Sixth Year

There are a lot of things that are anathema to Sirius Black. Perhaps first on the list is Severus Snape- that's not really a shock to anyone who has even the briefest acquaintance with either of them- closely followed by his mother, and turnips and puppets, but Tedium is very high up there. Tedium is composed of equal parts Quiet, Stillness, and Nothing to Do. One without the other three is not so bad- he can be Quiet and Still, as long as he's got something interesting to fiddle with- but the three together are unbearable, and he is going to go mad if he has to endure it one second longer.

Moony, he thinks sulkily, is being unusually insensitive to his moods. He slides a sidelong glance at his friend, sitting there so calmly on his gray bed studying Charms, looking for all the world as if he doesn't know what he's doing to Sirius by not paying attention to him. James is at Quidditch practice, of course. Peter is there too, standing on the sidelines like some deranged bint trying to cheer for James. For a moment Sirius is distracted by the entirely fathomable thought of chubby Peter in a Muggle cheerleading outfit, and he swears that once he is allowed back on the pitch again (he's been banned again recently, for life this time, but he's working to overthrow the sentence and is fairly sure he will succeed by Seventh Year) he's going to perform that clothes-switching spell he figured out a while back. He wonders if he can set a timer on it, maybe, so he can cast it before they leave...

Contemplation on this topic only lasts three or four minutes, and he finds himself caught in the snare of Tedium once again. He begins to pluck at a loose thread on his blue coverlet, checking the time again and huffing when only a minute has passed since the last time. Ordinarily he would be bothering Remus away from his books, because that is a never-ending source of entertainment, but the full moon is only a few days past and Remus is trying to catch up on some school work. The consequences will be dire if there are interruptions, particularly if they come in the form of a black dog or a noisy explosion.

Remus can't prevent him from being exasperated, though. He lets his body fall back onto his bed, making as much noise as he possibly can. It jounces all over the place and amuses him, so he sits up and does it again. An hour until Quidditch practice ends. Half an hour after that until dinner. At the thought of dinner his belly gives a fierce twang and he pauses in his third flop and looks round the room to see if there are any sweets. It's a given there will be something by Moony's bed, and there is- five Chocolate Frogs, nestled next to a bottle of ink and a Remembrall, which puzzles Sirius because of all of them Moony is the least likely to need one. He knows Moony will not want the Chocolate Frogs, because Sirius brought him some of Honeydukes Finest the other day and there are three squares of it left. It is really, really good chocolate- dark, which is Remus's favorite, and each square filled with something different; rich, syrupy raspberry sauce in one, snowy coconut in another. Messy, of course. Eating chocolate should never be a tidy process. No caramel, though, because Remus hates it, and Peter generously volunteered to take all the caramel-filled squares.

So, Sirius thinks with a predatory twitch of his wand. The Frogs are fair game. He slinks down behind his bed-curtains, tucked out of Remus's sight, and whispers, "Accio Chocolate Frogs."

They speed across the room with a little noise that Sirius can only describe as zzzz-wah (he has had occasion to differentiate between a Chocolate Frog being accio'd at his head and any number of larger, more dangerous inanimate objects). They land in his hand and he unwraps one and shoves it in his mouth before it can hop off, noisily disregarding the chocolate staining fingers, mouth, nose, and coverlet.

He has just popped the third one in his mouth when he hears Remus say dryly, "I really hope you're eating those as Padfoot, Sirius. Those noises should not be coming from a human mouth."

He grins and chomps more loudly, poking his head round the curtains to see the corner of Remus's mouth quirking as though he is suppressing a smile. "Mmmmh. Mmmmeeeerrrgh, vish ish shoooooo gooood!" he gurgles around a mouthful of chocolate. Suddenly a bit of the chocolate goes down his windpipe and he chokes humiliatingly for a moment, but recovers and realizes how far the chocolate stains have spread, murmuring, "Eurgh. Evanesco."

It disappears and he peeks through the curtains again, enjoying the fact that he can watch Moony without having to be cautious about it- not that he is known for his circumspect nature in any case. The time he has with Remus after classes and before the end of Quidditch practice has always been very precious to him, because he gets to lie beside Remus and talk about the day, or make fun of things, or discuss pranks, and Remus is really interesting. Sirius is never bored or restless when Remus is paying attention to him. He sighs the sigh of one who has been sorely neglected. It's been over a year since he finally acknowledged the fact that Remus Lupin is the person he would like to spend all his time with, if he possibly could. For no one else would he have willingly stayed here, quiet and doing nothing in his bed, only able to watch Remus covertly while he studies.

Remus, he smiles fondly, resting his chin on his knuckles, is just so pretty. He's not feminine, no, nor even androgynous- he's so completely a teenage boy that it is hard to understand why pretty is the first word that comes to mind. Perhaps it's the fragile, slightly gawky way he is put together. He has gotten quite a bit taller the last two years so that he and Sirius see eye-to-eye, but whereas Sirius is lanky, Remus is just skinny. Sirius loves the preciseness of his composition- nothing extra about him, only what is necessary. The clean, spare line of his hip-bone and the slender, graceful fingers, the delicate detail of his ear, all enthrall Sirius with their exactness, as though he were created with great attention and care. Everyone else looks half-finished or over-done compared to Moony.

He dares not let himself fantasize very much about touching Moony right now, though, not while they are awake and alone, because he has found that his fantasies scare him a bit. They're so intense he sometimes thinks Moony must feel Sirius's hands on him just from the force of his wanting. He knows from years of invading Moony's personal space that the skin on his neck is smoother than silk, and it's that area that Sirius has been obsessed with lately. It is his dearest dream to nudge Moony's head softly to the side and run his lips down the slim column, not quite kissing, just the lightest, faintest rubbing of skin against sensitive skin. The thought of that sweet, secret white curve from earlobe to collar-bone, open and vulnerable to him, makes the hot flush on his face spread downward, over his belly and between his thighs. His eyes are half-lidded and he's completely aroused by the time his dream-lips get to the nape of Moony's neck, his fingers flexing unconsciously in his robes as he thinks of the sound Moony might make when his lips hit a particularly receptive spot- what would he sound like? Most likely Moony would keep himself in check as he does with everything else, but he likes to imagine that if something felt really good, Moony would be helpless to stop a gasp, or even a moan, especially if he used the tip of his tongue-

Oh, the thought of that makes darts of pleasure flurry in his lower abdomen, and he has to stop thinking about it or he will do something stupid like bound across the room and attack Moony, and knows if he does that it will be the last stupid idea he will ever live to formulate. He has to wait. He's not stupid- he's fairly sure that the two of them are engaged in a dance that can only end one way- but although he thinks he will die if he doesn't touch Remus soon he realizes he will bollocks it all up if he pushes it faster. It has been the best lesson he has ever had to learn- the art of waiting, of restraint, of patience for the exact right moment, which will present itself sooner or later. It doesn't, however, mean he has to like it. This Patience thing can join Quiet and Stillness and Nothing to Do and they can all four of them go to hell.

He's irritated with himself and unable to stay away from Moony any longer, and his ability to sit on his bed being a good boy has been completely used up for the afternoon. In for a naughty penny, in for a naughty pound, he thinks, clears his throat, and says, "Accio Moony's book."

Moony looks entirely unsurprised when his study material flies out of his hands. "Sirius, I need to study."

"Study later. Talk to Padfoot now," he grunts, jumping onto Moony's bed and looking up at him with wide eyes, fluttering his lashes flirtily, which usually makes Moony smile.

"Fine then. Go on, dazzle me with your wit," Remus replies in that tone that means he's trying hard not to laugh.

"Oh, stop being such a maiden aunt, Moony, you know you love talking to me. Really makes your otherwise stuffy boring day, listening to my tales of derring-do," he grins, rolling around happily. If he had been Padfoot, he would have his tongue out and his tail thumping. "Where else do you get such scintillating repartee?"

Remus tweaks his nose. "It's not repartee if you're the only one talking."

He bats Moony's hand away with an air of injured dignity and slides over the bed until he's hunkered down like Padfoot about to pounce. Moony raises one eyebrow and says, "Sirius, you look very silly with your arse in the air like that", and Sirius tackles him with a flying leap and they're wrestling.

There are a lot of things, by now, that James doesn't know about Sirius- he doesn't know, for example, about the series of explosive arguments and hexes and curses thrown about this summer at 12 Grimmauld Place that make Sirius wonder if he will even be welcome back during the Christmas holidays- and this is possibly the second or third biggest one. Normally nobody wrestles with Moony- something about him makes James and Peter shy of it, although he suspects Moony would probably not mind so much. James, he thinks, is a little afraid of hurting Moony, who sometimes looks as though he's going to collapse at any second, and Peter is afraid of Moony, still after all these years. But Sirius is neither, and he knows exactly how strong Moony is, because even though he's heavier than Moony he often finds himself outmatched.

He's not looking for a fair fight today, though; he only wants to win, so he goes for his favourite method of cheating- tickling. Nobody but Sirius knows that Remus is horribly ticklish- he only discovered it himself by accident one restless night before the full moon. His fingers had slipped and his thumb jabbed into Moony's side, whereupon he thought Moony had gone into a seizure. It took him three days to admit he was ticklish, and Sirius has hoarded the secret for four years, only acknowledging it at times like these. Even though it is brilliant tickling Moony, he uses it sparingly for better effectiveness. The sides are always the key, he reminds himself, they are the most ticklish and the softest. When he's got Moony in the most advantageous position for it- pinned stomach-down- he begins to gently pinch them, and is rewarded by a writhing, babbling mess of Moony-shaped humanity.

"Padfoot...cut it out, you imbecile..." he gasps, laughing so hard that his struggles are mostly ineffectual.

"Won't give in 'til you say I win," Sirius replies breathlessly.

Moony lasts a lot longer than he thinks he will- longer than James ever does- but eventually he bursts out, "You win! You win, you heartless bastard!"

Sirius rears back, his arms high up in the air, The Champion, thanking an imaginary audience. He's accepting ladies' undergarments and having a medal hung over his neck when Remus catches him round the waist and down he goes.

"Cheater!" he sputters, and is shocked when Remus begins to tickle him. Of course, he thinks, lying back smugly, Remus doesn't know he's not ticklish, not at all except in one place and that's-

"Ack!" he cries out.

The armpits. He endures, embarrassingly, less than thirty seconds of it, kicking his feet out impotently, before he's forced to howl, "All right, you win, you cheater cheater cheater!"

Remus stops tickling him immediately, but doesn't let him up, and his face is pressed next to Sirius's. They're both sweaty and panting and laughing, and Sirius begins to get dizzy because they're so close and he's pinned down and if he wanted he could just turn his head- just the tiniest bit- and his lips would find Remus's earlobe, he could thrust his hips just a tiny bit and they would rub against Remus's, and suddenly Remus is saying in a low voice, "What do I win, Padfoot?" and he wants to tell him, "Me, you win me," but Remus perks up his head and murmurs, "James is coming."

When James and Peter enter the room they find Remus in his bed alone, reading his Charms book again, and Sirius scowling out the window. He almost always curses Peter- it's a habit, he doesn't hate Peter although sometimes he's so slow it seems like he's going backward- but cursing James is a new thing. James is his best friend. Until now, he thinks, James and his bloody inconvenient timing, making him have to wait. He doesn't know how much more he can take.

~o~

He makes a plan, of course. He hasn't got much else to do in the next few weeks, as Remus's Prefecting duties drive him halfway round the bend and James and Peter are there every sodding second of every sodding day it seems. So Sirius sulks a bit, and plots.

Some of them are pretty stupid; even he has to admit that kidnapping Remus and squirreling him off to an empty room is probably not a good idea, not least because Remus will kill him (Moony has a vast repertoire of hexes and curses for those who try to take him unawares). When he stumbles on the right one it's so simple and perfect that he shakes his head at himself. You're supposed to be so clever, Black, he chides himself, James could probably have figured this out before you, you're losing your touch. Or perhaps your brains are just addled by the thought of getting Moony alone. That sounds more likely actually. James, indeed.

Sirius loves the full moon. He feels guilty about it and will never tell Remus, because the moon is such a complicated and integral part of Remus's life that Sirius's simple delight at being able to run and play on such nights is like rubbing salt into a wound. He's always hated the fact that even though he and Prongs can distract the wolf or hold him down when he's trying to bite himself, he can't relieve him of the agony of his transformations. They've been through six full moons with him so far and he still hasn't gotten used to the screaming. How much does it have to hurt, he wonders every time, for someone to scream so loud and long that the vocal cords completely give? By the time Moony passes out he is always silent but still trying to scream, and he is coughing up blood. Sirius will never be used to it.

Until he became an Animagus, however, the week running up to the full moon was his favorite time, because for seven nights he got to help Moony. Occasionally he still blesses his completely clueless twelve-year-old self for thinking of it, but for the most part these nights have become torture, having to touch Remus's body, lie next to him, smell him, until he thinks he might scream or cry or bite his hands or something equally stupid. He's glad it takes only a few minutes now to get Remus to sleep- in their Third Year it sometimes seemed to take hours, although back then it was actually fun, tracing out stories and pranks and things on Remus's back and making him laugh. It's still fun, in a way, or it would be if he weren't fighting an internal war the entire time.

Tonight he's going to give up the internal war though, and if all goes well, it will turn into fun again, although fun of an entirely different colour. He doesn't want to think what will happen if all doesn't go well, but he has had his moments this past week of paralyzing self-doubt, so foreign to Sirius Black. After all, what if he's been seeing things this entire time, and they are not moving toward the conclusion he thinks they're moving toward? What if he's wrong?

These are the thoughts plaguing him the entire day, making him itchy and more fidgety than usual. He gets a fortnight's worth of detentions from Professor McGonagall for his carelessness during Transfigurations, and while they're trying to study for a very difficult Defense Against the Dark Arts test he's so distracted that James finally hisses, "Padfoot, either go to the bog or get the ants out of your pants, you're driving me mad and I've no idea how to cast a Patronus!" Only the edge of hysteria in James's voice keeps him from snapping a sharp retort casting doubt on James's intelligence or parentage, and he finally winds up lying in bed waiting for the others to go to sleep.

He's a bit sleepy himself when he finally hears James snoring- honestly, if he ever finally gets Lily Evans into bed she's going to suffocate him in the middle of the night to get rid of that noise, Sirius thinks, and casts a Silencing Spell on James's bed. Peter whispers dream-conversations, which Sirius has always found vaguely disturbing, but it's never anything incriminating- just observations about the weather, usually. Moony is always absolutely motionless and silent when he sleeps, so when Sirius hears rustling in the bed next to his, he knows that Moony is awake and it's time.

He slides out of bed and pads, barefoot and in his pyjama bottoms, to the side of Moony's bed. When he pulls the bed-hangings back he knows he will see one of two things- awake Moony or not-awake Moony. When Moony's pretending to be asleep he will burrow down in his blankets like a mole- he's done that a time or two when he's huffy with Sirius and doesn't want to argue with him, and Sirius has never let on that he knows. When he's not pretending, he sleeps as though he has fallen where he stands, splayed out completely boneless on his back with his left arm stretched up along his pillow and his right arm curled so his fist is close to his open mouth. Sirius thinks that maybe when he was small he sucked his thumb and that's why he sleeps in such a strange position, and this thought always bowls him over with tenderness though he can't explain why. It is so hard for Remus to be vulnerable or unguarded that when these small, sweet things slip beyond his day-to-day restraints they are more precious to Sirius than the finest treasure in his parents' Gringotts vault.

He tugs back the hangings, and in the darkness he can sense movement. Moony's awake. "Can't sleep, can you?" he asks as he always does, and he can hear the small hitch in Moony's breath, the long hesitation before Moony whispers, "No", and rolls over. He thinks perhaps Moony knows something is different tonight, too, and, praying that he's not about to make the biggest mistake of his life, he pulls himself into the bed beside him.

Tonight his fingers are shaking and he doesn't write Arithmancy problems, or long tales of chivalrous knights rescuing helpless young gentlemen who look like Moony. No, tonight, he takes a deep breath and writes, "Moony is pretty."

His eyes are adjusting and he can see Moony lift his head, hear him snort indignantly, "'m not pretty."

"Yes, you are," he writes, more firmly.

"'m not a girl," Remus huffs, then lays his head back down on his pillow.

"I know," Sirius's fingers spell out.

They're silent for a moment, and Sirius wonders what he's going to do. Courage, he tells himself, closing his eyes briefly against the terror welling up in his chest, are you a Gryffindor or are you a Hufflepuff, Black? The mixture of fear and desire makes him feel a little sick to his stomach as he writes, "Moony is beautiful," and slides his fingers slowly down the graceful dip of his spine, taking his time to make sure there are no protests from the Moony gallery, down past the point where he usually stops, which is perhaps an inch or two above his pyjama bottoms. He nudges his fingers under Moony's shirt so he's touching the warm, silky, unscarred surface of his back, and still there's no comment from Moony at all, although he can feel the body under his hand tense and tremble slightly.

As he slides his thumb just underneath the elastic waistband of Moony's pyjama bottoms to rub the even silkier skin there, he's waiting for Moony to hiss, "What are you on about, you lunatic?"

Instead, Moony arches his back into Sirius's touch, and whispers, "Sirius..."

His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it may break through his ribs and plop out onto the bed, and suddenly he feels muscles bunching under his fingers and Remus is reaching for his wand. Sirius flinches, thinking he's about to be hexed into oblivion, and yanks his hand away as if scalded, but all Remus says is a soft, "Lumos," and he sets his wand back down. Now he can see, and he's not sure if that's good or not. A large, cowardly part of him would prefer the comfortable, mistake-concealing dark, but suddenly Remus is rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows and oh.

The sight of him makes every bit of blood in Sirius's body flow downward in a rapid deluge, and he was only half-hard before due to abject terror, but now there is no half-anything, and he wishes he had thought to put on something more than thin pyjama bottoms. He has never really thought of that part of things- the possibility of Remus glancing down and seeing his erection pushing his pyjamas out. In his fantasies they are dressed and then magically naked; he's never considered the in-between, and now that he has he is frozen in place, shirtless and mortified.

Remus's dark eyes are dilated and half-lidded, his lips parted just the slightest bit; his brown hair is wildly tousled, James-fashion, which should not be endearing but somehow is. Everything about him is an invitation to touch and taste, and Sirius slowly crawls up the bed to do so while trying desperately to look like he's not doing anything of the sort. It results in a sort of bouncing-forward-jerking-back motion that brings him crouching next to Remus on all fours, wondering, not for the first time, why on earth he wants to do this when he's so scared he can feel those little nervous bubbles in his throat that mean he's going to start laughing like he does in silent classrooms and in the middle of stern lectures and at funerals-

Moony almost seems to read his mind because his lips quirk, and just as Sirius's chest is about to start hitching from holding back the laughter he whispers, "Padfoot."

Immediately the bubbles of madness retreat and he's left feeling light-headed like he does when he's been hanging his head over the side of the bed and sits up quickly, because this is Moony. This is important, and he can't be messing it up because he's scared.

What on earth is he supposed to do now? Any other time he wants to have his face close to Moony's he just dives right in, but he's paralyzed by the fact that Moony's flushing hotly and his eyes won't...quite...meet Sirius's.

Finally he gives up trying for subtlety with a huff of exasperation, and stretches out beside Moony, pushing himself into the space between Moony's body and his arm, nestling his head onto the warm, beloved shoulder that is the site of all his most content moments. Even through the soft gauzy cotton of Moony's t-shirt he can feel how glowingly hot the skin under it is, the heat bleeding into Sirius's body wherever it touches Moony's; his cheek, the back of his knuckles against Moony's side, and suddenly, Moony's fingers on his neck.

He makes a little noise that sounds like "mff" in the back of his throat, breaking out in goose-bumps from head to toe in a shuddering wave, his nipples tightening into hard points. Moony must feel the bumps rise, because he tightens his arm around him and says low, "Are you cold?"

The slightly ragged timbre of his voice and the fact that Moony's mouth is suddenly a lot closer than he thought it was- somehow Moony has slid down enough to allow them to face each other without him noticing- are enough to start another fit of shivering. He shakes his head, although he's lying- it is cold outside the snug circle of Moony's arms- and quickly, before he has time to think about it, he rocks himself forward and bumps his dry lips against the corner of Remus's, pulling back swiftly so he can pretend it was an accident, if necessary. It's not strictly a kiss- he barely even feels it- but he has his Innocent Eyes all ready just in case, just in case...

But Moony inches his head forward just a fraction, his chin tilting a little bit, almost as though he wants more, and the expression on his face is the one he gets when he's doing homework with Peter and trying to make him understand something- not mad but determined, his attention narrowed until he is focused on nothing else. Sirius has rarely been the object of that focus and can't stop shivering under it, his breath panting softly, short puffs of condensation, and he rocks against Moony's mouth again, still nothing more than the briefest brush, and again, and again, his lips quivering both with cold and with need. And with a start he realizes Moony's doing it back to him, small brushes- pecks really- and after a few minutes they blend the artless caresses into one.

It's Moony who moves in for more, pushing himself up on the elbow he tugs out from under Sirius's head. He is just this side of clumsy (he dips his head down with slightly more force than necessary and Sirius's nose goes into his eye, but he only shoves the heel of his hand into it for a second, muttering, "Ow. Ow", before resuming), which Sirius would find very sweet if he were not so very clumsy himself in his eagerness. He finds that his hands aren't weighted down with sheer terror anymore, and he wants to touch Moony, although where, exactly, is the problem, because most of Moony is under the blankets. He tugs at the coverlet until it's pushed down to Moony's waist, and all is well until his hand slips and thuds sharply into the soft hollow of Moony's belly. Sheepish and contrite, he whispers against Moony's lips, his own still quivering because this is Remus, "Sorry, I'm not actually trying to kill you, you know," but Moony only murmurs thickly, "'S okay, Padfoot," and this time when he kisses him Sirius can feel a small bit of slick wet heat, and he realizes it's the tip of Moony's tongue.

His feet slide against the coverlet, hips rolling a little into the air, and his left hand flails around until it rests against Moony's side. Tongue, that's Moony's tongue, he keeps telling himself, his hand clenching in the flimsy cotton of Moony's t-shirt. He can feel a long, puckered scar under his palm, and for some reason it makes him moan, hard, which makes Moony gasp a sharp "Ah!", and lean his head against Sirius's. He likes it that he's making me feel good, Sirius thinks with a sudden rush of euphoria that makes his hips tense again. He knows the front of his pyjama bottoms is getting steadily damper, and the sticky fabric is cold but he doesn't care, the only thing that matters is that he's finally worked up his courage to open his mouth up, just a tiny bit, when Moony dips his tongue in like he's lapping him, tasting him, and the hand that was on his arm is sliding over chilled, feverish skin until those slim fingers are in his hair, his thumb rubbing right behind his ear in a long, firm stroke.

The onslaught of pleasure melts his ability to think; the combination of the hot slick inexpert mouth on his and the fingers massaging his scalp are almost over-stimulation. He's rubbing his hand in circles over Moony's ribs, unconsciously, in the same rhythm as their mouths and his hips, tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing, seeking pressure even though he barely notices that he's straining against his pyjama bottoms. Their teeth click hard, once, and the sudden pain clears his head a bit. He looks up at Moony, who is looming over him all swollen lips and wild hair, his eyes unfocused and unfamiliar, the guarded boy he has known for five years replaced by this stranger with the greedy mouth and covetous fingers tugging lightly on his hair. Sirius is breathless and shaking when he feels the slide of Moony's muscles under his hand and realizes that Moony has been rocking back and forth in the same way he has, although their hips aren't anywhere near each other, and the thought of Moony being helpless to stop himself doing it, that he's made tightly contained, calm, mild-mannered Remus Lupin lose control, because Moony wants him, almost forces him into what would probably be a very embarrassing climax. He has to struggle for a second or two, and moans when he realizes he is probably going do it anyway.

He's saved by James's Quidditch clock, muttering lazily, "Two, y'wanker", which seems to bring them back to a cold reality where Remus's bed isn't a weightless, timeless island. Remus shivers. "Sirius," he gulps. "Sirius, I"-

"Please don't say you're sorry, Moony," Sirius whispers, pulling away from him in an attempt to cover his pyjama pants, which are really astonishingly wet and cold. "I'm not."

"I wasn't going to say I was sorry," Remus replies. "Only- it's- I"-

But whatever it is Moony wants to say, he can't get it out. Sirius knows, though- Remus's eyes say I want more but I can't ask for it, or perhaps it's Please don't hate me for having done this. He can't differentiate, and they really both mean the same thing to Sirius, which is that Moony is uncertain where they stand, and that, he thinks, is an easy thing to remedy.

"We should go to sleep," Remus finally murmurs reluctantly. "We have a test tomorrow."

"Mmm," he agrees. "Don't want to though. Want to stay here."

Remus tilts his head and stares down at his hands, a slow smile Sirius has never seen before spreading across his face. It's a bit wicked actually, and Sirius can't stop his breath hitching when Remus flicks mischief-filled eyes up to his and says, "I want you to stay here too."

"I can rub your back so you can sleep, no funny business this time," Sirius promises hopefully, wanting more of this sweet drug he's already addicted to. How on earth is he going to keep himself from touching him again for an entire day?

Remus snorts. "You know Padfoot, it's been a long time since you rubbing my back put me to sleep."

Sirius gapes. "Then why- how- do"-

"It felt so good I never wanted you to stop," Remus admits, flushing a little bit and nibbling on a fingernail. "Don't worry, Padfoot, I'll fall asleep."

He knows he has to go- and he really is sleepy, he realizes suddenly- but before he does he has to show Moony, has to make him know. "Wait," he whispers. "Just one last thing, Moony."

Moony raises his eyebrows and tilts his head with a small smile. "Yes?"

Sirius leans in again, but completely bypasses his kiss-ripened, bitten lips, instead nuzzling into the soft hair just above his ear, rubbing his cheek against it, adoring him. His mouth drifts down and he fulfills the fantasy that has so long plagued him- pressing long, slow kisses over and over against the perfect, salty-sweet warm curve of his neck, from the triangle of skin just under his earlobe to the delta of his collarbone, taking his time. There's no awkwardness in this gesture, he thinks, probably because this is love not heat, and he could never be awkward loving Moony. The need to make him realize how important he is overwhelms all else, and he wants Remus to know that this kiss right here, just under his jaw, means You are everything. When he pulls away, Remus's eyes are closed, and he keeps them closed as Sirius kisses his mouth warmly, but Sirius knows his point has been made. He pulls away and slides into his own bed, cold and alone but happy, so happy he wants to tell everyone everything, ever. This should just be his and Remus's though, this beautiful newfound thing, and oh he hates keeping secrets from James, but it is worth it. His face warms as he curls around his pillow and drifts off to sleep, blessing patience, quiet, and stillness.