It Comes to This

It Comes To This

When everything's made to be broken,

I just want you to know who I am...

The Firewhisky bottle was already half-empty when Remus returned to Grimmauld Place from his latest Order mission. This particular one with the Gringotts goblins had lasted three weeks too long and didn't glean nearly enough for the effort; he felt the dejected weariness right down to his bones. And the night was bloody cold for early October. His hands were numb through his hide gloves. But as depressing as Twelve Grimmauld Place was, he thought, looking up at the forbidding door from the bottom of the step, at least it represented shelter. And company. And warmth. Of a sort. Exhausted, aching because of the full moon rising tomorrow night, and full of a nagging trepidation about what was coming, he let himself in the front door and headed directly for the basement kitchen.

Sirius sat in half-shadow at the head of the long wooden table, with only the amber liquid fire in the bottle and his pale gaunt face illuminated by dim lamplight. The real fire in the hearth had reduced to glowing red embers. An empty shot glass sat in front of him. His face was expressionless, and Remus' heart sank. This won't be easy. But Sirius quickly schooled his features to something more pleasant when he saw Remus standing in the doorway, and Remus played along.

"Already well pissed, are we?" Remus commented drily, by way of greeting.

"Never well enough, Moony. This place doesn't look like Buckingham Palace yet."

"Hmmh." Remus shucked his traveling cloak and gloves then wearily pulled up a chair beside Sirius, and summoned a clean glass, and poured a hefty shot. "I'd settle for Hogwarts." He downed the shot and pulled a face as the heat seared his gullet, then poured a second shot for himself and filled up Sirius' empty glass.

"So how did the meetings go?" Sirius mumbled.

"The usual. 'What's in it for us if we join you against Voldemort and why should we join you anyway?' I have no idea why Dumbledore insists I beat my head against this brick wall. The goblins will not budge until we have something more concrete to offer. It's that simple but he hasn't yet authorized anything we can give them as an incentive." He sighed, a little more frustrated than he'd intended.

Sirius simply nodded in agreement and raised his glass. "To spectacular, resounding failure," he pronounced with a flourish.

"Cheers!" Remus replied heartily. They clinked glasses and downed them at once. Remus poured a third set of shots.

"Since when do you get sloshed like this?" Sirius commented, half-interestedly.

"I don't usually. But seeing as you're more than halfway there--"

"Thank you, old chap."

"--the least I could do is try to catch up."

"You could try. I, however, am a professional imbiber, whereas you, dear Moony, will never be but an amateur." Sirius slammed the third shot down his throat. And poured a fourth. Remus shook his head.

"You, Padfoot, need something else to occupy your mind. You need a hobby."

Sirius made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. "You mean getting rat-arsed drunk on Firewhisky doesn't count?"

It was remarkable, Remus thought, that after so much alcohol Sirius was not yet slurring his words.

"You could take up knitting, Padfoot. They say men are very good at it."

"Yeah, I could join Hermione in SPEW and set all the world's house-elves free with her perky cherry hats." His fingers jabbed through the air like phantom needles. "Though I suppose I could knit Kreacher a noose. Now there's a just and worthy cause." He raised his glass but did not drink. Frustrated, he set it back down.

Remus snorted. He studied his glass then set it down as well, with a quiet finality. He folded his hands on the table, staring at them.

Meanwhile, Sirius surreptitiously studied Remus. Watching Remus could count as a hobby, he supposed. Or an obsession. He studied him covertly of course, so as not to embarrass the other man unduly. And only when he could, as Remus had been away from him far too much, for far too long. But he'd studied him, off and on, for almost twenty-five years. Remus for example had a fascinating habit of talking with his hands. His hands punctuated things he would never allow to escape in words with long graceful flutters. His hands were rarely silent--even while holding a book, a quill, a mug, they told a story. Tonight they trembled slightly, faintly drumming on the table.

When Remus looked up, he saw Sirius watching him intently. As if staring at a train wreck, unable to wrench his gaze away, and looking surprisingly sober. But isn't that what we are, Remus mused, the walking wounded, of and at our own hand? Sirius did not tear his eyes away from Remus even when he was caught, but rather maintained his steady gaze.

Remus had already decided what he was going to do, had already accepted it had to be done, that in reality there was no other choice because in the end it was what he wanted to do. It was something he hadn't considered up to now; but loneliness makes us do strange things, and when it came to it, they both needed more than what their current friendship--deep as it was--could give. And because of what they were, there was no one else who could offer them what they needed. He could accept that.

But still he wanted to run, even while he wanted to lay his head in Sirius' lap. He wanted to hex Sirius to oblivion for bringing him to this point even while begging for his touch. Above all he wanted to feel--he flushed and bit his lip.

Damn but alcohol could lubricate anything.

Remus didn't dare move from his chair.

But this had to be settled between them.

After almost four weeks it was now as big as the proverbial Hippogriff rampaging through the china shop. Which wasn't entirely an ironic phrase, given Buckbeak's residence in the master bedroom. But the scent of it was just as pervasive. It hung like a heavy veil between them, thick and close.

"Padfoot, about what happened..." he began slowly.

Sirius hunched his thin shoulders, a defiant small boy's gesture, and finally averted his gaze from Remus. "What about it?" he growled. He stared at his glass as if he could crawl into it and disappear.

"We need to address it, Padfoot."

"Don't go there, Moony," he said, shaking his head and almost pleading. "Just. Don't."

I don't want to accept it.

But they did anyway. Each man in his own thoughts.

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It happened nearly four weeks ago, a couple of nights after the previous full moon and not long after the children had returned to Hogwarts, the same September night Sirius had first talked to Harry in the fire.

To say the talk hadn't gone well, was an understatement. Sirius had proposed meeting Harry in Hogsmeade as Padfoot. Harry had turned him down. So Sirius had cut the conversation short. Afterwards, sullen, he brooded in the armchair he'd pulled into the dank basement kitchen.

About three in the morning, just as he was breaking out the Firewhisky, Remus limped painfully into the kitchen, still sore and sleepless and unsettled from the full moon.

"Whatever that is, pour me some," he commented unreservedly, wincing as he sank into one of the hard wooden chairs at the table.

Sirius shrugged non-commitally, summoned two shot glasses and filled them to the brim. He proffered one to Remus and tossed back his shot at once. Then two more, in quick succession. Remus sipped at his drink and watched him warily. Sirius drank a lot these days, too much in fact--he could only thank God Harry wasn't around to see it. Sirius poured a fourth shot, stared at it glumly then pushed it away.

"What happened, Sirius?" Remus kept his voice deliberately calm and even.

"Talked to Harry," came the curt reply.

"How...?"

"Fire. Floo powder."

Remus shook his head but said nothing. What was the point in agitating him further?

"I miss that boy, Moony." Remus' heart ached at the plaintive catch in Sirius' voice. "I miss him. He's...he's the only thing that keeps me sane in this godforsaken hellhole. And he's not here."

Remus listened carefully.

Sirius laughed bitterly, a short bark. "Y'know I thought when I was sixteen that I'd escaped this sodding house for good? Lived with James, you and Peter at Hogwarts, I had life by the proverbial balls and I wasn't going to let go. Where did all that get me? Right back where I started, goddamn it. Back with that miserable little toerag Kreacher, with my hag of a mum, all the rotting family ghosts. Y'know sometimes I think they personally conjure the Dementors, become them after death?" He rose, grabbed his glass again and raised it mockingly. "A toast now, to the heir of the 'most noble and ancient house of Black'. Who's now too fucking impotent to get to Hogsmeade to see his godson. Because he trusted that goddamned rat."

But instead of drinking he flung the glass at the hearth where it shattered on the stone. The embers flared up, fueled by the alcohol. The shards glinted like tears in moonlight.

Remus stood up abruptly but otherwise did not move towards him.

Sirius took a generous swig directly from the bottle. "You know what else, Moony? I wanted him to lose his trial. Lose. His. Trial. Get booted from Hogwarts. What the hell kind of godfather wants to see his godson kicked out of school?" His voice softened terribly. "But he'd be here then, y'know? Here, with me? And I thought we could be together, me and James again."

At that Remus spoke, softly, calmly, though inside he was anything but. "Padfoot. He's not James." He reached out a placating hand.

"I know that now." The emptiness in his voice echoed round the kitchen. Then he raised his glass with another short bitter laugh. "Another toast! To Harry James Potter, The-Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived! Who doesn't give a rat's arse who died for him, let alone why!" He pulled the bottle back, ready to hurl it at the fireplace.

In one fluid motion Remus stepped in front of him, stilled Sirius' hand, wrenched the bottle from his grasp and set it down on the table out of his reach. Then he grabbed both his wrists and forced Sirius to look at him.

"That was horribly unfair to say, Padfoot," Remus began, but the words died on his lips as he gazed into Sirius' dull grey eyes.

The depth of loneliness and longing there almost overwhelmed him.

But almost immediately, Sirius' eyes glazed over, rapidly sinking out of his reach.

Remus knew the place--so deep within that nothing would come back again.

So, terrified, Remus tried to pull him back. "Padfoot. Padfoot. PADFOOT." He let go of one hand and shook his shoulder forcefully.

The man's pale eyes suddenly turned feral and he snarled at Remus.

Then Sirius broke completely out of his grasp and glared at him, body tensing to attack.

I dare you.

Despite his utter exhaustion, Remus felt the red haze of the wolf rise in response to that challenging stare.

They stood locked in the suspended moment, ready to strike--

Waiting for the other to make a move.

Sirius' finger flexed.

Remus reached for his wand. "Petrifi..." he started.

Only Sirius struck first, rendering all Remus' defenses null.

In retrospect it should have been a hex, or a curse. Or a punch.

Then again, maybe it was.

For in that instant, Sirius leaned in and kissed Remus on the lips, long and full and hard.

A minute, a lifetime later, they both drew back, stunned and not even daring to breathe.

"S...Sirius, I..." Remus stammered, embarrassed.

Not like this.

But before he could say anything else, Sirius closed the distance between them again and deepened the kiss, their noses bumping, his stubble scraping Remus' chin. Sirius sucked at Remus' lower lip with a savage intensity that oh--

Remus' eyes flew wide open and he blindly grabbed for Sirius' wrists. This is just the alcohol, he thought desperately as Sirius forced his mouth open, fingers pressing on his lower jaw, tongue lashing against his teeth. Sirius wrenched his hands free of Remus' grip, his palms flush against his cheeks, firmly holding him in place. In spite of himself, Remus moaned, breathless and reeling; his mouth yielding, he found himself returning the kiss, biting at Sirius' lips hungrily.

Sirius leaned Remus back against the table and forced him down onto it, lips and teeth grazing a wet brutal trail down the column of his neck. Hissing in unexpected pleasure, he turned his head to briefly nip Sirius' wrist. Undeterred, Sirius ripped the neatly tucked shirt out of his pajama pants and Remus gasped, heat shooting straight to his groin, as Sirius' nails scratched his abdomen. Oh fucking Merlin yes like that just like that... Then he couldn't bear it anymore, his resistance shattered into ravening need, his hips arching as his hands slid down to Sirius' waist. He furiously pressed Sirius against him, tight tighter tightest grinding their hips together, any semblance of control utterly lost now.

With strength borne of need want more Remus pushed back against Sirius' shoulders and somehow maneouvered him into the armchair. Shamelessly he sank to his knees in front of him and ripped the flies of his trousers open. Sirius raised his hips reflexively while Remus yanked the trousers down to his ankles and spread his legs. Kneeling between them, Remus stared up at Sirius for a moment, eyes blazing, kiss-swollen lips trembling, then leaned forward to brush tentative, gentle kisses against his inner thighs. Sirius gasped as Remus licked the sensitive skin there. Remus nuzzled Sirius' groin, his hair feathered against Sirius' belly and Oh Merlin Sirius banged his head back against the padding of the chair. Both men hummed deep in their throats. Remus' hand slid up further to cup him and Sirius jerked at the electric shock of the touch. Oh God Moony so so long... Eyes hooded, skin burning, Sirius could only watch through a lust-and-whisky-fueled haze as Remus looked up again, licked his lips and...

The world quickly coalesced to fingers twining hair soft hard ache wet heat Remus mouth oh fuck Moony sweet Merlin what is he doing with his tongue? More like that yesss the gloriously compressing fury at the base of his spine. Remus kneaded Sirius' thighs, the pressure oh God leaving blooming finger-shaped bruises. Groaning, almost sobbing, Sirius blindly seized Remus' head with an iron grip and pumped his hips relentlessly. It didn't take long. The pulsing white-hot ball of fire behind his eyes contracted to a sharp point--then exploded, and Sirius howled with his release.

Boneless and shaking, Sirius still somehow managed to half-pull Remus onto his lap. Breaths shallow, Remus leaned his forehead against Sirius'. In another panting breath, Sirius closed the gap between them with an almost tender kiss, tasting the bitter-salt flavor of himself and Remus on their tongues.

Then to his horror the world, the dark, dank kitchen, his prison started to creep back into existence.

No.

Anything but that.

So his searching fingers caressed Remus' shoulders, and Sirius submerged himself in the feel of rippling muscle and skin beneath his palms. His hands skimmed restlessly up and down Remus' body underneath his shirt, pulling at his nipples, his mouth working hungrily at his throat, drawing blood, tasting and feeling the steady beat of his pulse against his lips. And Remus heard the blood roar in his ears, and, eyes stinging with sweat and need, could only moan helplessly, clutching at Sirius' shoulders. Remus felt his pajama pants being dragged down over his hips and his hardened aching flesh being stroked, kissing salt tang and reveling in the gasps and soft groans yes need like that to see your face oh. Remus arched against him, whimpering now, throbbing need Padfoot hurts so good squeeze tighter harder faster touch me Padfoot yes and their world disappeared again, condensed to lips skin breath touch hair and I'll do anything just don't stop Padfoot yes and come, come with me oh God so close now Sirius--

Remus finally tensed and shuddered, fingers curling into Sirius' shoulders. His body briefly stiffened, he threw his head back, and keened as he came. Then Remus collapsed, head coming to rest in the nape of his Padfoot's neck, feeling Sirius shudder against his body as his own release consumed him.

The only sounds in the kitchen afterwards were the last flickering tongues of the fire and their ragged breathing and their too-rapid heartbeats slowing in tandem. Sated, shattered, and not daring to think again, they simply held each other while Sirius absently stroked at Remus' sweat-dampened hair. Inhaling the mingled smoky scents of sweat and sex and blood and Firewhisky, they dropped off asleep together in the armchair.

But the next day Remus was gone, sent to negotiate with the Gringotts goblins in Egypt and in New York and was away for the next three weeks.

Which gave plenty of time for the both of them to brood over it--

And wonder what the hell it had meant--

And wonder if anything could ever be the same again.

***********************************************************************

At the kitchen table, over three weeks later, after the awkward silence of uneasy memory, Remus spoke first. "I was trying to prevent the waste of a good bottle of Firewhisky," he started lamely.

Sirius knew better than to listen to his words.

Sirius instead watched his hands.

I was trying to save you from yourself, you sodding insufferable git.

I ended up losing myself.

The enormity of what they did that night rushed back in clear, harsh detail. Wide-eyed, Sirius shook his head. "What have I done?" he rasped.

"You know I'll do anything you ask, Padfoot."

Sirius blinked, the full meaning of his offer sinking in.

"Oh God, Moony, is this what we've come to?" he asked, his voice cracking.

That we've no place else to turn?

Now Remus looked apologetic. "At least you know where you stand with me," was his hushed reply. And his hands said something else too, and it shook Sirius to his core.

We never really did.

"Shit," Sirius whispered brokenly, and shook his head again. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit." He rose abruptly, stumbling against the table and knocking over his chair in his haste.

Remus stood too, holding out his hand to him.

Sirius swayed, a little drunkenly. His eyes prickled, his throat stung. But he was not going to cry, dammit. Not in front of Remus anyway. He turned on his heel, desperate to leave the kitchen.

That soft voice stopped him in his tracks just at the threshold. "Sirius."

He clenched his fists and shut his eyes. When, how had that voice turned into a caress?

One he so achingly wanted?

And did it even matter now that he did?

Remus' husky voice was just behind him now, trying, and failing, to keep from trembling. "Anything you ask, Padfoot," he repeated. "If this is what you want, I will offer it." Hot gentle breath feathered his ear, rustled his hair. Remus touched his shoulder, and Sirius tensed and bowed his head.

Minutes, heartbeats, passed. "So what's this going to be, Moony?" Sirius finally managed roughly, turning round at last to face him. "Sex? Comfort? Fucking comfort?" They both smirked at that. Then too soon they both grew sober again, considering.

"Whatever we both need it to be, I suppose," Remus murmured at length, reaching up to tenderly stroke his friend's cheek. Sirius leaned into the touch and closed his eyes again.

"I don't know what I need anymore, Moony," Sirius whispered bleakly against his hand, "except to escape. Any way I can."

Remus nodded, understanding.

Their eyes met, grey to brown. And in their locked gaze, with everything laid bare between them, the silent question was asked--

Please...

And answered.

Shelter. Company. And warmth.

Of a sort.