Saturday Morning

Saturday Morning

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish?

Early spring sunlight was already streaming through the Doxy-infested curtains in the bedroom at Twelve Grimmauld Place when Remus stirred. Several of the Doxy-sized beams shone straight onto his unwilling eyelids and with an incoherent grunt he threw an arm across his face to shield it from the sun's brilliance. That still not being enough however, Remus squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away from the offending window in a valiant attempt to recapture the bliss of sleep that the daylight tried to burn away.

As stubborn as Remus was though, the day was perhaps more so; possibly because he was so implacably tied to the moon in the evening, Remus always in the end found himself just as firmly in thrall of the sun in the morning. So, against his will, he rose to full consciousness. It was eight o'clock of a Saturday morning; the vernal equinox, the first day of spring.

Sirius (lazy sod, he thought affectionately), curled on his side facing away from him, was still deep in slumber, shielded from the light by Remus' shadow. Remus had the sneaking suspicion he took the side closest to the wall just for that reason. No matter though--the last thing Remus wanted to do this morning was to disturb him. His dark hair rested in a tangle on the pillow, half hiding his cheek. The peaceful relaxed look on his thin face in profile was a rare and precious thing these days, and Remus wanted to keep that moment as long as possible.

Nature though always had other plans for them, and now was calling a little too insistently, so Remus quietly slid out of bed and nipped to the loo. He tried to be quick about it; he held his breath as he tiptoed back into the bedroom, half afraid and half hoping Sirius would be awake. His moods on waking turned on a dime, sometimes sullen, sometimes playful--often it was hard to predict. It was the first day of spring, and for Sirius' sake he hoped it would be promising and positive, after the cold lonely winter. Sirius didn't seem to have moved however, so Remus sighed gratefully and crept back into bed, arranging his pillows behind his back for support and pulling the soft blue fleece blanket over his thighs and up to his waist.

Now fully awake and comfortable, Remus picked up the well-worn book from the nightstand and opened it to the carefully-marked page. The sun's heat already warmed the usually-frigid room, and it was a good thing because Remus was naked--they both were, but Sirius was nestled deep in the bedclothes and thus otherwise immune to the general chill. Remus glanced at the crumpled pile of clothing now discarded on the floor and smiled to himself. He'd worn those plaid pajamas when he'd first gone to bed last night, intent only on a bit of reading before sleep. Sirius, who always slept naked, had joined him; he'd shaken his head in mock disbelief, then simply (and literally) charmed them off, murmuring there were more pleasant ways to keep warm than those sodding flannels you know as he playfully wrestled Remus down the bed to kneel above him. Sirius' lips had nuzzled the curve of his collarbone and his fingers skimmed down his torso to cup--and Remus hadn't needed much more convincing than that so he had more than responded in kind, tossing his book down on the night stand, intent now on holding and touching Sirius in his turn with his own searching fingers and tongue.

Oh, how the rest of the night had gone from there--hands mapping every rise and hollow of neck and chest and nipple and belly, Sirius slowly sliding down from the top of the bed towards his feet; licking and kissing down each other's trembling bodies, tonguing their way along the junctures of hip and thigh. Backs arching as their mouths wrapped around firm throbbing flesh; hips bucking in matching rhythm as fingers clutched at taut muscle to pull each other close closer closest. Wet velvet-rough heat surrounding them, smells of night and hair and dark musk around them--surrendering to the sound of skin sliding through bruised lips, to muffled groans and sighing bedsprings, and to humid heat rising to unbearable aching brilliance; until at last, coming in turn with a hoarse strangled cry, filling and being filled with bitter-salt taste.

Then afterwards, blissfully sated and sleepy in the afterglow, kissing languidly and lying together, tangled in sheets and blankets and each other, listening contentedly to each other's slowing heartbeats and deepening breaths; and just before drifting off to sleep in Sirius' arms, musing that he no longer knew where Sirius ended and he began anymore.

That last memory flitted back to him unbidden, and Remus blinked, wondering why he'd felt that; then Sirius stirred beside him.

Remus waited for his eyes to open, but instead Sirius kicked off the bedclothes covering him, dislodging Remus' own side of the blanket down his thighs in the process. Before Remus could pull the blanket back over his exposed flesh, Sirius rolled over and slid down the bed searching, almost by instinct, to embrace his leg and pillow his dark head on Remus' thigh. He pinned down the blanket with the weight of his body, hand on one knee, and with a faint contented sigh he relaxed again.

Looking down at himself, Remus shook his head bemusedly but he was unwilling to try to pull up the blanket, lest he wake Sirius in the process. Best let sleeping dogs lie...

Almost of its own accord, Remus' free right hand reached over to rest on Sirius' head; looking over the pages of his book, his heart gave an odd thrill when Sirius smiled, just slightly, and nuzzled his cheek against the hairs of Remus' thigh. Remus' long fingers slowly worked through his friend's dark hair in a soothing petting motion. Remus had learned early on in this relationship that, like Padfoot, Sirius craved this gentle touch almost more than anything, including sex, so Remus was only too happy to oblige when he could; for Remus being able to give a kind touch comforted him as well.

Just waking up beside Sirius was an uncommon event anymore (how many mornings had he had to leave his side? he'd lost count); so on quiet shared mornings like this, holding his book as a pretense just in case Sirius ever cottoned on to what he was doing, Remus studied and admired and hoarded as much as he could while he caressed Sirius' hair. This morning he noticed more silver strands threading through the thick mess of dark hair. The fine lines starting to furrow around his closed eyes and at the corners of his mouth, were almost completely relaxed now. In this repose, relinquished of all his burdens for a while, Sirius looked heartbreakingly ephemeral, suspended between the fleeting innocence of the boy and the hard-won wisdom of the man; ageless, of this world but not in it.

Remus' gaze fondly traced the aquiline outlines of brow and nose, the delicate brush of lashes, the sleek curves of ear and neck, the ghost of stubble over the aching sharpness of cheek and jaw and chin; relearning the slight part of his lips, the squareness of the teeth behind them. Following the long lines of back and buttocks, the relief of rib and spine and hip, Remus committed it all to scent and flesh memory--

He was loving him, fully and completely, though he would never, ever, admit it.

Love was a word they never used with each other.

Not in that sense--

They were friends. They loved each other as friends. They were friends, that was all, albeit friends with benefits. Remus didn't dare think anything else beyond that.

Even after spending months together in Grimmauld Place, after months of sleeping beside Sirius, after months of sleeping with Sirius, he refused to venture any further than that.

He suspected Sirius felt the same way, though he hadn't asked--it was simply a tacit agreement between them, forged in that strange shared language they'd perfected long ago. Because both knew, everything could be swept away in a heartbeat, and once had been. Even now, he felt that what they had was maybe only a result of a temporary fold in time--so he never dared to dream beyond the now.

They'd only started this--whatever this was--because both of them had needed the physical closeness too much to turn it down.

Loneliness, frustration, take your pick, Remus thought with a tinge of bitterness--they hadn't really been living but existing, chained in their own unmerciful prisons for how many years (too many, too much between) long before Grimmauld Place, and Grimmauld Place only heightened their isolation--but no matter their motive, in the end their being together like this had been a far better prospect to consider than their being alone.

Though even Remus had to admit now, this had morphed beyond their initial intentions--though precisely to what, he didn't know.

All he knew was that it was there now, everywhere, around them--as Remus held, kissed and fucked Sirius; as Sirius kissed, held, and fucked him in return; and that it had grown over these months as he worked and waited for his missions to be over; and as Sirius waited for him to come back.

It was something wispy, delicate as spun glass yet strong as steel; an invisible silk that tethered them both even as it flitted outside their reach.

It was also silent, but there nonetheless.

He was too stubborn, or perhaps too afraid, to call it love.

Whatever it was though, he felt it keenly as he watched Sirius sleep against his thigh.

His hip and shoulder twinged from the awkward position he was twisted in; he stopped petting Sirius' hair and braced himself with his hand up against the pillows to find a more comfortable position. Sirius stirred then, raising his head off his thigh and turning his bleary grey eyes up toward him; unguarded, Remus' heart caught and turned over as Sirius regarded him with a look that unconsciously mirrored his own.

"Morning, Moony," he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning, Padfoot. Sleep well?"

"S'pose." Sirius yawned and stretched, laying a hand on Remus' stomach and rolling his eyes at the book Remus still held in his hand. "It's a bloody Saturday, Moony, what're you doing reading for Merlin's sake when you should be lying in?"

"What else am I supposed to do when someone forgets to mend the bleeding curtains?" Remus retorted, though with a grin, and lightly swatted his head. "Sodding prat. No wonder you take the side by the wall, you have me to block the sun."

"Shut up, Moony," Sirius retorted; grinning, he grabbed his pillow and smacked Remus back playfully. Remus was relieved; this first day of spring was going to be a good one for him--for them both.

Sirius' eyes slid over Remus, darkening with arousal at the sight of him half uncovered by the blanket; and darkening with something else too, with it, wispy, indefinable, and real. "At least it's somewhat warm in here," he murmured, voice low and rough.

"Aye, a good thing too when you decide to rip off all the blankets to use my leg as a pillow." Remus' own voice grew slightly hoarse with anticipation.

Sirius smirked at that, then sat up and slowly crawled up to sit beside him. "What say we toss this book--" with a lazy flick of his hand the book flew to the floor, landing on top of the discarded pajamas, "--And I warm you up properly the rest of the way?"

"The way you did last night?" Remus grinned, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling his head towards him.

"Something like that," Sirius replied against his mouth with a low throaty chuckle.

However, instead of the usual hard, greedy and consuming kisses that had started off their rounds of sex as long as they'd been together, this time they found their lips meeting in a gentle, tentative brush. Caught wholly unaware and thoroughly stunned, Remus unconsciously steadied himself with a hand against Sirius' hip, feeling Sirius' palm rest on his thigh. They paused for a beat, lips just pressed together, lashes fluttering in the wake of the knowledge that something somehow just changed, leaving them off guard but yearning for more; their kiss slowly deepened, their mouths opening fully and completely without guile, to explore this fragile novel sense of light about them. Their tongues twined, giving and receiving familiar taste in new softness as Sirius' jaw rasped lightly against Remus' cheek and Remus inhaled Sirius' slightly canine essence of sleep and hair and sweat.

Drawing back on a catch of breath, leaning his forehead against Sirius', Remus slid a trembling thumb along Sirius' cheekbone, holding his gaze steady as Sirius raised a shaking hand up to touch Remus' hair. Sirius' fingers traced a tract of grey behind his ear, eyes forever haunted from the past, but alive and shining with something that looked like hope; and, in a blink, Remus saw Sirius, child and fellow Marauder, wizard and Animagus, friend and brother and godfather and prisoner, meld and transfigure into the man before him; the same man he'd always known, yet perhaps not really known until now, in the light of this that he dared not name. And Remus saw himself reflected in Sirius' eyes, re-molded in a similar alchemy.

It was there, the heart of light, of this, waiting for them to take. Sirius drew back all the way, dropping his hand, head bowed for a moment, hair hiding his face as he stared at his lap; when he looked up again, Remus realized he'd already decided. I'm tired of existing--I want to live now. In the face of all his loss, Sirius was still willing to risk losing this.

All the reasons for saying no rose at once; but as Remus reached for Sirius' hand each one burned to ash in that heart of light, each doubt and fear cast to the dust and shadows that lived behind them and lay in wait in front of them--this was here, this was now, and as he squeezed Sirius' hand he re-affirmed, I want to live too.

Hushed in this new moment, breaths and heartbeats were suspended and re-born, to re-learn the old and familiar in this newfound interpretation. They kissed again, a tacit promise to hold on to this as long as they could, then fell silent to speak only through taste and smell and searing touch, in the glow of the morning sun and the timeless, nameless presence that kept them, bound them, and sheltered them both.