes his fingers claw at Sirius's skin.
He comes hard, his vision whiting out for a few seconds as it washes over his body. He absolutely has never had sex this good.
It takes a long minute before he gains control his limbs again, knees dug into the mattress, hands still wrapped around Sirius's hips. He pulls out of him and watches as Sirius's body sinks into the bed, his eyes glazed over as he stares up at the ceiling.
Remus stands on wobbly legs, the silence of the room weighing heavy on his shoulders. He throws away the condom and stares blankly at the wall for a moment. He looks back to Sirius, still dazed against the pillows. He's still got a mess of his own come on his stomach. Remus wonders if cleaning him up would be allowed.
After a few moments of debate, he steps into the bathroom for a towel. Sirius mutters a thanks when Remus hands it over, still looking only halfway there. Remus would really love to crawl back into bed and bask in this version of him, sleepy and blissed out, but he knows it isn't an option.
He gathers his clothes and dresses quickly in the silence of the room. He allows himself one last glance at Sirius before he leaves, eyes shut now, looking entirely peaceful. Remus forces himself out the door.
He's being stupid, he knows. He's never once wanted to linger after fucking someone. The only reason he feels differently is because he knows he can't have Sirius. He's always had a bad habit of going after the unattainable - a degree, a stable job, writing a novel.
It's too daunting to go home, so Remus bundles himself in his suit jacket and starts to walk. The streets are still alive with the aftermath of the award show. A few nearby pubs have their doors propped open as patrons drift in and out. Remus catches a whiff of greasy bar food and feels his stomach growl. He'd been too anxious to eat before he left the flat and now he's utterly starving.
He doesn't stop, though. As good as a giant burger and a cold beer sounds right now, he can't bear the idea of sitting still. He doesn't want to be forced to think about what he's just done, how he can never undo it. No, he just needs to keep moving, keep letting the cold sting his knees and stop his brain from running wild.