I've Got a Hazy Idea

by 4y34rsnocalls

Summary:

The full moon screws him over again: Remus misses the first week of lessons, starts term bruised, exhausted, and with a sense of smell turned up to bleeding. Now he can track every heartbeat in the carriage, every pulse of guilt, anger, or flustered teenage crush.

It should make him feel powerful. It just makes him feel seventeen, tired, and painfully aware that Sirius Black smells like pine, smoke, and everything Remus shouldn’t want.

* * *

He could smell James and Peter too, but Sirius was worse — or better, and that was the real problem. Every shift of his coat sent it rolling over Remus again: sharp earth, restless bark, the faint metallic tang of laughter on cold mornings. He smelled like the forest.

He smelt like home.

Remus’ head throbbed. His bones felt brittle. And beneath it all was the sour, private relief that Sirius couldn’t smell him back– couldn’t catch the sharp, hungry twist of scent in his sweat and know exactly what it meant.

(reworking a little ! sorry for the notifs if u bookmarked...)

Notes:

Second work ever!!! english is still not my first language and i have so many ideas.,,, This started when the brainrot got so bad I was thinking long and hard about what each character would SMELL like. Ugh I love them so much I feel siiiiick.

Chapter 1

The train shuddered underfoot, and Remus felt every vibration in his bones. They hadn’t quite finished healing — each jolt along the tracks seemed to knock something loose inside his ribs, a dull echo of the pain to come in the following few weeks. The full moon had fallen stupidly close to the start of term, just days before he’d go back, so now he was left raw, restless, and pissed off that he’d have to miss the first week and a half of lessons on top of it. 

He took a tentative breath through his mouth. Didn’t help. The smells still crashed in, thick and dizzying.

Burnt sugar ground into the floor. The sour, artificial tang of cleaning charms gone stale. Old smoke, new ink, and under it all: the sharp coppery edge of his own headache. 

It's because it’s closer to the moon. It's not normally ever this bad. 

“Pura caeli,” he muttered, tapping wand against his knee. The charm flickered, useless. The headache stayed. 

“Long night, Moony?” James asked, about as subtle as a brick.

“Brilliant deduction, Potter,” Remus rasped. “Ten points to Gryffindor.” 

His voice came out rough, smoke-burnt. He rolled his shoulders, bones creaking like old wood, and tried to look vaguely bored instead of fighting the urge to vomit.

James just grinned, scent flaring with amusement: salty sea-wind and eucalyptus, with a restless churn underneath. Peter chuckled too, warm roasted pumpkin tinged sharp with teenage nerves; the nerves flickered brighter when Remus caught his eye, and he looked away. 

 “Just hold on a minute, mate, we can shut the door when Lily comes back with Mary.”

But it wasn’t just the strength of the smells — it was the shifts .

Every breath brought too much. Every person smelled like a story, whether he wanted to hear it or not. That was another thing— he could hear them, too: the faint, fluttery skip of a heartbeat when someone lied; the catch of breath when embarrassment bloomed. It felt intrusive, wrong — like rummaging through someone’s bedside drawer and finding things not meant to be seen. 

Lily stepped into the carriage, and relief spread through him before he even saw her: the clean, bright scent of tea leaves and grapefruit zest. Her scent stayed warm and unchanging, except for a quick flare of amusement when James greeted her too loudly. 

Marlene followed close behind her, all cherry and almond, sweetened with laughter. Then Mary: rose petals and raspberry bruised underfoot, ending in a spicy skeptical note that turned sharp when she caught James’ grin. This, mercifully, was something softer; a familiar warmth. He let himself breathe them in, small sips that steadied the pounding behind his eyes. 

It smelled like pack . Like home, or as close as he’d ever get.

For a moment, the ache receded.

Then Sirius stepped into the carriage, and Remus’ mind... stutters out.

It goes blank. 

There was the usual grin, cocky and dangerous all at once, black hair curling around the nape of his neck. But it was the smell that nearly floored him: Pine needles crushed under boot. Cold stone at dawn. A green note, sharp and restless, like the wild hedgerows outside the Shrieking Shack. Something dry and smoky, laughter caught in bark. It cut through every other scent, every thought. 

It hit Remus like a curse. His mouth went dry, and his lungs felt too small. 

The wolf in Remus stretched, ears pricked forward. His own breath stuttered, mouth dry, headache roaring bright behind his eyes. He forced himself to shift, to fold his arms, to pretend. But the wolf inside him curled toward that smell instinctively, claws scraping just under the skin. Want. Want. Want. 

Sirius was saying something to James– something loud and stupid that made Peter wheeze with laughter–  while Remus’ eyes stayed glued to him, and he really looked at him for the first time since he stepped in.

Fuck, he thought, but not for the first time. He’s beautiful.

Hair falling careless over grey eyes, lips curled half-wicked, half-embarrassed by his own grin. The way the light cut across his cheekbones, the careless sprawl of his shoulders, the restless twist of his rings catching the sun. 

The scent– the scent made it worse. Sharp pine and cold earth and laughter sparking on winter air. It wrapped around Remus’ ribs, pressed hot and humiliating against the bruise-deep want under his chest. 

Remus’ throat felt raw. His headache pounded bright behind his eyes, and still he couldn’t look away.

Beautiful, he thought again, half-sick with it. Beautiful and close and impossibly, stupidly him. 

“Moony,” Sirius drawled, voice dipping warm. And there — Remus caught it: the sharp pine softened, turned mossy-sweet for a heartbeat. Worry.

“You look like shit,” Sirius added. 

Remus scrambled for words, brain half-melted. “Charming as ever,” he croaked, voice cracking. His cheeks burned; he buried it under a scowl.

Sirius just smirked, but his scent still twitched: sharp green layered over something softer– concern he’d never say out loud.

Sirius slouched into the seat opposite his, long legs knocking carelessly against Remus. 

“How was your summer?”

Remus couldn’t answer right away. Sirius's scent clogged his throat, turning words to static.

“Uh–,” he managed, after a heartbeat that felt humiliatingly long. “Just the usual.”

He could smell James and Peter too, but Sirius was worse — or better, and that was the real problem. Every shift of his coat sent it rolling over Remus again: sharp earth, restless bark, the faint metallic tang of laughter on cold mornings. He smelled like the forest. 

He smelt like home.

Remus’ head throbbed. His bones felt brittle. And beneath it all was the sour, private relief that Sirius couldn’t smell him back– couldn’t catch the frantic, hungry twist of scent in his sweat and know exactly what it meant. 

A girl broke a bottle of perfume in the corridor outside — sharp floral chemicals burst into the air, and Remus violently gagged. James cursed, and someone opened the compartment window to wave it away, but it was already too late: the smell tore through his skull, made him see white at the edges of his vision. 

“Moony– breathe, it’s all right.”

Sirius’ hand hovered, almost landed on Remus’ shoulder, then hesitated, curling back.

“Fuck, you’re white as—” Sirius’ voice caught, breaking off. His eyes flicked over Remus’ face, jaw tight, grin long gone.

“I’m,” Remus rasped, throat raw, “I’m fine.” His hand shook where it braced against the seat.

“Yeah you look really fine ,” Sirius bit out, softer now, but edged with panic that spiked bitter in his scent.

Remus tried to swallow, tried to smirk – anything to look normal– but his chest burned, ribs rattling. The perfume still coated the back of his tongue, sickly-sweet and chemical.

“Just— headache,” he ground out, words slipping between clenched teeth.

“Shit,” Sirius whispered, voice gone hoarse. His hand twitched like he wanted to touch Remus again. “Should I— I dunno, get Slughorn? Someone?”

“No,” Remus rasped, sharper than he meant. “Just— sit down. S’fine.”

Sirius hesitated, eyes still locked on him, scent still restless, moss-soft with worry. Then he sat– closer than before, knee brushing Remus’ leg, as if ready to catch him if he keeled over.

James was saying something, voice dipping low in a private joke. Remus blinked, swallowed, tried to hear, but his mind stuttered and fell blank at the edges. All he could catch was the rhythm of Sirius’ voice, the pull of that scent, but he told himself the raw pulse of want that racked his body had nothing to do with that thought at all. 

His headache thudded, relentless. Remus closed his eyes, let the train rock him back, tried to breathe past the ache and the fear and the dizzy, bone-deep ache of him . 

Lily watched him, scent gone flat and anxious. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, keeping his eyes closed. “Just… too many bloody smells today.”

She didn’t pry further, and he loved her for that.

The compartment quieted, except for distant voices and the clatter of the train. Remus closed his eyes, trying to breathe past the headache, past the memory of him: pine and smoke, restless laughter, worry buried under bravado.

It was just because it was closer to the moon, he thought again.

But under it, low and stupid and seventeen: or maybe just closer to him.

Outside, the countryside blurred past in smears of summer green. Inside, Remus counted each breath, each heartbeat, each small betrayal of his own body. 

Chapter 2

Pain first. It always starts with agonizing pain. Bones cracking, skin splitting, fire licking through marrow.

Then– breath. New lungs, stronger. World snapping sharp and alive: smells layered thick as forest soil; sounds etched clear as bone. 

Pack. Pack is here.

Small one— warm, anxious, quick heart.

Antler-head — sharp leaf-smell, salt and laughter.

The dark one. Him. Smoke and pine, restless heartbeat, grin that cuts bright through the ache.

Wolf knows him best. He likes him best. Doesn’t know why. Just does.

They circle the clearing. Antler-head snorts, scratches hoof against dirt; small one squeaks, paws slipping on stones.

Smoke-pine barks, sound bright, and Wolf’s chest aches funny at the sound.

Wolf bares teeth. No threat — greeting. Pack. Mine.

They’re close, warm; heartbeats steady. Wolf bumps Antler-head’s flank; gently nips small one’s scruff just to hear him squeak.

Smoke-pine rolls his eyes the best he could, tail flicking, canine mouth curling in that not-quite-snarl he sometimes wears. 

“ Easy, mate ,” his eyes say, scent sharp with teasing. “ Be careful .”

Wolf’s thoughts muddle, tangle in scent and heartbeat. Pain flickers under ribs, scars that never quite heal. But pack is here. Pack is alive. Smoke-pine snaps at Antler-head, voice dancing, grin so big even wolf understands: joke. Heartbeat fast, but smell calm, bright, sweet.

Wolf bumps him, shoulder to shoulder. His scent turns sharp-sweet like crushed needles. He turns his head and nuzzles his snout, tracking the smell. It warms him inside out. He wants the scent closer, mixed with his, in his fur, under skin. Wants— doesn’t know what it wants, only more. 

Smoke-pine laughs, but in his canine form, they come out like chuffs. He growls playfully, breath warm. 

Night deepens. Wolf’s mind fades and flares, like moonlight through leaves.

Pain waits at the edges, but pack is here. Heartbeats steady. The scent is warm. 

Wolf forgets words, forgets skin and name — but never forgets them.

Pack circles close. Wolf breathes them in.

For a little while, pain feels smaller than belonging.

 

* * * 

 

When the door creaked open before lunch, Remus smelled them before he saw them: James first, bright eucalyptus and salty sweat; Peter behind him, warm and almost sweet like pumpkin stew left too long on the stove; and Sirius, rain-wet pine and smoke, heartbeat quick and scent syrupy with relief. They all look a little worn out. James keeps yawning every few words, and Peter has the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes. Sirius, the infuriating git, doesn't look tired so much as artistically dishevelled, his hair tussled in a way that said might've-gotten-lucky-last-night and not spent-the-night-running-through-muddy-woods.

“Moony!” James crashed in first, hair sticking up, grin big enough to split his face. “Looking good as usual, I see.” 

“Cheers,” Remus rasped, voice still raw.

Peter hovered at the foot of the bed. “You, uh — want anything? Chocolate? Pumpkin pasty?”

“Already smuggled him some,” Sirius cut in, dropping a slightly crushed Honeydukes bag on Remus’ blankets. His voice was easy, but the wolf in Remus caught it: the sharp twist of worry still clinging to his scent, the heartbeat still racing too fast.

Remus swallowed, mouth dry. “Didn’t have to.”

“And yet, we did,” James declared, flopping onto the bed next to Remus’ feet. “C’mon, you know you love us.”

“Yeah, right,” Remus muttered, but couldn’t quite bite down the smile.

They talked over each other: James going on about Quidditch trials, Peter complaining about Slughorn’s new seating chart, Sirius laughing in low bursts that made Remus’ chest ache. The scents tangled around him: James’ bright salt-and-leaf smell, Peter’s warm sweet anxiety, and Sirius, closer than anyone, sharp pine softened around the edges.

Remus caught himself leaning toward it, mouth slightly parted, breath catching. The wolf side thrummed, almost purring.

James noticed, because of course he did. “You want to take a picture instead? You’re staring.”

Remus startled, face flushing hot. “Bugger off, Potter.”

“Alright, alright,” James grinned, leaning back.

He tried to keep up with the talk, the jokes, the swirl of voices and scents, but the headache pounded harder with every new heartbeat in the room. He could feel his eyes sliding closed, but the wolf in him was too awake, catching every flicker of pulse, every shift of want, guilt, irritation. He drifts in and out of sleep for a few seconds, and at some point — Remus couldn’t say exactly when — they trickled out. James still shouting about practice, Peter shuffling after, promising to bring notes. 

The door clicked shut behind them. The room felt bigger, quieter. He opened his eyes again. 

Only Sirius had stayed, perched on the edge of Remus’ bed, one leg bouncing. His scent was riper now, moss and pine, threaded through with leftover worry. 

He’d been working his lip between his teeth, which was– distracting. To say the least. Annoying, maybe, frustrating for sure. He’d thought he’d be used to Sirius’s… oral fixation after years of knowing him, but it’d stubbornly remained as unignorable as the rest of him.

For a second, Remus just looked . Couldn’t help it. He was raw from the moon, bones still aching, and Sirius was still beautiful in a way that made his stomach twist sharp and hot. The wolf under his ribs stretched, pressed closer to the surface. At first it was only relief: pack, safe, home.

But the wanting came after. Quiet at first, then louder, hotter: wanting the heat of him, the rain-damp scent clinging to his collar, the soft pine-soap that curled around his wrists.

Remus’ inhaled sharply. He could almost see it– leaning in, just enough to press his nose to the crook of Sirius’ neck–
Shit. Pressing against him, nose in his hair, mouth at his throat– 

Remus' mouth went dry. He forced himself to look away, heart racing.

“You didn’t get hurt this time,” Sirius suddenly said. 

“...It’s better. With you guys.” Remus murmmured, voice coming out lower, rougher than he meant. His eyes flicked back towards him, drawn to him like a bruise you can’t stop pressing.

“Yeah, well,” Sirius said. “I’m glad.”

His scent lost the sour tang of worry, and he finally relaxed, flopping down next to Remus. He feels like he's fucking swimming in Sirius’s scent. It's on his clothes and his hospital bed and drowning out everywhere else. He hasn’t become used to being this close to someone after a moon.

Remus shifted, wolf in him still humming. On instinct, he leaned closer, breath brushing Sirius’ wrist. 

For a second, it felt natural. Warm. Right.

Then the human part of him caught up. Heart lurching, he jerked back so fast it tugged at healing skin.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice cracking. “Headache.” 

Sirius blinked, scent flaring sharp with something he couldn’t quite place, then softening again into something careful. “S’alright,” he murmured, so quiet Remus barely heard.

Sirius blinked, heartbeat stumbling. “It’s fine ,” he said louder, tilting his head questioningly, eyes flicking over Remus’ face. “You don’t..? you don’t have to apologize to me, Moony.”

Remus couldn’t meet his gaze. Couldn’t say; you don’t know what I’m apologizing for .

Madam Pomfrey bustled in, skirts swishing, stern frown already in place.

“All right, that’s quite enough chatter for now,” she scolded, waving her hand at Sirius like she was shooing away a stray cat. “Out, Come on now! Mr. Lupin needs proper rest, not your racket rattling his poor head.”

Sirius raised his hands in surrender. “I’m going, I’m going!”

“Honestly, Madam Pomfrey, we were being very quiet,” Sirius drawled, propping himself onto his elbows, earning himself a sharper glare.

“Out,” she repeated, voice brooking no argument, though softer when her eyes flicked to Remus. “Go on, let him breathe.”

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, heart still pounding.

 

Oh, he was so screwed.

Chapter 3

First there’d been days in the hospital wing: white sheets that smelled of soap and antiseptic, Madam Pomfrey’s soft-voiced fussing, the ache in every bone reminding him what he was. Too many hours alone with the wolf pacing under his skin and the stink of blood still sharp in his head. 

Then it was back to classes. Back to pretending. 

Remus walked the corridors, shoulders hunched against a tide only he could feel: sweat and nerves and potion fumes, secrets baked into skin, the tang of parchment ink and fear so thick it caught at the back of his throat. 

A crowd of 3rd years rushed past him, glancing back at him and giggling behind their hands. He doesn't even have to smell deeply to know what was behind their flushed cheeks, their quick, fluttering heartbeats. Normally, there’d be a tiny, embarrassed part of him that preens at the attention, but now, with his heightened senses, he just kind of feels sick. 

It should have faded, the moon was days behind him now, but it hadn’t. If anything, the scents were louder, just on the cusp of becoming unbearable. 

In Potions, the fumes of pickled asphodel and newt guts made his eyes water. Across the room, Snape’s scent wafted to him like a sodden rag: damp stone, mildew, cloying and sour when he was angry. Today, it was thick enough to taste. Remus bared his teeth before he could stop himself. 

“Chill, mate,” James breathed out, nudging him. “You’re gonna end up biting someone for real.” 

“Yeah, that’s real fucking funny Prongs,” Remus hissed back, too sharp, voice scraping raw. Guilt burned up his spine immediately — he could smell James’ flicker of hurt, brief and bitter before it vanished under affection. 

 

* * * 

 

They were halfway through Transfiguration, classroom stuffy with late-afternoon sun and the scorched smell of failed spells.

James had been whispering something to Sirius– some dumb joke, judging by Sirius’ crooked grin– running a hand through his unruly hair. 

Mulciber, two rows back, leaned forward with that lazy, sneering look he always wore when he smelled blood.

“Oi, Potter– your hair looks like it belongs the owlery. Should've just let the birds keep it.”

James barely blinked, half-grinning. “Touching, Mulciber. Didn’t know you spent your spare time thinking about my hair.”

Mulciber’s mouth twitched, scent going sour with irritation that only Remus could catch; wolf under his skin bristled, heat rising.

Remus’ head snapped up, so fast his neck twinged. “Say that again.”

The words were out before he even knew he’d spoken. Low, rough, too close to a growl. His lip curled, teeth bared. 

Mulciber blinked, eyebrows lifting, half-amused. “Merlin, calm down, Lupin. Can’t your precious Head boy handle a joke?”

“Moony,” James muttered under his breath, tone edged with warning. “It’s fine, leave it.”

Remus didn’t look at James. Couldn’t. The wolf under his ribs burned hot, wanting to see Mulciber flinch. 

Sirius’ voice cut in sharp, almost laughing but not quite. “Easy, Moony. Don’t give him the satisfaction.” 

Remus just narrowed his eyes at Mulciber, barely tamping down on the growl in the back of his throat. 

Mulciber sneered, but turned back to his notes, scent twisting faintly with unease that made the wolf part of Remus feel grimly satisfied. 

Remus forced a breath out, throat dry, shoulders stiff. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Sorry.”

After class, Sirius caught up to him in the corridor, boots loud on the stone. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Remus snapped, too fast.

“You looked like you were about to rip Mulciber’s face off.” Sirius’ grin was crooked, but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not that I’d complain if you did.”

Remus looked away, chest tight. “Didn’t like what he said.”

“ Peter’s said worse than that before breakfast,” Sirius shot back, but lets it drop, shoving Remus’ shoulder gently. “Right then. Stop brooding. You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles, old man.” 

“Fuck off,” Remus muttered, but the words came softer, heat buzzing under skin where Sirius’ shoulder brushed his. 

“C’mon, we promised Evans we’d meet Mary n’ them in the common room at five.” 

 

* * * 

Fire snapping in the grate, smell of burned parchment and wet wool drifting off cloaks tossed over chairs.

“Alright,” Lily said, dropping onto the arm of James’ chair, eyebrow cocked, “who charmed the staircase to belt out Celestina Warbeck?”

“That,” Sirius declared, hand over his chest, “was performance art.”

“Sounded more like murder,” Marlene shot back, grin wicked, feet propped on the low table.

“It was,” Remus muttered, voice dry. “My ears haven’t recovered.”

Peter snorted. “Pretty sure McGonagall almost had a stroke.”

Mary leaned forward, hair spilling over one shoulder, eyes bright. “Tell me, it was at least in tune?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” James jumped in, grin blinding. “Sounded like a banshee choking on a mandrake.”

Remus laughed, sharp and real this time, tension slipping from his shoulders.

Sirius shifted closer, boots knocking Remus’ ankle. “You’re just jealous,” he said, voice dropping to mock-gravitas, “of my artistic vision.”

“Vision?” Lily echoed, deadpan. “You spelled half the lyrics wrong.”

“I call that interpretive,” Sirius shot back, unfazed, grin bright enough to catch the firelight.

Peter, ever hopeful, chimed in: “So… no points deducted?”

“Oh, plenty,” Marlene said, but her voice softened. “McGonagall’s just saving it for when she really needs the leverage.”

James leaned back, eyes flicking between them, still grinning. “Worth it, though.”

Mary raised an eyebrow, lips curling. “You lot are going to give poor Remus a heart attack one of these days.”

“He’d survive,” Sirius said, softer, half a glance sideways. “Stubborn git.”

Remus’ ears went hot; wolf stirred, pleased and sharp. “Cheers,” he muttered, voice low.

For a breath, it all felt normal: the low roar of the fire, Lily’s floral perfume tangled with fresh ink, Marlene’s sharp spice, the sweet bite of Mary’s raspberry soap. 

James’ steady heartbeat beside him, Peter’s faint sweaty anxiety, and Sirius’s scent warm and close as ever: pine and smoke, something bright like laughter. 

The wolf paced under his ribs, not in hunger this time, but in something quieter.

“Anyway,” Lily broke in, tone brisk, “Black, you owe me two Sickles for the bet. You did get caught.”

“Didn’t know the paintings would rat on me,” Sirius grumbled, reaching into his pocket.

“Should’ve seen it coming,” Marlene teased. “The knight on the landing still has it out for you after year 5.”

Sirius flicked a coin at her, rolling his eyes. “Heartless, the lot of you.” 

They slipped into bickering, voices rising and falling in the warm hush of the common room; a half-hour of peace where nothing outside mattered.

And for just a moment, Remus let himself lean back, eyes half-closed, breathing them all in.

Pack, the wolf whispered, soft and content.

And Remus let himself believe it. 

The laughter settled into softer chatter, everyone leaning back, half-drained from the day.

Through the haze of scent, Remus shifted closer, elbows brushing James first. Just enough to breathe him in: warm salt, parchment, the sharp edge of ink. Familiar, comforting, pack.

He did the same to Peter– a quick, awkward, bump of the shoulder, almost clumsy. Peter blinked, but didn’t pull away; his scent twisted in that confused way. 

And then Sirius. 

Remus’ heart skittered, the wolf under his skin pricking ears forward. He leaned in, pretending to reach for something behind Sirius’ chair –cloak sleeve, dropped quill, anything– but really just close enough to breathe him in deep: rain-damp pine, smoke, sweat, something sharp and alive that hooked into Remus’ chest and stayed there. 

Closer still, shoulder brushing Sirius’ arm; heart pounding, Remus let the wolf nudge forward, scent pressing into skin. Mine, mine, mine . His head ended up a hair's breadth away from the dip of Sirius’s neck, and he couldn’t help the way his nostrils flared open, taking a greedy inhale of the other boy’s smell. Sirius and Remus bleed into something more like SiriusandRemus, their scent mixing together in a way that makes him feel almost giddy– which is something he doesn't ever want to think too deeply about, thank you.

Sirius went very still, heartbeat skipping quick, scent sharpening, startled, then softening into something warmer, sweeter.

James rolled his eyes, grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Bloody hell, Moony,” he muttered, teasing but not unkind, “Does he smell that good?” 

Remus startled back, heat rushing up his neck, throat dry. “What?”

“You’re about as subtle as a herd of hippogriffs,” Marlene remarked dryly, eyebrow arched.

Lily snorted. “It’s sweet, in an animal sort of way.”

Mary’s mouth twitched, half amused, half soft. “He does it to all of you,” she pointed out, voice pitched light.

“Yeah, but extra on me,” Sirius drawled, grin crooked, voice a shade too casual, “S’ Cause he loves me the most, obviously.” 

His scent flickered quick with heat, heart knocking hard before he smoothed it over.

Remus wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Fuck off,” he muttered, ears burning. “All of you.” 

“Love you too, Moony,” James sang, grin widening.

“You’re gross,” Remus shot back, but it came out half-laugh, half-growl. Wolf under his ribs paced, restless but oddly content, drunk on warmth and pack and him. 

For the rest of the evening, he couldn’t stop feeling where he’d leaned in– the ghost of Sirius’s warmth against his arm, the soft press of scent under his skin.

Wanted to do it again. Wanted to do more.

God, it was humiliating.

But the wolf in him only hummed, pleased, mine, mine, mine.

And Remus, stupid and raw, let himself have it– just for a little while.

At night, lying in bed, the dorm was quiet except for Peter’s soft snoring and James muttering something unintelligible into his pillow. Remus could still smell Sirius across the room: sweat, soap, smoke; heartbeat slow with sleep, then quickening when he rolled over. Outside, the castle smelled of cold stone and wet moss; inside, all he could smell was him.

He turned over, nails biting into his palm, trying to breathe past the ugly, deep heat pooling in his stomach before spreading, quick and dirty, to the rest of him.

It’s worse this year.

He knows it. Feels it in every bone still aching from the last moon, in every heartbeat he can’t help but count, in the way scents hit him so sharp they feel like splinters under skin.

He’s always been careful. Careful not to look too long, not to breathe too deep, not to let the wolf too close to the surface when the moon isn’t full.

But lately– lately it feels like the wolf doesn’t wait anymore. 

Like it’s there, pacing under his ribs, hungry for things Remus can’t say out loud.

This is bad– this is so so bad. This should never have happened. He can feel himself becoming increasingly more aware of every flicker, every twist of Sirius’s scent, the fluttering in his chest settling to something barreling past admiration between friends. 

It’s leaning closer, pressing his shoulder in, breathing them in so deep it makes his chest hurt.

He tells himself it’s the wolf. Just instinct. Pack. Safety.

But he knows that’s only half the truth.

The truth is uglier, rawer.

The truth is, his hands itch to touch. To press his face into warm skin, mouth against throat, teeth grazing, scenting until he smells like his.

When Sirius leans close, his first stupid thought isn’t careful– it’s a steady, all-consuming stream begging for something even closer.

Nose against hair, mouth at the curve of his neck, tasting the salt-sweat and smooth expanse of skin until nothing else exists. Heat floods through his body, and he purposefully clenches a hand on his arm, tight enough to bruise.

Because Grodric, how can he want that?

How can he look his– his friend in the eye and want to– to– what, scent-mark him like an animal?

Like he is an animal.

It’s humiliating.

Worse than scars, worse than transformations, worse than waking in the hospital wing aching and ashamed. 

Because this is him. 

Not the moon forcing his hand. 

Just him: seventeen, stupid, skin hot with shame and head spinning with sweet, awful wanting. 

Chapter 4

The rain came down in a fine, needling mist that soaked cloaks and made the wooden stands slick underfoot.
Remus huddled lower into his seat, hunched into his scarf, craning his neck to watch the red and gold blur of jerseys flying by on the pitch. The sky was pewter‑grey; every breath tasted of wet grass, mud churned under boots, and the tang of broom polish.

Siris was flitting across the sky, sweat darkened the collar of his jersey, black hair plastered across his forehead in damp curls. He was bright out there — all wild grin and cocky shouts, reckless loops that made James curse under his breath.

Remus tracked him without even meaning to: the hot spike of adrenaline in Sirius’ scent when he nearly dropped the Quaffle; the faint, dizzy sweetness of laughter when James barked something teasing; the living, sharp‑edged warmth that curled under damp wool and wet grass.

When practice finally ended, Sirius jogged toward the stands, broom slung across one shoulder, cheeks flushed. Rain beaded on his lashes; mud smeared along his shin.

“Enjoy the view, Moony?” he panted, grinning.

Remus’ mouth opened before his head caught up: “You missed three catches,” he said, voice too flat, sharper than he wanted.

The grin slipped, just for a second. Sirius’ scent flickered-- a quick sting of hurt, gone in a breath. “Right,” he muttered, scrubbing water from his hair. “Thanks for the feedback.”

Idiot , Remus thought, stomach twisting. Immediate regret, a headache pounding behind his eyes.
Wolf clawed at him: Fix it. Fix it.

But the words stuck. And Sirius had already turned away to laugh at something James was saying.

That afternoon, the rain had eased to a cold drizzle that left the cobblestones slick and shining. Remus walked stiff‑shouldered beside Peter, cloak damp at the edges, boots soaking through.
He’d spent all morning distractedly replaying the look on Sirius’ face, the brittle edge in his voice.

Then, suddenly, a shoulder slammed into him from behind, nearly knocking him sideways.

“Hurry up,” Sirius drawled, stepping in beside him, grin bright and maddeningly easy. His scent hit warm and sweet, edges bright with mischief.

Relief flushed through Remus so fast it made him dizzy. Wolf under his skin purred in approval.

Remus startled himself with how good it felt. Stupid, dangerous, embarrassing. Keep it together.

They squeezed into the Three Broomsticks: elbows bumping, boots knocking under the table, wet cloaks dripping on the floor. The place smelled of wet wool, wood smoke, yeast, and sticky butterbeer foam.

Peter and James shuffled into the booth, Sirius and Remus sliding in after them. Remus, half‑aware, half‑driven, drifted closer to each of them as they sat.
A brush of Peter’s sleeve — “Lint,” he mumbled. 

A stray hair tugged from James’ collar; James shot him a quick grin, scent amused.

And Sirius. Remus’s hand hovered at his shoulder, thumb brushing the damp fabric of his cloak, wolf under his ribs thrumming .
He inhaled deeply: rain‑damp pine, sweat, warmth so sharp it almost hurt.

Sirius turned, catching him. “Something on me?”

“Yeah,” Remus lied, swallowing. “Mud.”

“Least it’s not bird shit,” Sirius muttered, half‑grinning.

Remus’ mouth twitched. Wolf settled, pleased.

Rosmerta came over, shaking rain off her apron, quill hovering.

“All right, what can I get you lot?” 

Sirius leaned forward on his elbows, rain‑damp hair curling at his temple, grin lazy and bright. “Evening, Rosmerta. You look lovely, even in this weather.”

She huffed a laugh, placing a hand on her hip. “Charming as ever, Mr. Black. What’ll it be?”

“Hmm.” Sirius tilted his head, tongue caught between his teeth as he pretended to think, eyes still on her. “Couple of butterbeers… maybe a round of firewhisky if you’ll deliver it personally–”

“Just the butterbeers,” Remus cut in, voice sharper than he meant. Stupid . “...and three more for the girls.”

“...please,” he added through gritted teeth. 

Sirius blinked, grin faltering into something crooked, almost surprised. “Bit quick on the draw there, Moony.”

Remus cleared his throat, heat crawling up his neck. “Yeah, well, some of us are thirsty, not hopeless.” 

James snorted into his sleeve; Peter wheezed out a laugh. 

Rosmerta chuckled, quill scratching. “Seven butterbeers it is. And don’t think I didn’t hear the firewhisky bit, Mr. Black.”

Sirius shot her a grin that was all teeth. “One day, Rosmerta, you’ll say yes.”

As Rosmerta shuffled back to the bar to fetch them their drinks, Sirius turned toward him and raised an eyebrow, grin crooked. “Jealous, Moony?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Remus shot back, heat crawling up his neck.

James barked a laugh; Peter rolled his eyes.

Rosmerta came back, balancing four foaming mugs on a battered wooden tray.

“All right, loves, careful — they’re hot,” she warned, setting them down in the middle of the table.

“Cheers!” Peter grinned, already reaching.

James stretched over Peter’s arm to grab his, nearly tipping one. “Watch it, Prongs,” Peter laughed, steadying the mug before it spilled.

“Oi, pass us that one,” Sirius drawled, leaning closer to Remus.

“Get your own, Black,” Remus shot back, but he nudged a mug toward him anyway, thumb brushing Sirius’ knuckles on purpose– or maybe not on purpose at all.

Sirius caught the touch, grin curling, but didn’t say a word.

The door banged open, wet air gusting in, and Lily, Marlene, and Mary squeezed through — cheeks flushed from the cold, hair a little damp around the edges. The wolf pricked its ears, caught the faint amber note in Marlene’s scent, cherry undercut with something sweeter. That was new. He thought offhandedly. 

To be honest, Remus barely noticed it because next to him, Sirius was licking foam off the side of his glass, tongue slow, mouth curling in concentration. And that’s just. Well, that’s just unfair. He swears he doesn't remember him being so blatantly… blatantly… Irritating. Sexual. It’s distracting. 

Stupid. Stop staring. Fuck.

“Merlin, it’s vile out there,” Lily huffed, shoving her fringe off her forehead.

“You lot look half drowned,” James teased, grinning widely.

“And you look half feral as always, Potter,” Marlene shot back, eyebrow arched, cloak dripping onto the floor. 

“Only half?” James quipped, nudging Peter, who snorted into his mug.

Mary dropped onto the bench across Remus, rolling her shoulders. “Rosmerta about yet? I’d kill for something hot.” 

“She’ll be back in a tick,” Sirius said, leaning back so casually it looked practised. “Moony here’s already ordered like the responsible old man he is.” 

Remus shot him a look, heat prickling under his collar. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Oh, I am,” Sirius said, mouth curling. “Deeply.” 

Lily planted her elbows on the table, looking between them. “Anyway, what’d we miss?” 

“He tried to get firewhisky,” Peter put in, voice halfway between amused and exasperated.

“I would’ve shared,” Sirius protested, hand pressed to his chest in mock injury.

“With who?” Marlene asked, voice dry as bone. “Rosmerta?”

Sirius barked a laugh, head tipping back. 

Remus caught the soft spike in Sirius’s scent: laughter edged with faint embarrassment, a quick flash of sweetness.

Mary, half‑smiling, flicked foam off her sleeve. “You’re all hopeless.”

“And you love us for it,” James shot back.

Mary rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree.

Sirius licked his bottom lip and shifted closer to the wall, grumbling, “It’s bloody boiling over here.”

James leaned forward across the table, half over Peter’s shoulder, and lightly curled his hand around the back of Sirius’ neck. “It’s your fault for sitting under the heater. You’re going pink, mate. That heater’s roasting you.” 

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “I like the heat.”

“Yeah, well,” James huffed, hand still there, “don’t come crying to me when your neck blisters , you drama queen.”

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes, but didn’t move away.

Remus watched the whole thing, jaw tight, something sour coiling in his chest. He felt a flash of irritation, hot and sharp. The wolf under his ribs snarled, low and possessive. Almost before he knew what he was doing, reached out and swapped James’ hand for his own, thumb brushing circles into warm skin. 

Sirius stiffened a fraction, heartbeat spiking, scent thick with surprise– then softened, leaning back into it like it was nothing. 

He avoids James’s amused expression, ears burning red as he mumbles something about being closer.

Marlene caught Remus’ eye across the table, eyes narrowed, mouth twitching like she wanted to laugh. 

Heat flushed up Remus’ neck; he looked away but didn’t move his hand.

Sirius stayed Sirius: loud, quick, reckless grin flashing at every half‑joke. He knocked shoulders with James, teased Peter until his face went blotchy, and flirted with Rosmerta until Lily threw a crumpled piece of parchment at his head. 

All the while, Remus kept his hand at the nape of Sirius’ neck, thumb resting just where sweat gathered under soft hair.
Possessive in a way that felt almost euphoric. 

Wolf purred, deeply pleased: Ours, ours, ours. 

Outside, rain had turned to fine mist again, the street lamps leaking soft gold over wet cobbles. Their breath came in white curls as they walked back up the road to the castle.

Remus hung back half a step, watched Sirius tip his head back and grin at something James said, cloak swinging around his boots.
Wanted to reach out, pull him closer, press his face into his hair, and just breathe . 

At the castle gates, Sirius glanced back, eyes catching Remus’s just for a second. “You coming, Moony?” 

“Yeah,” Remus croaked, voice low, too rough.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, grin twitching, but said nothing. 

And Remus fell into step beside him — wolf under his ribs curling tight with want, fear, and something dangerously close to hope.

Chapter 5

Summary:

This. Was. so awkward to write

Another full moon creeping closer, days tight with that restless itch under Remus’ skin.

Senses running hot, burning: ink and smoke and parchment, the sour tang of candle stubs.

Everything feels louder, closer. Raw.

Fire burned low, throwing coppery shadows across threadbare rugs. Sirius sprawled on the couch, arms stretched over the back, one knee hooked over the armrest like he owned the bloody place.

Remus dropped into the seat beside him, closer than he should. Knees almost brushing.

Wolf under his ribs pricked its ears, leaning toward the heat, the soft living pack‑scent that curled around Sirius like smoke and salt‑sweat.

Sirius laughed at something James had said earlier, head tipping back, throat long and bare. His scent –sharp pine, warmth, the faint bitter edge of leftover adrenaline– sweetened with delight.

Remus’s hand twitched on the cushion, dragging a little closer, almost grazing Sirius’s wrist. Touch him. Just touch him.

Panic punched through him, stupid and hot.

He jerked back so fast his elbow knocked over the open ink bottle on the table behind.

The bottle clattered to the floor, a dark stain blooming across the rug.

Sirius jerked upright, eyebrows knitting together, voice sharp: “What the hell, Moony?”

Remus’ chest felt tight enough to splinter. “Nothing,” he said, voice raw, face burning so hot it hurt. “Sorry. Just– nothing.”

Sirius’ stare held for a beat too long, grey eyes narrowed, scent edged sharp with annoyance and something else underneath– a quick, startled spike of confusion.

Remus bent to grab the bottle, muttering again, “Sorry.”

His hands were trembling.

 

* * * 

 

His scent clung to Remus’ tongue, as thick and sweet as honey. It kept him up all night.

You’re pathetic, he thought, disgust burning hot up the back of his neck. Seventeen and raw, bones aching, wanting like an animal. 

Fuck.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tight, nails biting half‑moons into his palms. 

His wolf whined, restless, greedy: closer. closer. ours.

Remus swallowed hard, throat dry, rolling onto his back. Stared at the canopy, breath hitching shallowly.

He could almost see it: Sirius’s lazy grin turned softer, head tipping to the side, hair falling into his eyes. The way his scent might twist sweet and sharp with surprise, all heat and skin and salt, if Remus ever dared. 

His cock stirred, humiliating and hot under the sheets, and that only made the wanting sharper. He knows this is a bad idea, a really, really fucking bad idea, but honestly, it’s too close to the moon and everything’s a little sharper, his feelings, his desires, all a little brighter. Resolutely refusing to think about what exactly he was doing, Remus cast a quick silencing charm around his bed. Then he turned onto his side, hand wrapping around his dick, breath catching at the sensation. 

He bucked down into his palm, movement rough and graceless, a hiss slipping through clenched teeth. 

Usually, he had no trouble keeping himself in check for this sort of thing –but tonight, heat burned hot and stupid under his skin, canines lengthening into fangs, claws snagging at the blankets as his hand worked faster.

His mind spun out a hundred humiliating images: Sirius blinking awake, sleepy and confused; Sirius’ heartbeat stuttering fast under Remus’ palm. Sirius’ mouth parting to say his name– Moony – voice rough from sleep. Sirius’s eyes, Sirius’s lips, his neck . 

His breath rasped out harsh against the pillow, heartbeat hammering in his ears. 

He fisted himself even harder, rough strokes that had no rhythm at all, hips jerking into his hand like something starved. The wolf under his skin pressed up close, claws digging into his chest from the inside, wanting more, closer, hot teeth at his own lip until he tasted blood. 

Holy shit.

Then –fuck– he caught it. Barely there, clinging faintly on his sleeve: Sirius. Rain‑damp hair, sharp‑sweet soap, the living warmth of sweat and leather and boy.

It was like someone had punched the breath out of him.

A hoarse sound tore out of his throat; canines lengthened, claws snagged into the blankets, hips jerking hard into his palm. The wolf snarled, hot and mindless: ours ours ours.

Remus cursed under his breath, voice breaking at the end. His wrist burned, muscles tight as a bowstring, slick heat building sharp and furious in his belly. 

He came quick and messy, knuckles going white around the sheets, spine arching so hard it almost hurt– breath punched out of him in a hoarse, bitten‑off sound that barely even shaped itself into Sirius’ name.

For a second, everything went white at the edges.

Then the comedown: heartbeat still racing, skin hot, sweat damp at his collar. Overwhelming shame and contempt flooded in thick and sour, chased by the wolf’s restless thrum that didn’t quite fade. 

Remus turned his face into the pillow, shaking, teeth gritted. 

Get a fucking grip, Lupin. 

 

* * * 

 

The following afternoon, Sirius cornered him between classes, hand braced against the stone wall, blocking his way.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you lately?” he demanded, voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry.

Remus forced a laugh that sounded cracked. “Nothing.”

“Bollocks,” Sirius snapped, mouth twitching with frustration. “You’ve been jumpy for days. You nearly took my hand off last night.”

Remus’s throat locked. He couldn’t look at him– just couldn’t . Not after last night.

Sirius shifted closer, eyes narrowing, scent spiking sharp and hot. 

Remus swallowed, shame curdling low in his stomach. “It’s nothing, Pads,” he mumbled. “Just… the moon. I’m fine.”

Sirius scoffed, voice cutting, “Don’t lie .”

Remus almost confessed right then– throat open, words burning at the back of his tongue . 

But the embarrassment won. The raw, hungry, humiliating want twisted so hard it felt like drowning.

“Drop it, Black,” he growled, pushing past.

Sirius let him go– but not without one last glance, eyes dark, mouth set.

Not gentle. Not soft. But alive, brash, stubborn, biting back with all the teeth Remus secretly loved him for.

***

The corridor was empty by the time Remus made it out.

Cold stone walls smelled of damp mortar and candle wax; somewhere down the stairwell, wet cloaks steamed by the hearth.

His pulse was still thrumming, ears ringing with Sirius’ voice: “What’s wrong with you lately?”

Up in the dorm, he slammed the door a little too hard, the echo cracking sharp against the beams.

Peter’s bed was empty; James’s too. Somewhere, laughter drifted up from the common room.

Remus dropped onto his mattress, cloak pooling at his feet, chest still tight enough to bruise.

For a minute, he just sat, breathing — shallow, ragged, eyes stinging.

What’s wrong with you lately?
Everything. Nothing. Fuck.

It wasn’t new, the wanting. But the moon made it worse, rawer.

Smells felt like claws scraping inside his head: Sirius’ sweat‑damp collar, rain caught in his hair, heartbeat quickening when he laughed.

Remus’ own pulse kicked at the memory; breath hitched, wolf under his skin snarling. 

He thought of Sirius’ face in the corridor — mouth set, eyes hard, scent spiked hot with irritation and something sharper underneath.

His gut twisted, guilt settling like lead. He’d snapped. Flinched. Lied. Again.

And Sirius had felt it, probably. Definitely.

He’ll figure it out.

The wolf didn’t sound afraid of that. It sounded hopeful.

Remus’ heart slammed against his ribs.
He couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let Sirius see just how deep the want ran. 

Everything smelled.

The dorm reeked of James’ wet Quidditch gear, Peter’s sugar stash hidden under his trunk, the old damp stone behind the plaster.

But underneath all of it — like a ghost — Sirius. Salt-skin and pine, sharp shampoo and that warm electric tang when he laughed. It clung to Remus’ jumper sleeves. He’d never noticed that before. Liar. He’d always noticed.

He dragged the collar of his shirt to his nose, breathed in — then dropped it, shame surging so sharp it made him flinch.

You’re sick.

He’d always known he was different — the monster in the woods, the thing they’d lock up every full moon so he wouldn’t tear their throats out.

But this was new. The way the wolf wanted was new.

Not just the hunger for flesh and bone and blood — that he understood. That was simple. But this?

The need to press in, nose to throat, mouth to shoulder, mark him warm and alive and theirs?

He scrubbed a hand over his face. His palm smelled like ink and parchment and a faint ghost of pine where he’d almost grabbed Sirius’s wrist.

He braced his elbows on his knees, bent forward until his forehead pressed to the heels of his hands.

Hair fell across his face, sweat‑damp at the temples.

Remus swallowed down bile.

“No,” he rasped, voice cracking. “No, no, no.”

Even alone, the dorm felt too crowded.
His skin itched with the memory of Sirius’ nearness; his heartbeat fluttering every time he remembered the way Sirius had looked at him — sharp‑eyed, annoyed, stubbornly alive.

Shame burned hot under his skin, so strong it made his eyes water.

Almost eighteen. Almost grown. Should’ve had better control by now.

Instead, he wanted so badly it felt like drowning: to lean in, to press his face into Sirius’s neck, mouth at his pulse; to scent‑mark him until everyone else smelled it, until Sirius smelled it, too.

Ugly, he thought. Feral. Wrong.

The wolf only purred, pleased with the thought. Ours. Closer.

Remus dragged in a breath that shook all the way to his ribs.

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice raw, half‑cracked. “I can’t.”

The walls didn’t answer. Neither did the wolf.

But the wanting didn’t fade.

It sat heavy in his chest, molten and hungry, curled around his ribs like a secret he couldn’t spit out.

Outside, dusk pressed soft against the tower windows. The castle murmured with footsteps, laughter, and doors opening and closing.

Normal sounds. Normal life.

Remus Lupin, prefect, scholar, the polite boy with his quills lined up straight.

The liar. The thing with too many teeth under his skin.

In three nights, he’d run in the dark on four legs and forget what it meant to want like this.

At least for a few hours.

 

But for now:

He’d sit here.

He’d breathe through the wolf’s pacing.

And he’d pretend he could keep it chained. 

Chapter 6

Summary:

Finished !!! sorry for the long. LONG. wait. it was hard to make things sound cohesive and not like theyre just like?? randomly teleporting across the place?? i guess.

OH and fair warning this chapters lile freak centeral so !! yes.

Sirius slammed the dorm door open like he owned it.
His cloak was still half‑on, his rain‑damp hair curled stubbornly at his cheekbones. Blazing grey eyes already narrowed, he stormed over to Remus before hesitating and then halting a few feet away.

“Alright. You’ve been a right miserable bastard for a week. What did I do?”

Remus felt his jaw clench. Wolf, under his ribs, stirred, restless. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t give me that,” Sirius bit out, stepping closer. “You barely talk to me, you flinch every time I’m near. If it’s not me, then what?”

Remus’ head shot up then, breath coming fast, heat prickling behind his ears.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” he said, voice low and sharp. 

“Enlighten me,” Sirius shot back, eyes narrowed, shoulders stiff.

Remus’ throat burned. “I can’t be around you, Sirius. You’re—”

“I’m what ?” Sirius demanded, stepping even closer, almost toe‑to‑toe now.

“You’re fucking everywhere,” Remus snapped. “You laugh, you look at me, and it’s like my head goes sideways. I can’t breathe.”

“For fuck’s sake, Moony,” Sirius snapped. “Are you done yet?” 

“Done with what, Black?” he muttered, voice now bone‑tired and brittle. “Your dramatics?”

Sirius stalked closer, boots thudding on the stone floor.
“No — with this bloody sulking routine,” he bit out, voice sharp as cracked glass. “You’ve been in a mood for days, and I’m tired of it.”

Remus felt the wolf under his ribs pace, baring phantom teeth. His own mouth twisted into something thin and mean.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he bristled, looking up now, chin tipped sharply. “Did me not falling over myself to laugh at your jokes wound your delicate sensibilities?”

Sirius’ eyes flashed, pupils gone dark. “Fuck you, Lupin,” he snarled, stepping in so close Remus could feel heat rolling off him.

“Funny,” Remus shot back, pulse kicking so hard it made him dizzy, “that’s exactly the problem.” 

Sirius’ breath caught — chest stuttering, heartbeat jumping so loud Remus swore he heard it, felt it under his own skin.
For half a second, neither of them spoke. 

“And that’s my fault?” Sirius’ voice cracked, rough with something like disbelief. “Christ, Moony, you think this is easy for me? You think I haven’t noticed? You think I don’t—”

“Don’t what?” Remus barked, voice gone raw. “Don’t want me? Don’t think about it?”

Sirius scoffed, the sound brittle, and laughed. “Fuck you, of course I do!”

Remus blinked, mouth open, wolf clawing so loud under his ribs it was dizzying. “You — what?”

“For years,” Sirius spat, voice shaking, eyes dark. “You idiot.”

Silence cracked between them, both breathing hard.

“You’re such a prick, you know that?” Sirius rasped, voice low and rough. “Christ, I’ve been — I’ve been waiting for you to do something . Anything. And you just—”

“And you couldn’t?” Remus threw back, voice cracking like dry twigs. “You couldn’t say something first?”

Sirius laughed. “You think I haven’t tried? You think I don’t see the way you look at me — and then look away like it burns?”

“It does burn!” Remus nearly shouted, voice breaking with bewildered laughter around it. “It fucking kills me, Sirius.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius snarled, half‑furious, half‑elated, and surged forward — grabbed Remus’ jumper in both fists and kissed him .

It wasn’t gentle. It was heat and teeth and pent‑up months cracking wide open.

Remus made a strangled sound, hands scrabbling for Sirius’s waist, pulling him in so close it hurt.

Heat curled low and uninvited in the pit of his stomach, his heart pounding wildly in his ears. The wolf under his ribs surged, claws dragging along his palms, teeth flashing just under his lips. Eyes sharpened, colors bleeding into too‑bright, not-quite-human detail. 

Sirius kissed like he fought: reckless, sharp, alive, with a soft, desperate sound buried somewhere in his chest that made Remus want to burn the world down. 

They pulled apart, breathless, foreheads bumping.

“You’re such an idiot,” Sirius whispered, voice shaking with relief and something rawer.

“You too,” Remus rasped, half‑laugh, half‑sob. 

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, crooked grin flickering at the corner of his mouth. “But you’re mine, right?”

Remus swallowed. “Yeah,” he managed, voice wrecked. “Yeah, I’m yours.”

And that was it.

***

The moment he inhaled again, his senses screamed. 

This close, he could taste Sirius on the air — sweat and heat, the faint iron tang of blood under skin, and something intoxicatingly untamed. It made his chest ache and his jaw clench. The pull was almost painful, magnetic, and he let it take him, letting the wolf stretch and coil beneath his ribs, pressing him forward, sharpening, hungry.

"Moony." 

It's part plea and part something else Remus can't name, but whatever it is, it makes his heart beat a little faster. Remus leans in closer to Sirius, his eyes ghosting over his eyes, the slope of his nose. Sirius’s scent goes sharp, and Remus, with a start, realizes that he’s aroused. 

He growls and pulls him closer, leaning in to take a deep breath where he knows sweat always gathers. The familiar smell of smoke and pine and forest whips through him. 

Sirius flushes bright red and slightly pulls back.

”Right— okay—“

Dazed and more than slightly scent-drunk, Remus follows through a haze of pine before crowding Sirius's body back into his bed and stuffing his face into the curve of his neck and shoulder before taking another deep sniff. 

He can't think about anything else — can't see anything else. Every inhale is distinctly Sirius, sweat slick skin and sex-heavy air, and the sharp tang of pre-come threaded through something hot and reckless and alive. Every breath tastes like them. 

Remus can vaguely sense that his body's all over him, hips rolling sharp and needy.

“Overwhelming” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Fuck, Moony,” Sirius hisses, voice frayed. “Stop daydreaming.”

That makes Remus laugh — low and wrecked. “Pushy.”

They kiss for what could be minutes or hours — Remus loses track.

Bodies shift and press, heat bleeding through clothes, Sirius rolling against him like he’s trying to get closer under the skin.

Every inhale drags in Sirius’s scent, thick and heady — warm skin, sweat, that sharp-sweet note that he now knows means want. It floods Remus’ mouth, sits heavy in his throat until he can taste it.

The wolf hums, greedy, and he’s halfway to letting it run things when Sirius’ groans get higher, tighter, sparking hot in Remus’ spine. He pulls back, blinking, and— oh.

Both his hands are clamped tight around Sirius’ wrists, pinning them down in his lap. He can feel the flex and pull of muscle beneath his grip, the way Sirius’ pulse jumps under his thumbs.

“Fuck—” He jerks his hands back like they’re burning. “Sorry. I—” He hadn’t even known he was doing it. Just lost in the need to kiss, to press, to claim. Maybe bite.

“It’s fine.”

But it doesn’t sound fine. Sirius’ voice is rough, almost hoarse, eyes shutting as his hands curl into fists where they’d been pinned. “Just— keep going.”

Oh.
Oh, fuck.

He likes it.

A part of him wants to take a moment to tease, but shit, Sirius's pants are slung way low on his hips, and there's precome already staining his briefs over the bulge of his dick.

Sirius is looking up at him through his eyelashes with red, swollen lips, and his scent is getting deeper and hotter. His vision sharpens; the rest of the room dims. Every instinct tells him to lunge, to taste, to ruin.

He’s on him again before Sirius can draw another breath, wrists caught and pressed hard to the wall, mouth stealing the taste back. Sirius pushes — testing his strength, pressing against the hold like he’s savoring it.

The wolf practically purrs.

He can’t keep the restraint forever, not with Sirius groaning into his mouth like that, not with those sharp hips driving up. His hands twitch, and before he knows it, they’ve slid up Sirius’ arms, gripped his waist. Sirius hisses out a breath before slotting a thigh between his legs, and Remus holds him there, the wolf thrilled, possessive, ecstatic with the scent of him. 

Remus’s nose is at Sirius’s throat, breathing him in like he could fuse the smell straight into his own. Heat and salt and something sweet under the skin — it isn’t enough. The wolf under his ribs wants everything, wants to get past skin entirely, sink in until scent and taste and touch meld into one. 

Sweat beads in the dip of Sirius’s neck, trapped under the collar of his shirt, infuriatingly close enough to smell but not to taste. Remus’s growl vibrates low in his chest before he can stop it.

Then he’s moving — yanking them both upright, hands fisting in Sirius's shirt until the seams give with a sharp, stuttering rip.

Sirius’s breath catches, startled, but Remus’s already pulling it off, the frustration spiking sharp and hot. His own shirt is faster to go, and he eagerly presses forward into him.

Now there’s nothing between them — just bare, flushed skin and the hard drum of Sirius’s heartbeat, chest rising fast like he’s been running. 

And Merlin, Remus wants to chase that pulse until he’s dizzy. 

Maybe it’s the slide of bare skin, maybe it’s just been building too long — but suddenly the pull in Remus’s gut snaps tight. Urgent. Hungry. He’s on Sirius before he thinks, one hand clamped at the back of his neck, the other spread between his shoulder blades, pinning him flat.

The press of Remus’s weight arches Sirius’s back, hips lifting, and Remus grinds into the hot curve without meaning to hold back. Heat flares white and wild under his skin — the wolf wants to tear, to take, to keep. Wants to press scent and come and teeth into every inch until even Sirius couldn’t smell anything else. 

"Moony— Moony. Let me—" Twisting around, Sirius fumbles a bit with the waistband of his boxers before wrapping his long, lithe fingers around them both, and Remus can’t help staring — Sirius leaking all over his cock, precome smearing hot between them with every grind of their hips. His breath comes short, a curse muttered under it, while his free hand slides down Remus’s side. 

“Fuck,” Sirius mutters, forehead pressing hard into his chest. Remus's teeth find skin over Sirius’s neck, a nip just shy of bruising. “I’m— shit.”

Remus growls and catches Sirius’s hand, wraps his own around Sirius's fingers, and works them both together. The wolf in him paces and pushes, chasing that building burn, every muscle tight with it.

Sirius freezes first, a stuttered, strangled sound tearing out of him — maybe a word, maybe just instinct — before he’s spilling hot over both their stomachs. The scent of it, sharp and intimate, rips through Remus’s control.

He keeps moving, fist sliding over both of them, his focus narrowing to his own release.

“I—” Sirius breathes into Remus’s chest, mouth open and scent curling hot against his skin. His voice is low, frayed. “...sensitive.” 

Somehow they’ve shifted again, Sirius loose and pliant under him, half sunk into the mattress.

It’s too much. Remus’s body shudders, hips jerking forward hard as the edge crests. Slick heat spills across Sirius’s skin in thick lines, marking him. Remus groans low, satisfaction curling deep in his chest as he keeps moving, chasing the friction until he’s spent and shaking.

It’s Sirius’s voice that pulls him back — low, breathless, gentle, saying his name over and over until Remus stills, panting. 

When he looks down, the sight drags another pleased rumble out of him: Sirius covered in him, streaks catching the light as they slide over flushed skin. Remus’s chest feels too tight. Without thinking, he’s crouching lower, palms rough and warm as he presses into the mess, rubbing it over Sirius’s skin, working it in until their scent is thick and heavy and right. 

Sirius lets out a breathless laugh. 

"…freak.” 

For a moment after, they just lay there — foreheads pressed together, breath loud in the small dorm.

Sirius looks like he’s been lit from the inside out. His hair is mussed, fanning out on the pillow in dark, heavy strands that catch the light and stick slightly to his damp forehead. Cheeks flushed, lips still swollen from the frantic press of theirs, eyes glinting with something sharp and wild, teasing and dangerous all at once.

Even the way he leans back, just enough to catch his breath, is magnetic—brimming with careless confidence that masks a pulse of vulnerability he can’t quite hide. He smells of them, sun, sweat, and a sweetness that makes Remus’ chest ache.

Every subtle twitch, the tilt of a jaw, the curl of a finger, seems to pulse in sync with the unspoken promise between them. Sirius is reckless, feral, utterly alive—and breathtaking. 

Remus could feel Sirius’ heartbeat, wild and stuttering under his ribs, smell the heat and salt‑sweat, the sharp edge of adrenaline slowly softening into something achingly warm.

The wolf under his skin finally curled down, quiet, sated for the first time in weeks.

Months. 

...years. 

Remus’ chest felt bruised with relief.

“You know,” Sirius rasped, voice still rough around the edges, “that was really fucking stupid.”

Remus huffed, breath catching on a crooked laugh. “Yeah, okay. Just shut up.”

Sirius leaned back just enough to look at him, hair falling into his eyes, grin quick and sharp and so familiar.

“I mean, genuinely idiotic,” he went on, teasing lilt creeping back. “We could’ve done that ages ago if you weren’t so bloody—”

“Careful what you say next,” Remus warned, voice low but already cracking on a laugh.

Sirius raised both brows, smug as anything. “—if you weren’t so bloody broody .”

Remus made a strangled sound, half‑indignant, half‑amused, and shoved at his shoulder. “Prick.”

“Yeah?” Sirius shot back, hand catching Remus’ wrist, pulling him right back in, mouths brushing close enough to steal breath. “Yours, though.”

And god help him, that worked .
Remus’ stomach twisted sharp and hot, heat climbing his neck so fast it almost hurt.

He ducked his head, pressed his mouth to the corner of Sirius’ jaw instead of answering, breathing him in — pine‑sharp, rain‑damp, still sparking sweet with want.

Sirius’ breath stuttered, fingers tightening at Remus’ waist.

They stayed like that, huddled stupidly close, laughter fading into quiet.
Remus could feel his own pulse hammering, but it didn’t feel like panic anymore.
Just alive .

“You’re shaking,” Sirius murmured, voice low, thumb brushing clumsy circles at Remus’ hip.

“So are you,” Remus shot back, softer than he meant.

Sirius’ grin flickered, crooked, half‑nervous, half‑cocky. Blindingly beautiful. “Fuck off,” he muttered, but didn’t move away.

Remus swallowed, voice catching. “No, really. Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Sirius cut in, quick and defensive, but his scent spiked sharp again: relief tangled with fear, with want.

He added, quieter, “Just — bloody took you long enough, that’s all.”

Remus pressed his forehead to Sirius’, exhaling slow.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

Ours, the wolf murmured, content.

And for once, Remus didn’t tell it to shut up.

Notes:

IM DONE !!!! IMM DONNNEEE yippeee wait this was fire. I feel like this is. this is good. I liked this one? i think.

Notes:

LMK what u think !! should their scents be different?? do u think they were spot on??
(and yea marlene smelling like cherries was totally from a tcoptp thing)