The Anatomy of a Kiss

"You know, I've never been kissed properly."

Remus's eyes flick up from his paper and regard the boy sitting across the table from him. "Oh?" His voice belies no emotion and Remus imagines having the same response whether Harry tells him that Hedwig consumes an ungodly amount of owl treats or that he spends most evenings pimping out his friends.

"Yeah. Cho Chang kissed me once in fifth year, but I mostly stood there and did nothing other than make a complete fool of myself. Hermione's kissed me on the cheek a couple of times, but that doesn't count."

Watching him speak animatedly, Remus thinks Harry looks younger than he has in months. They've been at war for nearly two years and even seventeen-year-olds begin showing signs of aging under that kind of duress. Most days, Harry is withdrawn and sullen, retreating to his room after dully reporting the day's campaigns. If he's gone for a few days, he goes beyond sullen and barrels head-on to completely unresponsive, limply letting Madam Pomfrey tend to his injuries, while Molly flaps about and frets. Now, though, with one hand propping up his cheek, his face screwed up in concentration, he resembles a teenager. That's exactly what Harry is, of course, but Remus sometimes forgets that. "Ah," Remus replies.

"What was your first kiss like?" Harry idly chews on a crust of toast.

Remus stiffens a bit, but immediately decides to answer Harry's question. He feels he owes it to Harry, but he's not sure why. Maybe for James or Sirius or maybe because he feels he should reward Harry for acting "normal" or maybe because Remus is shit as a father-figure. Remus looks down, fumbling with the bacon on his plate. "It was...well, it was strange. I think I was fourteen. I didn't know where to put my hands and my mouth wouldn't cooperate. He told some people I was a terrible kisser, thus ensuring my celibacy for another year."

Harry chuckles sweetly, but then his eyes goes wide and he sits straight up. "You said 'he'!"

"I did."

Harry settles back again, a contemplative look on his face. "Yeah, I'm not that surprised."

Remus wishes he hadn't chosen that exact moment to sip his tea. Choking, he asks, "You're not?"

"Well, after Si-Sirius" -- the name is still difficult after all this time -- "died, I remembered you two living here...together...and I thought maybe you and he had...." Harry's blushing furiously as he intently studies an invisible spot on the tablecloth.

"Oh. I see. No, Sirius was my friend and that's all. He and I were never...involved." Remus doesn't want to tell Sirius's godson that after Azkaban there was no way Sirius could have handled a proper relationship. Trying to lighten the mood, he says, "He did have a rather nice arse, though." Harry gives a strangled half-laugh.

The two sit in silence for a moment. Then, Harry blurts, "Would you kiss me?"

Remus resolves himself to never, ever taking another sip of tea when Harry's in the room. Coughing violently, he splutters, "What?"

Harry's cheeks are now so red they're practically glowing. "I just think I'm too old to have never had a proper snog and you're here and we're alone, so..." He trails off, glancing up hopefully.

Remus forces away a passing thought about Harry's eyes. "I'm sure there are plenty of girls your age who'd kiss you," he says kindly.

Harry's expression is intent and fiery, his mouth pressed into a straight line. "You're not a girl, Remus."

"Ah."

Harry stands, pushing the chair back fiercely as he goes, and makes his way around the table. The chair clatters to the floor, causing Remus -- who's already quite wound-up -- to jump. Then, Harry's in the seat next to him and his knees are pressing against the outside of Remus's thigh, his mouth so near Remus's cheek that he can feel hot air tracing patterns on his skin. Slowly, Remus turns towards Harry, their faces millimetres apart. "All right, Harry -- only if you're really certain."

Shock floods Harry's face, possibly due to the sheer novelty of getting what he wants. The intensity and anger of a moment ago drains away, leaving only a hesitant nod.

Remus wets his lips slightly, nearly laughing at the ridiculousness of teaching someone to kiss when it's been eons since he's been thoroughly kissed himself. "Tilt your head," he whispers and Harry complies, eyes wide. As he leans in and softly presses his lips to Harry's, Remus wonders if Harry will keep his eyes open throughout. His question is answered when Harry makes a tiny noise and his eyes flutter shut.

Harry's lips are chapped and he hasn't shaved today. Remus slides his lips across the dry, raised skin as a curl of warmth forms in his belly, causing his own eyes to close. Tentatively, he brings a hand up to Harry's face, relishing the feel as Harry leans into the touch. Brushing his thumb along Harry's jawline, Remus nibbles on Harry's lower lip, then coaxes Harry's mouth open with his tongue. It seems as though kissing is rather like riding a bicycle; everything Remus has ever learned about using his tongue, lips, teeth to tease returns to him as the warmth in his stomach travels a bit lower.

Remus's tongue brushes Harry's, who gasps and makes another small moan. Harry, unsure of himself, quickly darts his tongue in and out of Remus's mouth causing Remus to deliberately slow his movement, hoping Harry will follow. He circles his tongue around Harry's, then sucks lightly. A few crumbs of toast make their way from Harry's mouth into Remus's, combining with the lingering, sweet taste of tea. Harry, whose actions slow as he catches on to Remus's gentle pace, massages Remus's tongue with his own. Harry's hands start a slow ascent from Remus's wrists to his upper arms to his neck, finally raking his fingers through Remus's hair. There's a loud moan and Remus, startled, realises it came from him. Harry hums his reply, the sound vibrating against the inside of Remus's mouth.

More aroused than any Englishman should be at eight in the morning, Remus imagines pulling Harry by the shirt and throwing him over the breakfast table so he can better have his way with him. Remus can almost hear buttons clattering to the floor, the feel of young flesh under his fingertips. His eyes fly open at the thought and he breaks the kiss; Harry and his hands pull apart as he does so.

Breathing heavily, Harry stares at Remus, lifting his hand to touch his own mouth. His lids are heavy, his cheeks and lips a matching shade of red. Remus has to look away, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He clears his throat. "Harry --"

Harry immediately interrupts, his voice soft. "That...that was brilliant. Thank you." His hand is still near his mouth.

Remus doesn't answer for a moment, choosing instead to get very interested in the blue, flowered pattern on his tea cup. Finally, he settles on "You're welcome." It's good that he's able to be a help to James's son and it's not like he expects anything else to....

A hand settles on Remus's shoulder and he makes a concerted effort not to press into the touch. Harry's voice is still small, hesitant. "Can we do this again sometime?"