Code Black (From The Vault)

by ixiedust

Summary:

A collection of one-shots and alternate POV chapters from the Code Black universe.

The first of these is my submission for Marauders x Taylor Swift Bingo, organized by my wildly talented friend Siriusly_Reggie_13. Future chapters will be less over-the-top Swiftie. (Probably.)

Chapter 1: You Belong With Me (Remus' Version)

Notes:

And for my next trick, watch me try to squeeze nearly all of my TSxM Bingo prompts into this one little chapter…

Some of the inserted song lyrics did have to be adjusted slightly for flow and for third person narration, but I tried to keep them as close as possible to the literal words. I also tried to include multiple lyrics from each [Song] prompt, sprinkled in different places throughout.

If it feels a little unhinged, that’s only because it is.

PROMPTS:
1989 [Era] - I tried to make it extra apparent here, but the entire fic very intentionally takes place during the 1989 (and later Rep) eras
gold rush [Song]
Gorgeous [Song] - free space
End Game [Song]
Daylight [Song]
Stay Stay Stay [Song]
Fearless [Song]
illicit affairs [Song]
Paper Rings [Song]
My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys [Song]
Monologue Song [TS Lore]
Renegade (Big Red Machine ft. Taylor Swift) [TS Lore]
“It’s you and me, there’s nothing like this.” [Lyric]
“Through it all, nobody gets me like you do.” [Lyric]
“I realize that your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard.” [Lyric]
Fearless [Album - SV] - one hundred points to Gryffindor if someone spots all of these

(Also… ‘right where you left me’ was, in fact, not on my bingo card, but… your honor, I had to…)

***

Content warning for mild spice, same as the original (Sirius’ version, chapter 24 of Code Black).

"I know your favorite songs, and you tell me ‘bout your dreams,

Think I know where you belong, think I know it’s with me."

 

* * *

 

March 2016, New York City

 

Remus

 

Remus can feel Sirius watching them.

 

What exactly is he supposed to do right now?

 

He mind is whirring, failing to process, somehow thinking a million different things and yet nothing at all. All he knows for sure is that if he looks back at Sirius, he’ll lose all hope of acting remotely normal. So his eyes find that lighter shade of sky blue instead. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

 

This time, he remembers to pick up the suitcase and hold open the door. It’s the kind of thing James would do. He has a fleeting memory—as if from another lifetime—of considering stealing a bit of shampoo to channel his most chivalrous roommate. Except he’s pretty sure James would never find himself making out with an entirely different person literal minutes before one of his dates. All the door holding in the world couldn’t possibly make up for that.

 

Grant launches into a description of some movie he watched on the airplane as they start down the hall, although the words are barely entering Remus’ ears. He nods. His feet move forward. There’s a surge of pain somewhere deep in his chest. And he can’t help turning to look back over his shoulder, but all he finds is the apartment door swinging closed.

 

He blinks and it must be at least fifteen minutes later because they’re on the Subway. All he really remembers is the tiny, James-like voice in the back of his head telling him to get out his Subway card and swipe Grant through the turnstile first.

 

He’s trying so hard to pay attention to softly accented words coming out of Grant’s mouth, but his head is still spinning. It’s a story about the person who sat beside him on the flight over, he’s pretty sure. And Remus knows he should be interested—he would have been interested in this story a day ago. But now, it doesn’t even come close to drawing his thoughts away from the lingering fire on his lips. The places where his skin is still humming with electricity.

 

Remus tries to push those feelings out of his mind. Because what the hell even was that? Was this some bizarre Sirius Black method of trying to make him less nervous about this date? A distraction?

 

Well, if the goal was to distract, then congratu-fucking-lations, Sirius.

 

It worked.

 

Anger starts to twist its way through the static in Remus’ mind. His hands ball into fists, but he does his best to keep his face neutral and nod at the appropriate times in Grant’s story. What he really wants to do is yell, except that the person he wants to yell at isn’t fucking here.

 

Why would Sirius do that? Is that the kind of thing he would do with James? Maybe it was supposed to be some sort of joke. And maybe James would have been totally unfazed by something like that. But Remus, after spending the better part of two years forcing his brain to look past the fact that he lives across the hall from one of the most attractive people he’s ever seen, can’t just laugh it off.

 

And fuck. What does that mean for his friendship if he can’t? Because maybe Sirius can kiss someone like that and have it mean nothing—act completely casual seconds afterward—but not Remus. Now he feels like the part of his brain that had been effectively blocking out just how attracted he is to Sirius is permanently broken. Now that he’s had his tongue in his mouth and his hands in his hair and—Oh. Shit. Grant’s not talking anymore. He’s looking at Remus like it’s his turn to say something.

 

“Wow, that’s crazy,” Remus says, hoping it’s a reasonable affirmation of whatever it is Grant just said.

 

And it must be, because Grant continues, “So then, the flight attendant went back and got her another…”

 

Remus lets out his breath, relaxing for the moment. Although how much longer can he really keep this up? Nodding and validating and making his face smile at the appropriate moments. But sooner or later, he’s going to have to reciprocate by telling Grant something about his own life. And he has a suspicion that it won’t go great if the thing he says is ‘oh and by the way, I spent the minutes before you arrived making out with my roommate and now I’m pretty sure it’s all I’m going to think about, forever and always, until I simply pass away from embarrassment because it was probably some kind of joke to him’.

 

No. He’ll have to talk about something else.

 

But literally… what?

 

Remus continues to make himself nod and smile, letting the cacophony of the 6 train flood his mind, hoping the noise will crowd out the chunk of his thoughts that is now just SiriusSiriusSirius.

 

There’s a preteen-aged girl sitting on his other side doodling, humming a song that Remus is half-embarrassed to instantly recognize. But then again, ‘Blank Space’ has been a James Potter staple since it came out last year, and letting his brain fill in the words he has memorized against his will is safer territory than continuing to hyperfixate on the kiss.

 

‘Cherry lips, crystal skies, I could show you incredible things,

Stolen kisses, pretty lies…’

 

Ugh. The kiss was a pretty lie.

 

It had to be. Because they had talked about this stuff last summer, hadn’t they? It was the moment that Remus had gone from feeling like just their roommate to their real friend. And at some point during this past year, he had gone from thinking of Sirius as ‘friend’ to ‘best friend’. Even though he knows Sirius doesn’t think of him that way, he can’t help it—feeling like, through it all, nobody gets him like Sirius does. But in all their many hours hanging out together, Sirius has never once said a single thing about liking or dating or kissing boys. So why in the actual hell would he do this?

 

“—don’t need this right now! I’m doing real well without you, Joe. I’m not sure why I even agreed to—”

 

“Oh, would you get off your white horse?”

 

“It’s high horse!”

 

The voices from mid-way down the Subway car are rising in volume, starting to carry, and Remus watches Grant’s eyes flick subtly in their direction before looking back at him. He grimaces, and Remus finds it doesn’t take that much effort to mirror his expression, although he’s almost relieved. Finally, he thinks, something else dramatic enough to pull his focus from his own inner turmoil.

 

“Whatever, you know what I meant! But I mean it, baby, I never loved her the way I loved you."

 

“Don’t call me ‘baby’!”

 

Remus keeps his eyes locked on Grant’s, but he can feel the people in the seats around him shifting, some of them already turning to get a better look at the lovers' quarrel.

 

“Okay, I’m sorry, but I mean it. The apartment feels so empty without you. There’s no laughing anymore. And it’s like the minute I stopping hearing it every day, I realized your laugh is the best sound I’ve ever heard. I miss you so much, ba– Alison.”

 

“Well that’s the thing about illicit affairs, Joe! It doesn’t matter how much you miss me. It doesn’t change the fact that now I can’t even kiss you without thinking about you kissing someone else.”

 

Remus’ stomach drops. Grant leans forward and whispers, “Yikes,” in his ear, but Remus feels nothing but guilt and shame. Maybe he should just tell Grant now. Be honest. If this whole thing was just Sirius’ misguided idea of a way to calm Remus down, maybe they can all get past it. And maybe Remus can rebuild the wall that prevented him from acknowledging just how much he wants Sirius—brick by brick—until things return to normal and he can focus on all the things about Grant that are honestly wonderful.

 

He’s still weighing the pros and cons of brutal honesty when a voice recording rings out over the ongoing fighting on the other side of the train.

 

“This is a Brooklyn-bound 6 train.” 

(“Baby, I said I’m sorry!”)

“The next stop is…”

(“You’re not sorry about what you did, you’re only sorry you got caught!”)

“Grand Central – 42nd Street.”

 

Alison blows by them as they head for the opening doors and step out onto the Subway platform (“I swear I don’t love the drama,” someone whispers gleefully as they exit), and Remus’ eyes follow the swish of the blonde woman’s maroon wool coat until it disappears into the crowd.

 

“Thanks for this,” comes the soft, familiar voice at his side as they continue walking.

 

“For what?” Remus asks, feeling like Grant shouldn’t be thanking him for anything at the moment.

 

“For coming to Times Square! I know you didn’t really want to, but I just want to see it once. Can’t believe I never got around to doing it last year.”

 

Remus finds a way to smile and answers, “It’s no problem. We can do anything you want.”

 

Anything you want except hang out with someone whose mind isn’t fifty blocks away right now…

 

As soon as they rise to the level of the Subway exit, they’re assaulted with a mess of lights and sounds from every direction. Technicolor advertisements for a hundred different things rain down on them from larger-than-life screens, and the flow of the packed crowd is interrupted by random performers and solicitors, dressed in increasingly outrageous attire.

 

Despite it all, Sirius’ magnetic field is just a little too strong. Even in the middle of the most attention-grabbing, chaotic place on Earth, Remus can still feel Sirius’ hands on him. Still see the way that breathless flush graced his porcelain skin. He blinks the vivid images away, forcing his mind back to the present.

 

Grant’s looking up at the sights around them, mouth falling open. He looks so perfectly content. And Remus wishes he could feel the joy he knows he should be feeling at bringing Grant somewhere that has him looking so happy. Because Grant is pure good. He’s kind and thoughtful and honest, and Remus never wants to do anything that would hurt him. In fact—he shudders at the memory—he promised Mark that he never would.

 

Yet here they are.

 

And now Remus is furious. Furious at Sirius for making him feel this way. Putting him in this position. To either be dishonest and pretend like everything is normal… or tell Grant what happened and risk ruining this whole entire thing. That kiss might have been nothing for Sirius, but for Remus, it was enough to hijack his entire brain and possibly destroy the best chance at an actual relationship with a great guy that he’s ever had in his life.

 

Maybe it’s just that Sirius can’t possibly relate. Because really, what must it be like to grow up that beautiful? So gorgeous that anyone would die just to feel your touch. Never needing to worry that any particular relationship was an only chance. Remus is sure that Sirius could have anyone in the world he wanted, so maybe he just can’t physically understand that the stakes are higher for Remus. But… hold on, is Remus really making excuses for him right now?

 

“So tell me…” Grant’s playful voice cuts through his inner monologue yet again, and Remus really does try to exhale the anger away and focus on the perfectly sweet man in front of him. “Why is it that I have such a big reputation with your friends here?”

 

“What?” Remus asks, brow furrowing in sincere confusion. Reputation? Was there some important detail he missed while Grant was chatting on the train? “What do you mean?”

 

“Oh, only this…” He fishes for his phone in his pocket, quietly laughing to himself. “James was in my Instagram DMs yesterday. Except the message is signed ‘from Lily’. And says someone named Marlene can’t wait to meet the ‘famous London Boy’.” He puts the last words in air quotes.

 

Oh my god. Remus forgets his anger at Sirius for a nano-second, now thinking he might murder Lily instead.

 

“It’s just James,” he finds himself saying, trying to roll his eyes in a lighthearted and totally not panicky way. “He loved hanging out with you in London… he’s been talking about us all doing something this weekend.” Technically, all of that is true. “But only if you want to,” Remus adds as an afterthought. Only if you want to once I tell you the truth about tonight.

 

“‘Course I want to! I didn’t come all this way just for the client.”

 

No… He didn’t, did he?

 

And the thought of that makes Remus feel a bit ill.

 

“Hey,” says Grant in a softer tone. When Remus looks back up at his face, he finds a gentle, curious expression there. “I think I’ve got my fill of Times Square. Ready to grab a drink?”

 

As soon as he says it, nothing in the world sounds better than alcohol. Something to slow his racing thoughts and dull the hurt. And maybe give him the courage to be honest. Because maybe it will be fine. The kiss clearly wasn’t a big deal to Sirius—clearly didn’t mean anything based on how he was acting afterwards—and so maybe Remus can find a way to tell Grant about it that makes it seem as meaningless as it obviously was. Maybe they can all laugh about it someday.

 

“Sure,” Remus answers, trying to smile again as Grant winds their fingers together, although he can hardly feel it. It’s like his skin is numb. “Sounds great.”

 

Iridescent lights blur around him as they weave through the crowd, the sensation almost dream-like. With his free hand, Grant pulls out his phone, clicking open a tiny map to lead them… somewhere. Remus can’t remember the name of the place they are heading to. He remembers it’s a hotel. A nice one. But all he hears in his head is Sirius’ voice. ‘Don’t go.’ He had said that, hadn’t he? ‘Don’t go to the hotel.’

 

Remus is hardly aware of passing through the revolving doors, although it’s a little easier to breathe once they emerge into the lobby. The floors are shiny, the room has a clean sort of smell, and there are so many fewer people crowding around them. At the far end of the room, just past the row of desks where a line of people wearing fancy-looking suits are checking in, there’s a bar—the promise of something to quiet the tumultuous waters of his mind.

 

He can do this.

 

Fingers still locked with Grant’s, Remus lets himself be led across the rest of the lobby and through the polished wood-and-gold doors of the bar. It’s dimly lit and even quieter than the space they just left. In fact, it’s almost empty. A wizened man with a mustache is drying off a single glass, like some caricature of a bartender from an old-fashioned movie, and Grant gives him a cheery nod as they find a table near the back. Remus has the passing thought that if Grant were here alone, he’d probably have chosen a seat at the counter and reveled in learning the barman’s entire life story.

 

When they sit, Remus is acutely aware of how close together their chairs are. How oddly silent it is in here. And in a bizarre twist, he suddenly misses the chaos and distraction of Grand Central Station and Times Square.

 

“Evening,” the barman greets them as he approaches their table. “What can I get you two?”

 

“I’ll have a gin and tonic, thanks.”

 

“Um. I’ll have… the same.”

 

Is it Remus’ favorite drink? No. But can he think of the name of another alcoholic drink at this moment in time? Also no.

 

He blinks again. The old barman is gone, and now Remus feels the full weight of Grant’s undivided focus. He summons the strength of every neuron in his brain to try to give that undivided focus right back to Grant, but he just can’t pull his last few lingering thoughts away from the Upper East Side. Sitting at this table right now, being this close again… it should be making him the good kind of nervous, but instead his ears are ringing and he’s breaking out into a cold sweat and he’s starting to feel even more ill than he did before.

 

Grant flashes Remus a charming smile, an anxious one—but it looks like that good kind of nervous that Remus was just wishing he could find within himself. As he feels the slide of a palm on his thigh under the table, he tries to recall exactly how he felt back in London. To summon back that feeling. He wants to be excited by this.

 

“I’ve been waiting weeks to do this again,” Grant whispers.

 

Oh god, they really are alone back here, aren’t they?

 

Grant leans in, and the ringing in Remus’ ears starts to sound more like a siren. Their lips meet in the back of the empty bar, and it… doesn’t really feel like anything. It’s like Remus’ first kiss of the night had shown him brand new colors he’d never seen anywhere else, but this is back to black and white. Then, for a terrifying millisecond, Grant hesitates, and Remus wonders whether he can taste Sirius all over him. The hesitation passes, but the panic only builds. Remus’ heart is thundering, his gut twisting, until he can’t even respond to the kiss on an autopilot level anymore.

 

He can’t do anything.

 

Except stand abruptly and watch Grant’s kind eyes widen in question. Remus might throw up. He hates himself for handling this in the worst possible way, but more than that, in this moment, he hates Sirius.

 

“I’m sorry,” he hears his own shaky voice say as the barman approaches in his peripheral vision. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

 

He turns on his heel, and approximately three seconds later his senses are assaulted anew by the flashing lights and deafening sounds of midtown Manhattan. Remus is fairly certain Grant didn’t follow him, but he presses forward anyway; at first, he’s not quite sure where he’s going, but after a few steps, it’s obvious that he’s going back toward the Subway. Back to the place where his mind has been stuck this entire evening. Home.

 

As he pushes through the turnstile and descends the filthy concrete stairs, he finds himself wishing for another dramatic fight on this Subway ride. Anything to distract him from the the mess of thoughts and emotions he’s struggling to make sense of.

 

There’s one open seat on the northbound 6 train, but Remus can’t bring himself to sit. Instead, he holds the metal bar and stares at the disappointingly silent collection of passengers traveling uptown with him. He’s probably the worst person on this train. Just another instance of him hurting the people he cares about the most. Sure, Sirius is reckless and impulsive and this is all absolutely his fault, but Remus is the one who couldn’t manage to react to it maturely.

 

Now he’s by himself again for the first time since the kiss in the kitchen, the crippling panic starting to dissipate, and it seems obvious that he should have just talked to Grant. Explained himself in a rational and honest way rather than leaving him stranded. Because surely Grant—the kindest, most understanding person Remus has ever known—would have given him the benefit of the doubt. Hell, if being with Grant is what Remus wants, he could probably get off at the next stop, head downtown again, and do exactly that…

 

But…

 

He doesn’t.

 

When he ultimately steps through the Subway doors again, it’s at 96th Street, and he moves automatically toward the stairs that will lead him back. To the street. To the apartment. To Sirius.

 

Although… maybe not. Sirius had looked like he was getting ready to go out somewhere before, well, everything. So maybe he’s out somewhere doing Remus-doesn’t-know-what. Not overthinking the kiss, probably.

 

The chill of the spring night air reaches Remus seconds before he feels the light mist of rain on his cheeks. It’s started drizzling just enough to match his mood, although not quite enough to sink into the fabric of the sweater he took so long choosing all those hours ago.

 

The six-stop Subway ride has dulled the anger and panic to a low simmer, letting confusion reign as the primary feeling once more. The closer he gets to his own building, the less certain Remus is of what exactly he is going to do. And oh, here we go again—the voices in his head resume their silent arguing.

 

One half of his brain is still furious. Hates Sirius for the way he acts first and thinks through the consequences later. Hates him for effectively killing any butterflies he might have felt at the idea of kissing Grant. Hates him for being so unfairly, infuriatingly gorgeous.

 

But the other half of his brain… well, that half knows he could never really hate Sirius at all. Sure, Sirius is sometimes shockingly impulsive, but he’s also tenacious… loyal... brilliant… a bit petty but kind at his very core… and so effortlessly cool. There’s nothing Remus hates here but what he can’t have.

 

And that’s how he finds himself standing in a dark hallway outside of a half-open bedroom door that isn’t his own, listening to the harried movements inside and having absolutely no idea what he’s going to say. No one’s talking in there, so Sirius must be alone, but it sounds like a drawer is opened and shut, and then things are being shuffled around. Remus is suddenly dying to see what Sirius is working on so frantically, and before his brain can catch up and remind him that he still hasn’t figured out what he wants to do or say, his fingertips are pushing the door open just a crack.

 

He freezes as the door makes the faintest squeaking sound.

 

Any hopes that Sirius may not have heard the sound are instantly dashed when he answers with a lighthearted, “What?” Despite whatever chaos is happening on top of his dresser as he sifts through piles of clothing, holding what looks like shorts and a single sock, his voice sounds so relaxed. So… unaffected. A flare of anger reignites in Remus’ chest.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Sirius adds, still not bothering to look up as he grabs another sock from a different pile. Remus’ eyes narrow.

 

“No.”

 

Sirius stops mid-motion, and for a second, the air seems to still. Then it’s like time skips forward, Sirius straightening so fast that it’s a blur while the clothes in his hands fall to the floor. Bits and pieces of questions and insults and hopeless declarations fight for dominance inside Remus’ head, but they’re all snuffed out when Sirius finally looks at him. He’s rendered speechless by stormy, ocean blue eyes—gleaming, twinkling. Waters so inviting that Remus has the overwhelming urge to jump in, with no regard to the fact that he might sink and drown and die.

 

He feels like he’s trapped in molten silver, and it’s like he’s forgotten every word he ever knew. He can’t say anything to Sirius’ face. He’ll just have to wait for Sirius to be the one to talk again, whenever that might—

 

“You’re here.”

 

The words are soft. Delicate. Almost… reverent? It catches Remus off-guard. And he’s still angry and confused, but now he’s curious. It’s an odd mix of emotions, so much so that all he can say in reply is, “I’m here.”

 

“Why?”

 

Why? Fucking why?! Irritation surges again, overtaking that new curiosity, and Remus grits his teeth. “I don’t know, Sirius. You tell me.”

 

“Moony.” There’s a pleading look on his perfect face, and he takes a step forward only to move right back when he’s met with Remus’ sharp glare. He looks uncertain now. Like he feels awful. Good. It’s the first time Remus has seen him looking something other than cool and collected, so maybe he’s finally starting to understand that he fucked up. “Shit. I’m sorry,” Sirius continues, voice breaking just enough to trigger a hint of pain in Remus’ heart. “Please—I’m so sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin your night.”

 

The reply comes out as a half-shout, “You think you just ruined my night?”

 

You’ve ruined my life. By destroying whatever it was that Grant and I had. By making me feel like I’m going insane. By not being mine.

 

The question seems to be stressing Sirius out exactly as much as Remus had hoped it would, because now he’s doing that pacing thing he does that makes him look like an anxious puppy. “I know, I know,” he says, unclear whether he’s talking more to Remus or to himself, “and I’m sorry.”

 

Sirius slides graceful fingers through his hair as he paces. Once, twice, three times. It’s a little hypnotizing, but Remus blinks himself back to reality, trying to decipher what the hell Sirius is talking about right now. This isn’t the first time Remus has wondered how someone so brilliant can be so completely unintelligible. Would it be insensitive for him to say ‘get your shit together’ when Sirius looks this strung out? Like he’s honestly attempting to say… well, Remus still isn’t totally sure, but he’s clearly trying to say something.

 

“You’re supposed to be out right now,” he continues, “and I just had to ruin it by being so… so thoughtless. I just don’t think sometimes.”

 

Remus is fairly sure he heard a ‘sorry’ somewhere in there. He cocks his head, eyes still tracking Sirius fingers carding nervously through his hair. Okay, so maybe this is an attempt at an apology? Albeit one with no mention of how Sirius has made Remus feel all night long.

 

“But I swear, I do think. I think about what you said—it’s the trying—”

 

“Sirius.”

 

“And I have been trying,” he keeps rambling like he didn’t hear his name at all. Remus is becoming progressively more confused, although now he has the bizarre urge to wrap his arms around Sirius so he’ll just relax for a minute. But he doesn’t. Obviously. Instead, he stays rooted to the floor, taking another two steadying breaths before attempting to cut Sirius off again.

 

“I wanted everything to be perfect for you and I didn’t trust myself not to do something stupid and mess it all up but then I did it anyway, like I always fucking do, but I promise it won’t happen again. I can—”

 

“SIRIUS!” It’s not a half-shout, it’s a full shout. Sirius finally falls silent. “What the hell are you even talking about right now?”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, I followed approximately none of that.”

 

“Oh.” Sirius looks oddly surprised. Had he thought he was making sense? “I just…” he begins again, looking like he’s trying to choose his words carefully, “want you to be happy.”

 

Remus feels like his neurons are working overtime trying to connect this sentiment to the previous ninety seconds of word salad, but he’s drawing a blank. “…Okay?”

 

Sirius looks so confused and, honestly, a bit pathetic, and again Remus finds himself fighting the urge to reach out and touch him, taking a full step into the bedroom before he catches himself.

 

“I never want to do anything to hurt you,” Sirius says earnestly.

 

So is this it? The part where he acknowledges that the kiss (that was probably just a misguided attempt to help or some kind of strange joke) has caused Remus real, irreversible pain. He wants to hear Sirius say it.

 

“What do you mean? Hurt me how, Sirius?”

 

Remus stares, unblinking, into blue-grey eyes. Waiting.

 

“Just…” Sirius finally says, slowly, like he’s having a much more fast-paced mental conversation behind that pained expression. “You found someone perfect. And I never wanted to make you feel like I wasn’t happy for you. Like you were choosing him over me.”

 

And that… well, that makes no sense.

 

Remus plays the words back in his mind as best he can. ‘Like you were choosing him over me’?

 

It still makes no sense. “Choosing h–” Okay, no, saying it out loud is only going to make it more bewildering. “Sirius, literally what are you even talking about?”

 

“I’m sorry,” is all Sirius says back, and that’s just infuriating. Because it’s not a clarification or an answer of any kind. Anger and confusion battle inside Remus again for the thousandth time in a span of just a few hours, and before he can figure out what question to spit at Sirius next, the other man starts talking. Again. “I am. I swear, I wasn’t trying to… I didn’t want to…”

 

Oh, well that’s fucking great. Instead of just owning up to it, he’s going to say it was… what? An accident? He was temporarily possessed by the Ghost of Gay Christmas Past?

 

“So you didn’t want to kiss me?”

 

“No!” Sirius answers so fast Remus almost takes a step backwards. As if in answer to his near retreat, Sirius moves forward, closing the distance between them just slightly. “No. Fuck, of course I did. That’s not what I meant. I just meant that I didn’t want to mess this up for you. I promised myself I wouldn’t mess this up for you. No matter how much… how much I…”

 

And now Remus really does take a step backwards. He feels breathless, heart rate increasing palpably. He’s gone from wishing Sirius would stop rambling nonsense to being absolutely desperate to hear the end of this sentence. Because it almost sounds like… Sirius is making it sound like… But no. It still doesn’t make any sense.

 

“I still don’t understand,” Remus says, trying not to let the brand new sensation of hopefulness enter into the swirling mix of emotions. “Since when do you… I mean… Do you even like men?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Oh, fantastic,” he fires back bitingly, fresh annoyance quashing out that stupid hint of hope. “So that was just—what—some kind of experiment for you? Because your timing is really—”

 

“No!” Sirius cuts him off again, now looking truly panicked. “I just meant… I don’t know about men. Other men. I can’t tell, okay? I don’t really even see them. Or girls. It’s like the only person I can see anymore is you.”

 

Remus can feel his own eyes widen. For the first time all night, there’s no possibility that he misheard or misunderstood. Sirius seems like he’s finally saying what he really means, and his words are making Remus’ pulse race faster and faster.

 

“Listen,” Sirius continues desperately, “I’m sorry. I know it isn’t fair for me to tell you this. And it’s so selfish. It’s just that I’ve never wanted anyone—anything—the way that I want you.”

 

Remus’ breath catches in his chest. Actually, he’s forgotten how to breathe entirely. The idea of Sirius wanting him is so implausible, but there’s no fight left in the sensible part of his brain. Because Remus wants Sirius.

 

“But I can get over this… this crush, or whatever it is.” Okay, Jesus, now what is he talking about?  “I’ll try harder.” Sirius looks so resigned, so sincere, but Remus’ temperature is rising. Of all the moments for Sirius to display this level of uncharacteristic restraint… “And I promise I can be a good friend.” Just kiss me again. “I just don’t want—I can’t lose you.” Come on, just kiss me. “Please.”

 

But Sirius doesn’t move. His eyes fall to the floor, and Remus waits, exasperation mixing with fondness and sympathy and the heat of his own desire. It’s all too much to bear. He breaks.

 

“Kiss me again.”

 

“What?” Sirius’ eyes shoot up and his expression of disbelief is so endearing, but Remus is burning up from the inside. He’s going to combust. Why does he have to say it twice?

 

“I want you to k–”

 

Sirius’ lips steal away the rest of his words, and Remus doesn’t hesitate. He kisses him back with a hunger that feels insatiable, arms wrapping around Sirius’ neck without a second thought. And now those strong, sure hands whose touch Remus hasn’t stopped thinking about all night are back on him, pressing against the small of his back and pulling him in so tight he can hardly breathe.

 

But that’s perfectly alright because he doesn’t need to breathe. He just needs this—this thing he didn’t know he was even looking for. Has it really been right here this whole time? He’s too intoxicated by the scent, the taste, the touch to form a coherent answer to that question. All he can think is that they just fit. Two puzzle pieces in the dead of night, coming together after what now feels like far, far too long. If kissing Grant had been in black and white, this kiss is undeniably golden. And like their first kiss, it’s flawless, making any last traces of real thoughts fade into the background.

 

Remus lets his hands drift upward, tangling in Sirius’ already-mussed hair. Then he can’t help himself. His grip there tightens sharply, and Sirius gasps. The sound rocks through Remus, setting his nerves blazing and blood rushing south as he pulls back to look at Sirius’ face. As impossible as it seems, he’s even prettier when he’s panting for air, pupils blown and cheeks flushed, inky hair still wound tight between Remus’ fingers.

 

Remus wants to take him apart.

 

Reluctantly, he relinquishes his grip and steps back toward the door, pulling it closed as quickly as he can, but he barely has time to lock eyes with Sirius again before he’s being pushed back up against the hard surface. He instantly puts his hands back where they were, yanking harder, and the whine he draws out of Sirius is so unbearably hot that Remus loses all last vestiges of his self control. He wants all of Sirius. Now.

 

His hands slide lower, Sirius shaking off his jacket at the mere suggestion of Remus trying to get underneath it, and his fingers find the space between shirt and skin before the leather jacket even hits the floor. The last time his hands were on Sirius’ skin like this, he was trying so hard not to let any filthy thoughts break through his mental fortress. He had been clinical, moving his fingertips only as far as needed to complete his work. But now… now he lets the thoughts run wild. His hands are burning to touch, explore, worship.

 

Sirius lifts his arms, and, okay, that hadn’t been what Remus was trying to do just yet, but he’s not going to delay the opportunity to tear away the t-shirt, so he can really… so he… can… really…

 

His brain stalls out at the sight of Sirius.

 

He can’t recall ever seeing someone this fit in real life. Well, okay, he has seen Sirius before in the same state of undress, but he couldn’t let himself truly look. Couldn’t stare at every inch of perfect ivory skin and toned muscle and the trail of dark hair just above the waistband of his jeans. And…

 

“Fuck.”

 

The single tattoo, ink stark black over his flushed chest.

 

Even if Remus was trying so very hard to be “clinical” about it at the time, the memories are rushing back to him now. Sirius’ skin burning hot under his cold hands. Sirius sitting on his bed, so obedient and well-behaved for once, taking everything Remus gave him so perfectly. If Remus thought he had felt out of control before, that was nothing compared to this moment.

 

Sirius makes another little sound that goes directly to Remus’ cock, and they’re kissing again, but it’s not enough. Remus leverages his position against the door to push back with so much force that they go careening across the tiny room until they collide with the side of Sirius’ bed. And the sight of Sirius falling backwards onto his own bed only fuels the fire inside Remus. On pure instinct, he has Sirius laid out underneath him in his next breath. He’s fucking beautiful, and Remus is throbbing—aching for him.

 

Dextrous fingers slide under the hem of his sweater, and he can’t stand it anymore. He grinds his hips down onto Sirius, nearly blacking out from the sensation as Sirius swallows whatever obscene sound he’s only half aware of making. It’s a high like he’s never felt, but this is more intoxicating than any drug. It’s Sirius. Sirius and him. There’s nothing like this. He doesn’t know how he would ever be able to stop until—

 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.”

 

It’s only a whisper against Remus’ tingling lips, but it makes him pause.

 

The words linger in the quiet room, only punctuated by the sounds of ragged breathing and Remus’ own pulse in his ears. ‘I’ve wanted this for so long.’ For so long? Just enough of the confusion bleeds back around the edges of Remus’ mind to effectively break the spell.

 

“You never said anything,” he whispers back, shifting his weight so he can look down at Sirius, letting his eyes refocus. Tell me why.

 

“I couldn’t!” Sirius answers the unspoken question. “You seemed so happy. I thought I’d only be making you feel sorry for me.”

 

That is the dumbest fucking thing Remus has ever heard. Sirius is so stupid. “You’re so stupid.”

 

“What?” Sirius scoffs back, and he looks genuinely offended until he breaks into something more like laughter at the last moment. “What else was I supposed to think? It seemed like you liked him so much.”

 

“I do.” The answer comes automatically because it’s true. Or, at least, it was true. “I mean, I did, but…” Remus is momentarily lost in those stormy eyes, fuzzy brain slowly becoming overwhelmed again with too many thoughts. “But…”

 

So much has changed in a matter of hours, and Sirius just said a lot of things to him, but he still doesn’t know what exactly this is. Is it pathetic if he admits just how quickly he’d throw away his sweet, nascent relationship with Grant for just a taste of whatever it is that Sirius will give him? How quickly he’d throw away any relationship for it?

 

But that’s the only answer, isn’t it? Remus did like Grant. He does. Grant didn’t do anything wrong. Hell, he’s probably never done anything wrong in his whole entire life. He’s just not…

 

“He’s not you.”

 

Silver eyes widen for a split second before Remus is being pulled down fast, crashing into the embrace as Sirius’ palms splay out on his lower back. And when Sirius kisses him this time, it’s every bit as intense, but it’s gentler. Sweeter. His tongue traces the bow of Remus’ lip before sliding back into his mouth like they have all the time in the world. Which they do… except… now that Remus is using some of his higher level cognition again, now that they’ve spoken Grant into the room with them, the battleground of competing emotions shifts yet again. This time, it’s guilt and shame that drown the others out. He breaks the kiss, letting his head fall onto Sirius’ shoulder.

 

“I’m a terrible person.”

 

“What?” Sirius pulls one hand out from underneath Remus’ sweater to cradle his face with a look of concerned confusion. “No, you’re not.”

 

“I told him to take this project in New York,” he answers, lifting his head to look back down at Sirius. “He came all this way, and it’s his first night here, and I’m all the way uptown in my hot roommate’s bed.”

 

“Did you say hot roommate?”

 

“Sirius.” Remus squeezes his eyes shut, because if Sirius keeps looking at him like that, he’s not going to be able to do the thing he knows he needs to.

 

“No, right. Sorry. You’re not terrible, Moony. It’s not terrible to… to change your mind.” It’s quiet for another moment before Sirius tentatively asks, “What, um… what happened with Grant, exactly?”

 

“Couldn’t tell you,” admits Remus, shame flaring so forcefully that he has to fully sit up and cover his face with his hands. After a long, deep breath, he continues. “I honestly don’t know. We were in midtown. I remember talking, but I don’t think I really heard a single thing he said. I couldn’t stop thinking about you… Then we went into that bar. In the hotel. And he kissed me.”

 

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “And?”

 

“And, nothing. I couldn’t do it. I was too… I don’t know… overwhelmed? Confused? I just said I had to go.”

 

“Oh.” The look on his face lets Remus know that it sounds exactly as bad as he feared. “That’s… I mean…” Sirius scrambles to recover, “but you’re not terrible. That was all my fault.”

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“I’m so sorry. I really wasn’t trying to ruin your night.”

 

Remus almost wants to laugh. As shitty as he knows his own actions were, the idea that his night was ruined is actually funny. He could get hit by a bus on the way back downtown, and this would still probably be the best night of his life so far. “Well, it got better.” He grins because he just can’t help it, although the humor quickly leaves him as the thought returns: he needs to go back downtown. He wants to continue on this path with Sirius, however far it leads, but… not like this.

 

“I need to talk to him.”

 

“Okay,” Sirius nods, but when Remus swings his legs over the side of the bed to get up, he darts to sit up beside him. “Wait—you mean right now?”

 

“I think I have to. I don’t think I can stay here and not…” Remus has a dozen involuntary mental images of all the things he’d like to spend the entire night doing to and with Sirius. “And I want to,” he says, trying hard to block out the thought that Sirius’ perfect face probably looks even more gorgeous when he comes. “Believe me. It’s just… I don’t know. It feels like cheating, and I don’t want it to.”

 

“You could text him?”

 

He’s so, so tempted to do it. But he can’t let himself be that guy. “Sirius.”

 

“Okay, no, fine. You’re right. Obviously.”

 

Fuck, that pleading expression on Sirius’ face is going to be the death of him. And Remus is aching to kiss him again, but he doubts he’d be able to stop this time. So instead, he reaches for Sirius’ hand, twining their fingers together as if they’ve done this a thousand times before. It feels so natural that he could almost forget that they haven’t.

 

“I’ll be back soon,” Remus promises.

 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

 

The light spring rain had felt dreary on his way uptown, but stepping back into the night, it feels almost magical now. There’s something about the way the street looks when it’s just rained, all the city lights glinting back from every little puddle, rain-flecked cabs glittering like fairy lights in the mist. For a few blocks, Remus lets himself float.

 

But as he crosses Madison Avenue and the Subway station comes into view, the dread begins to creep in. He stops, taking out his phone and staring at the screen for an indeterminate number of minutes before finally typing.

 

‘We need to talk.’ Oh Jesus Christ, did he really type that? Backspace, backspace, backspace. ‘Are you still up?’ Wait, no, that’s even worse, somehow. Backspace, backspace. ‘I’m so sorry about earlier. If you haven’t gone to bed yet, I’d really like to come back and explain.’ Okay, that’s probably the best he can do.

 

He hits ‘send’ and resumes walking, but he hasn’t even made it to the train platform when his phone buzzes twice.

 

Grant Chapman: Alright

 

Grant Chapman: I’ll meet you right where you left me

 

Remus’ heart drops, and the guilt is paralyzing. He can’t count the number of New Yorkers who skirt around him on their way up and down the Subway steps while he stands there trying to convince himself to move again. Come on, you owe it to him. Remus is aware he’s far from fearless, but he has to be brave enough for this. He gives himself another ten seconds, counting silently on the concrete stairs, before he summons the strength to do the right thing.

 

He’s soon forced to reckon with the new knowledge that he doesn’t do his best thinking on trains, because for the second time tonight, he’s standing outside of a closed wooden door with no idea what he plans to say once he’s inside. Remus has a feeling this encounter isn’t going to go quite as well as the last one though.

 

He pushes the heavy, polished wood forward, and he can just make out Grant, cross-legged in the dim light on the far side of the bar. Right where he said he’d be. Right where Remus left him.

 

He wills one foot in front of the other until he’s standing close enough to mutter a quiet, “Hey.” Grant had been staring fixedly at his glass of what appears to be mostly ice, but he looks up at the greeting.

 

“Remus.”

 

His sky-blue eyes look more wary than angry. Although, Remus thinks to himself, for all he knows this is what anger looks like on Grant. If they’d gotten the chance to spend more time together in person, he’d probably know for sure.

 

It’s been an awkward moment-too-long before Remus realizes he’s just standing there, not saying anything at all. And to his increasing embarrassment, it’s Grant who diffuses some of his discomfort by calling over to the barman, “Hey, Stephen?” The older gentleman pauses his shaking of a silver drink mixer to listen. “Another round, please.”

 

“Two G&Ts?” the bartender—Stephen, apparently—calls back. There are more people in here than there were a few hours ago, but it’s not so loud that they can’t hear each other across the narrow space.

 

“Er, hold on a second,” Grant answers, giving Remus a thoughtful, scrutinizing look that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen there before. It doesn’t feel great. “You don’t actually like gin and tonics, do you?”

 

“Um… I don’t hate them.” Remus exhales, quietly grateful that he can take a baby step of honesty before figuring out how to say everything else. He slides into the chair across from Grant and confesses, “I’m more of a whiskey person.”

 

“I can believe that.” Grant tilts his head, looking pensive again, like he’s deciding something, and then he suddenly stands. Remus wonders whether he’s now being left here without a chance to explain himself, which would certainly serve him right… but no, of course he isn’t. Grant only walks as far as the bar, chatting with Stephen like they’ve known each other for years, before returning with two glasses: one with something clear and one with something honey-colored. “Cheers.”

 

“I meant to buy the drinks this time,” Remus says, accepting the latter as Grant slides it toward him.

 

“Ah, well. These are on Steve.”

 

So, Grant and the barman on a nickname basis then? Remus can’t imagine getting to know any stranger that well in a matter of… how long has it even been? And before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Have you been here since…?” But he stops mid-question, realizing this is absolutely not the right next thing to say.

 

“Since you left? Yeah. I’ve just been sitting here with Steve for four hours hoping you might send me an ominous text message in the middle of the night.” The biting tone and eye roll are something brand new, and Remus can feel his own eyes widen. He almost laughs.

 

“Was that… was that sarcasm?”

 

“Yes, Remus.” Grant gives him a dry look he’s sure he’s never seen before, either in person or on FaceTime, but then his expression shifts back to something more familiar and he frowns. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you haven’t caught me on the best day. But no, I haven’t been here all night. I checked in and went upstairs and unpacked. Got a bite to eat. The room here’s quite nice actually.”

 

Remus is sure it is. He had been looking forward to seeing it. And he doesn’t exactly regret that he won’t see it now, but this turn of conversation is enough to flood him with remorse for a dozen other reasons.

 

“Grant—”

 

“How’s Sirius?”

 

“I—what?”

 

Grant raises an eyebrow, pale blue stare unwavering as he takes another slow sip of his cocktail. “It’s him, isn’t it? The reason you couldn’t kiss me. Could hardly look at me all evening.”

 

“Grant, I…” Remus’ voice trails off, and he looks down at his own untouched drink, trying to find the words. He’s hit with the realization that he’s never been in the position of breaking up with anyone before, which now seems fortunate, because he hasn’t done a worse job at anything in his entire life.

 

“Am I wrong to think there’s something going on there?”

 

“No,” Remus finally answers. “You’re not wrong.”

 

“It’s okay,” says Grant, sounding much more like the perpetually kind man Remus had talked to so often over the phone. He finds the courage to look back into those light blue eyes. “You know, I actually had the thought back in London…” Grant pauses to drink again, Remus’ curiosity piqued. “…That it’s a blessing that one doesn't play for our team. Otherwise, I’d never have a shot with you.”

 

Remus blinks, feeling overwhelming confusion for what has to be the hundredth time tonight. “Sorry, what?”

 

“Ah, come on,” Grant answers, rolling his eyes again and making Remus gape. “Haven’t you seen what the two of you are like together? No, well, of course you haven’t… Sorry. I haven’t been here all night, but I did have a few of these before you got here.” He gestures by raising his glass, which is almost empty again.

 

Remus stares wordlessly for long enough that Grant continues. “You’re just… in tune. Even though I hardly knew him at all—thought he was a bit of a prick, mostly—it’s the way he looks after you. The way you care about each other. It’s so… obvious.”

 

“Really?”

 

“You know,” Grant says, looking slightly lost in thought, “I had hoped I might be in your life for a while, so it did bother me when your best mate seemed to hate me right off the bat. But in retrospect… Well. That makes sense too, doesn’t it?”

 

“I guess it does.”

 

“Roommates to friends to… something more. It’s a nice love story, you know, if I were an objective third party. Instead of, well… me.” From anyone else, it would have sounded bitter, but Grant seems almost amused.

 

“It’s not… a love story,” Remus mutters awkwardly, heat prickling over his cheeks.

 

“Are you sure about that?”

 

“I…”

 

Remus can’t afford to ask himself that question. Not right now at any rate. So he chooses this moment to finally try whatever fancy whiskey on ice Steve poured for him rather than attempt to figure out how that sentence was going to end.

 

The drink is good. Of course it is.

 

Grant chuckles quietly to himself, but when Remus locks eyes with him again, he finds him looking tired. Sad. And it’s like he can finally see Grant for the first time. Not as some never-needy, ever-lovely source of moral support inside his phone, but as a real person who is not so very different from him. Who is just as vulnerable to suffering.

 

“It’s okay, Remus.” Grant gives him a small smile. “Who am I to stand in the way of… well… call it what you want.”

 

“I really am sorry, Grant.”

 

“I know. Me too.”

 

“Maybe someday… we could, I don’t know…” Oh, this is so, so selfish, but Remus can’t seem to stop himself. “Be friends again?” He cringes internally, understanding all too well that he’s actively hurting the sweet, kind man in front of him and yet asking for something to lessen his own pain.

 

“Of course we could. Someday,” Grant replies, making Remus feel a short burst of relief followed by a new wave of shame. “Not today or tomorrow,” Grant quickly clarifies with a sharp look. “But… someday.”

 

Remus nods and drinks again. “Listen, um… I know you said these drinks are from, uh—Steve, but… can I pay you back for the first round? And… maybe some of the others?”

 

“You know what? Yeah. I think that’s fair.”

 

It doesn’t really make him feel better, but then again, it wasn’t supposed to.

 

When Remus enters his fourth Subway car of the night and finds it nearly empty, he realizes he has no idea what time it is. It’s clearly late enough for most normal people to be asleep on a weeknight. And Remus could pull out his phone and check, but the exhaustion of this completely insane day is starting to catch up with him, so instead he just stares blankly at his own reflection in the dark window as the stops tick by.

 

The closer he gets to the Upper East Side, an anxious anticipation starts to mix with the exhaustion and pain. He wonders what Sirius has been doing this entire time. And as much as he wants to resume their activities from earlier in the night, he’s just so incredibly tired that he might rather just… talk for a bit. He knows he doesn’t deserve to feel better right now, but Sirius will make him feel better anyway.

 

When he makes it back to apartment 5A, Remus breathes a sigh of relief to see the bedroom light still on at the end of the hall. He can hear faint music playing, so he pushes open the door without knocking, but… oh.

 

Sirius looks angelic, sleeping peacefully right in the middle of his bed. He’s still in his clothes, with the bed sheets scrunched into a pile at his feet and an open copy of some surgery journal lying forgotten beside him. Remus almost jumps when Sirius makes a small noise, his expression tensing and eyes flickering open a few times in quick succession.

 

“Sirius?” he whispers, hoping not to wake him if he is indeed still asleep.

 

“Mm,” is all Sirius says in reply. He extends one sleepy hand in Remus’ direction, but his eyes are decidedly closed once more. Remus threads their fingers together, fighting the temptation to bring Sirius’ hand all the way to his lips to place a kiss there… but no. He should let him sleep. He should get some sleep himself. They can talk in the morning when everyone is thinking clearly.

 

Remus wonders how long the laptop, currently playing Radiohead at low volume, has been open on Sirius’ desk. A smile crosses his face as his eyes drift over the familiar tracks on the open Spotify playlist before he pushes the computer gently closed. He takes a final look at the beautiful man sleeping on the messy twin bed and debates whether to pull the sheet over him before he leaves. But in the end, he decides it’s not worth the risk of waking him. Finally, Remus tears his eyes away, moving to flick off the bedroom lights and then—

 

“Stay.”

 

The word fills every corner of the darkened room. Stay stay stay.

 

And he stops, wondering whether Sirius meant it. Whether he’d still mean it in the morning. Is there a chance this will all feel less perfectly right when the sun comes up? Remus doesn’t know. But he does know that he doesn’t really want to leave. So whether it’s a good idea or not, whether Sirius was just talking in his sleep or not, he moves back toward the bed. And there’s nowhere for him to stay, but he stays anyway.

 

He pulls the crinkled white sheet over the two of them, and Remus slides into the sliver of space at Sirius’ side, draping one arm over his chest. It should be uncomfortable, but somehow, it’s not. Warmth spreads across his arm and over his entire body, amplifying the sleepiness a thousandfold. He lets his eyes fall closed.

 

The hurt and guilt seem far away now, leaving Remus with the strange sensation that this entire day feels like some sort of enormous cosmic accident. And he hates accidents—usually. But he could never hate whatever twist of improbable timing managed to take the two of them from friends to... this. Fortunately, sleep has started to creep in, dulling any threat of anxiety about what exactly this is.

 

All Remus knows is that he’ll take as many of Sirius’ sleepy Thursdays as he can get. And typical Tuesday nights and slow Sunday mornings. He’ll take the dreary Mondays too. Maybe, he thinks as the last wisps of consciousness slip away, he’d like to hang out with Sirius for his whole damn life.

 

 

Notes:

Remus “I don’t like a gold rush” Lupin
Remus “you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad” Lupin
Remus “oops, what you’re looking for has been here this whole time” Lupin

Alternatively: Grant “help, I’m still at the restaurant” Chapman :(

***

I’m leaving this little “B-sides” fic collection open-ended… I'd like to do the switched POV thing for a few other chapters as we go along (although with the unhinged Swiftie-ness toned down to regular Code Black levels) or other random one-shots as the mood strikes.

Let me know if there is anything in particular you want to see!

xoxo ixie

Chapter 2: You Are In Love

Notes:

Content warning for *SPICE*. Please note the rating of these B-sides has now been changed to explicit. Oops.

***

I wasn’t going to do another “Vault track” so soon, but I was kind of lamenting that we never got to see two events toward the end of Year 1: Sirius coming out to Effie and Monty + Wolfstar’s reunion after six weeks apart.

It’s one of the challenges of telling this story through the eyes of six different characters. So anyway, here is another short bonus chapter that I daydreamed into my notes app. These scenes take place during Chapters 28-29 of Code Black.

“Strange look on his face, pauses, then says, ‘You’re my best friend.’

And you know what it was… He is in love.”

 

* * *

 

May 2016

 

Sirius

 

 

Sirius hasn’t used this particular key in a while, but he would never take it off his keychain.

 

It’s already in his hand as he makes his way through Williamsburg toward the familiar red-and-white brick facade. The first time he came here, the Potters owned the whole building, although they’ve gradually gifted away most of the lower-floor apartments to people from the old neighborhood who needed a place to stay. It’s the kind of thing Sirius’ own family would never do in a million years. The kind of thing that made him feel right at home the very first time he crossed the threshold here during their freshman fall break.

 

After entering the building, he takes the stairs two at a time on his way to the third floor. To his delight, he can already smell something amazing coming from the far end of the hallway. He’s still got his keys out, but when he tries the doorknob, it’s unlocked.

 

Effie’s back is turned when Sirius enters the cluttered kitchen. If you didn’t know exactly how wealthy the Potters were, you’d never know it from just looking around their apartment. It feels homey here. Nothing like the sterile, gleaming surfaces of the kitchen in the Black Tower penthouse, a room that exists purely for show.

 

Next to the stove, there’s a tray of giant, gooey-looking cookies on a baking sheet. Sirius contemplates whether it’d be worth it to burn his mouth a little and eat one before they’re cool as he watches Effie pick up another tray with a half dozen oversized peppers.

 

“Y después…” she says animatedly into the phone that she’s holding in place between her ear and her shoulder, the two recognizable words followed by a monologue in Spanish that’s too fast for Sirius to pick out any other phrases he recognizes. But Effie’s story cuts off mid-sentence the moment she turns and catches sight of him in the entryway. Their spreading smiles mirror one another, and she says (in English, for Sirius’ benefit), “Ah! Sorry, Isa, I have to call you back. My boy is home.”

 

She tosses her oven mitt on the table between them, and they both close the distance to crush each other in a long hug, Effie’s black curls pulled into a bun that just reaches Sirius’ chin as they sway on the spot.

 

“You’re early!” she finally says, stepping back to look at his face, like she’s checking to make sure he’s all in one piece. And then her eyes narrow and he feels a light smack on the side of his head. “But where have you been? It’s been months and we haven’t seen you! It’s not like we live on the moon!”

 

“Oh,” Sirius’ cheeks flush, and his brow furrows. Has he really not been back since his last birthday? He knew James would pop over from time to time, but he always had Lily with him, and Sirius hadn’t wanted to crash their dates. “I’m sorry, this year’s just been so busy, and—”

 

Effie’s stern face breaks, and she reaches up with the same hand to ruffle Sirius’ hair a bit as she laughs. He lets out his breath. She really had him going there for a second. “Oh, mijo, I’m only joking. I know you boys are so busy at school. We just miss you.”

 

“Well,” he answers brightly, “We’ve got no set schedule for the next six weeks, just studying, so…”

 

“So I’ll be enticing you all the way over to Brooklyn with all of your favorites.” Her eyes flick over to the oven, and Sirius peers around her to see the tray of peppers starting to char under the broiler.

 

“The chiles are for us?”

 

“Of course they are! But it won’t be ready for a while.” She steps back toward the oven, opening a neighboring cabinet to start pulling out jar after jar of spices, lining them up on the counter beside her. “I wasn’t expecting you until later. Jamie’s still locked in his room in the middle of a practice exam or something like that.”

 

“No, I know. That’s good, actually… I mean, I came early on purpose to… to talk to you about something. It’s about me.”

 

She stops, hand releasing her most recent spice jar so she can turn toward Sirius, that studying expression back on her face. “Of course,” she says. “You can talk to me about anything. What’s going on?”

 

“Is Monty here too?”

 

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before there’s a flicker of something like realization. Sirius knew she’d probably figure out what this was about before he even really said anything, but trust Effie to continue feigning polite curiosity as she nods and pops down the hall to grab Monty from his office. When they come back into the kitchen, Monty claps Sirius on the shoulder with a grin while Effie hits pause on the broiler.

 

It’s silly to feel nervous about this, Sirius knows, but this whole thing feels so formal all of a sudden. Wordlessly, they move to sit at the table by the big window, and the ensuing quiet only spurs the butterflies in Sirius’ stomach into more frantic activity. Now he can’t remember exactly what he had planned to say at all.

 

“Okay, baby, what did you want to talk to us about?” Effie eventually asks. Her voice is soft, eyes kind. She’s schooled her expression into that same look of perfect obliviousness. Sirius can’t help but think she would have done alright had she been born into the Black family because she’s honestly a little too good at that.

 

“It’s okay, Effie, I know James already told you about, well… about me and… you know. He apologized a lot and said he felt terrible for being the one to tell you, that it wasn’t his place. And I didn’t care, to be honest, but then I started thinking about it. So even though you guys already know, I just wanted to like… do the thing.”

 

“Okay,” Effie answers, subtle amusement playing at the corner of her mouth. But she doesn’t say anything else; she lets the quiet between them linger until Sirius is ready.

 

He takes a slow breath. “I’m seeing someone. Someone… important. And it’s a guy.”

 

“It’s a what?!” Monty asks, clutching his chest like he’s scandalized.

 

Effie smacks the arm of his sweater with the back of her hand, tsking at him and saying, “Oh, stop it,” before turning back to Sirius apologetically. “He thinks he’s funny.”

 

Monty adjusts his glasses, giving him the tiniest wink now that his wife is looking the other way. Sirius can’t fight his own answering snort of laughter, but when he meets Effie’s brown eyes again, she’s looking at him lovingly. “Is that everything you wanted to tell us?”

 

“Oh, um…” Sirius’ smile falters. Was he supposed to say something else? He sort of wishes he had a clearer label to put on himself, but Pandora said it was okay not to have one, and Remus said the same. But now this whole thing seems a bit anticlimactic. “I’m not sure… I feel like coming out to your parents is supposed to be a big deal. I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

 

“Of course you are,” Effie replies immediately, extending her arm across the table to take his hand in her own. Monty gives him an enthusiastic nod, a twinkle in his hazel eyes as he wraps one of his own arms around his wife. “So,” Effie says, giving Sirius’ hand a little squeeze, “I think this is the part where we remind you what an incredible young man you are and that there is nothing you could do that would make us love you any less.”

 

“Oh.” Sirius feels his eyes start to sting. So maybe he’s doing this thing right after all.

 

Monty’s smile widens. “What she said,” he agrees, tilting his head toward his wife. It’s the kind of phrase that makes him sound so very Brooklyn, despite the fact that he didn’t actually grow up here. “You know we love you, kid. No matter who it is you love.”

 

Sirius holds tight to Effie’s hand, blinking fast as the warmth of their words spreads through his chest. “I do,” he whispers, finally ready to say a few words out loud that he hasn’t said to anyone yet. “I love him. I’m in love with him.” He blinks one too many times and has to lift his free hand to wipe a hot tear from his cheek.

 

“Oh, Sirius,” Effie says gently, rising to her feet and switching chairs so she’s sitting next to Sirius instead of across from him so that he can fall into the waiting hug. “Come here.”

 

The minutes stretch on, and the world seems to still. All Sirius knows is the gentle warmth of the arms around him, the flowery scent of Effie’s shampoo, the brightness of the falling sun flickering in through the kitchen window. The kind of love he never knew before he knew this home. And he’s pretty sure Effie would stay here for another hour if he didn’t break the hug first. So he does.

 

“Thanks guys,” he says, finding that his voice steady again. Monty is still looking over fondly from across the table, and Effie stands and kisses the top of his head before taking a short step over to turn the broiler back on.

 

“Sorry, just have to get the peppers charring again or it’ll be nighttime before we eat!” She starts back toward the kitchen table, but Sirius rises to meet her halfway.

 

“Hey, since I’m here, is there anything I can do to help you cook?”

 

“Oh.” Effie bites her lip, scanning the countertop littered with tomatoes, flour, eggs, and various spices. There’s also an electric mixer out for some reason, and Sirius realizes he is probably a bit out of his depth. Kindly, she answers, “You can stir the sauce.”

 

~~~

 

Six weeks later…

 

This has been the longest hour of all time. Sirius wouldn’t dare leave the apartment after getting a “just landed” text from Remus, but nothing he tries to do here can really hold his attention. So he has mostly just gone back and forth between the kitchen and the couch, where he is currently sitting, knee bouncing so fast his leg is starting to get a little sore.

 

It has to be any minute now.

 

He had been tempted to go all the way to JFK today, but the self-respecting New Yorker in him knows that picking someone up at the airport really isn’t a thing here. Anyway, it would have been too hard to keep his hands to himself in the cab. Better this way, if more torturous.

 

Sirius has been thinking about this moment for weeks. More specifically, thinking about his boyfriend getting off—in strained silence—to the mere idea of what they’re going to do any minute now. And his intentions must have shown on his face because James has already made himself scarce, taking off shortly after Remus’ text, stating he simply had to have a cronut (“a real one”—from Dominique Ansel all the way down in SoHo). He had winked on his way out the door.

 

Sirius hears footsteps in the hallway right outside, followed by the turn of a key in the lock, and his heart jumps into his throat. When the doorknob turns, he’s already on his feet, and he crosses the length of the room before the door is fully open.

 

For just a beat, he takes in Remus’ face. His sandy hair is just slightly shorter than the last time they saw each other, and a little windswept, but every faint freckle is exactly the same as in Sirius’ memories. And when starry amber eyes meet his own, it’s all over. He pulls Remus by the waist, dragging him into the apartment as their lips meet. There’s a trace of mint, like he’d been chewing gum in the cab, and Sirius slides his tongue further into his mouth as he tugs their bodies closer together.

 

He starts to track backwards down the hallway, not wanting to break the kiss, hands already falling to work on Remus’ belt, but there’s a small noise of unexpected protest. “Sirius,” Remus’ speaks the word right onto his lips, and Sirius pauses. “My bag’s still in the hallway.”

 

“Oh!” Sirius registers the still-open door and the little duffel bag sitting alone on the doorstep. “Right. I’ve got it!”

 

He grabs the bag, slams the door shut a bit harder than necessary, and pulls Remus by the hand down the short hallway. When they enter the bedroom on the left, he tosses the bag onto Remus’ desk chair without looking as he stops to drink in the sight of his boyfriend again. He’s really, finally here.

 

“There’s something I promised to do,” Sirius says in a low voice, relishing the way those brown eyes dilate. Then his hands are back on Remus’ belt, ridding him of it as quickly as he can. Although when Remus tries to step further into the room, Sirius presses one palm into his chest to stop him. “Uh-uh. I said I wouldn’t let you get two steps into the room before I…” He lets his voice trail off wickedly, choosing to show rather than tell.

 

He can hear Remus’ lungs fill with air as he continues working on buttons and zipper before he palms him though his boxers. Sirius flings the bedroom door shut and backs them right into it. Remus’ head falls back against the door and his eyes close as Sirius strokes him slowly through the fabric, every motion of his hand making his own cock twitch in eager anticipation. When he slips the waistband of Remus’ boxers down over his hips, he stops and inhales at the sight. He’s so perfect, so ready. And as promised, Sirius slides down the length of Remus’ body until he’s on his knees. ‘Maybe I’ll go slow at first,’ Sirius had said over the phone. He decides in the present moment that the operative word was ‘maybe’, taking a deep breath in through his nose and swallowing Remus’ entire length.

 

“Oh god—oh fuck.”

 

He keeps moving, heat pooling inside him at the words still filling his ears. Now there are fingers twisting their way through his hair, and—yes. God, Sirius missed this. He meant it when he said he’s been dreaming of Remus pulling his hair and fucking into him until there are tears in his eyes. That wild way he gets when it’s just the two of them, behind closed doors. But instead of tightening sharply, callused fingertips slide through the strands with only the gentlest pressure. When Sirius looks up through his lashes, he finds Remus staring down at him with wide eyes, lips just barely parted, a strange look on his face.

 

So Sirius lets him slide all the way out, replacing his mouth with his hand again for just a second to ask, “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Remus says softly and pulls him to his feet, capturing his mouth again in a pressured kiss. Rough hands slip under Sirius’ t-shirt and lift it over his head before Remus peels away his own long-sleeved shirt and steps all the way out of his jeans. He’s beautiful. Sirius will never not think so. He’s so distracted that he hardly notices his own pants slipping away, and then Remus is kissing him again, fiercely. “I missed you,” he pants, hands trailing urgently over Sirius' body—the increasing pressure setting Sirius' nerves alight with every new point of contact. “I want to fuck you. Can I?”

 

Sirius swallows hard, cock straining almost painfully against his jeans now, brain momentarily filled with radio static at the combination of Remus’ words and the earnest look on his face. Sirius would give him anything in the world he wanted. But all he manages in response is a desperate-sounding, “Please.”

 

In the next breath, he’s on his back, feeling himself spring free from his briefs. And Remus is above him, hand around his own cock—the drip of excess lube onto Sirius’ skin makes him shiver. He watches, breathless, as Remus’ pours more lube into his hand before pressing a single fingertip to his rim. He’s not quite sure what it is, but something about this moment reminds him of their first time. It makes his heart skip.

 

There’s a gentle stretch as Remus slides in to the first knuckle, and a stifled groan from up above Sirius breaks the momentary silence. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he answers with a sultry edge to his voice, hoping it has the desired effect on Remus. It appears to. “Give me everything, babe.”

 

Remus’ eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a tense breath like he’s trying to steady himself. Sirius smiles. Then he gasps as he feels another finger sliding into him, still only shallow, methodically twisting and stretching him open. He’s aching for more. For a deeper touch. Because something about the way Remus is looking down at him has him ready to come apart, and they’ve hardly even done anything yet.

 

“I’m good,” he says, desperation bleeding through his voice, and Remus doesn’t bother asking whether he’s sure before he’s lining himself up and pushing into Sirius, just slowly enough that the burn is on the sweeter side of pain.

 

Sirius lets the air leave his lungs and relaxes all of his muscles, reaching down with both hands to take Remus by the hips and pull him fast until he’s fully in. Sirius’ vision is reduced to tiny bursts of light at the first brush of contact with his prostate, but then… nothing. His hands roam upwards, over the smooth skin of Remus’ back, but Remus still doesn’t move. Sirius lifts his head and finds burning amber eyes looking down at him again, that same intense expression from before on his boyfriend’s face. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when—

 

“I love you.”

 

Oh.

 

“Love you too,” he echoes back, that tiny bit of tension gone, and he feels his smile return. He’s loved Remus for so, so long.

 

Sirius lifts one hand to brush his thumb across every pale freckle on one cheek, and Remus’ hand meets his there, twining their fingers together before pressing their joined hands down into the pillow.

 

Remus starts to move again, still slowly. “I’m not going to last very long.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sirius breathes back, aching for Remus to let go. As the pace quickens, every thrust sending a white-hot current through Sirius’ body, he can’t look away from Remus’ face. He tightens his grip, both the hand digging into the skin of his boyfriend’s lower back and the place where their fingers are laced together right beside his head. Remus looks like he’s going to break into a million beautiful pieces, and Sirius wants to watch him shatter. “Fuck me, Moony. I love you.”

 

The words incite a soft moan, and Remus finally starts to hammer into him the way that Sirius was waiting for. Sirius does nothing to suppress the obscene sounds now begging to pour from his chest. He wants Remus to know exactly how good this is for him.

 

“God, Sirius, fuck.”

 

Sirius still can’t tear his eyes away from Remus’ face. His own cock is aching for friction, but he doesn’t dare move his hands from right where they are. There’s nothing he wants more than to watch his love go right over the edge. And the growing intensity on Remus’ face is so wildly hot that Sirius can feel the pressure building deep inside of him as the thrusts become relentless, all semblance of control beginning to slip away.

 

“I’m not—I can’t—” Remus loses his words, and Sirius just squeezes his hand tighter. A blazing pleasure surges through him as Remus’ motion becomes more stilted, and the gasp of Sirius’ name is drowned out by a louder sound that Sirius realizes a moment later came out of his own mouth. Waves of blissful heat are still receding when Remus collapses onto him, chest heaving. Then he raises his head and blinks. “Did you just…?”

 

“Yeah,” Sirius answers, dazed and struggling to catch his breath, suddenly very aware of the mess between them.

 

“Holy shit, that’s so hot.”

 

Remus lets his head fall back down, burying his face in the crook of Sirius’ neck. And with their fingers still twined together just beside his head on the opposite side, Sirius lets his eyes close. He has no immediate plans to move at all.