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24 December, 1981

Remus had never been especially invested in sport, but nevertheless, he found himself cheering and hooting along with the rest when Artemisia Parry caught the Snitch, winning the match for the Tutshill Tornados. As Remus carefully picked his way down from the top of the stands, from the prime viewing box he’d uneasily shared with the beautifully-attired wives of players and well-to-do team sponsors, he thanked Merlin that it had been a victory. If it had been a defeat, surely Sirius would have been dreadfully sullen. And in light of the intervening years, Remus wasn’t sure if he could have been as patient with Sirius’ moodiness as he usually had been back at school.

Things were different now than they had been back then, even if it was less than three years since they’d ridden the Hogwarts Express for the final time. It felt so much longer than that, those days as inseparable schoolboys felt a lifetime away. Remus had been surprised when he’d come home from a long and rather grueling shift cleaning the local Muggle Hospital to find Sirius’ owl, Bolan, preening in his kitchen. Estranged would have been much too strong a word, but they didn’t enjoy regular correspondence. Remus had scolded Bolan for somehow knowing how to open a window, but not how to close a window, letting in the December chill in a manner that would no doubt gouge his budget when the heating bill needed to be paid up in a couple of weeks. Bolan had merely blinked his great golden eyes in boredom and thrust an envelope into Remus’ hands. 

Remus had broken the seal, his telling-off of the unfazed bird dying in his throat as he unfolded the parchment and a ticket fluttered to his feet. ‘Moony, Now you have to come,’ he had read as he’d knelt to pick up the ticket, resenting the way his heart still leapt at the sight of Sirius’ fine, copperplate handwriting. ‘You’re a sorry excuse for a mate, not coming to a single match in all this time, but I am above neither guilting you nor bribing you, as you must know. Loads of people would kill for a chance to sit in the VIW box so Happy Christmas, quite as we’ve always suspected, you’re Very Important. There, will flattery achieve what bribery cannot? I had better see your dear, wolfy mug then.’ He’d signed it Pads and had scrawled a bit less neatly the post-script: ‘P.S. Don’t you bloody dare even think about selling the ticket, Lupin.’

Remus’ gut had squirmed at being caught out. He’d thought about it already. If people would kill for the seat, surely they’d pay for it. His stomach had grumbled at the thought of what he could do with even a small windfall, the prospect of days with not one meal but two, the minor debts he could pay off, the winter cloak and boots he could replace with ones that were actually warm, not threadbare and thin from too many reparos. Sirius would want him to be warm and fed, surely he wouldn’t really begrudge him selling the ticket if that was the cause, would he? Remus had looked at the ticket, which bore the Tornados’ signature shades of light and dark blue. The words ‘Very Important Wizard’ were printed in gold block letters above the (rather high) seat number and the date. 24 December, 1981.

As Remus finally neared the bottom of the stands, he again was pummeled by the volley of emotions that had rained down on him as he had first stared at the ticket, sitting on his heels upon the warped kitchen linoleum. Irritation at the assumption by Sirius that Remus had no plans on Christmas Eve, followed closely by the embarrassment and ache that Sirius had assumed correctly. Without this invitation, Remus would probably have been working or at best treating himself to a drink and some chocolate alone in his pokey flat. That wasn’t the heart of it though. The eye of the storm, as usual with him, was the memory of a different Christmas spent with Sirius. That last, stolen Christmas at Hogwarts. The falling snow that had seemed to turn to steam as it neared the heat of their kisses; Sirius pink-cheeked and giddy from mulled wine, wriggling his cold toes under Remus’ thigh by the fire; the stars wheeling by the dormitory window as they talked late into the morning with the bed curtains hanging open; the last gasp of 1977 exhaled on Sirius’ sweet, rapturous sighs beneath him, right there on the Common Room rug.

Remus winced against the barrage of old yearning. It had never really gone away, but he hadn’t really expected it to. Most of the time it was fairly easy to set it aside, to put it out of his mind. That had not been the case today. 

The moment the Tutshill Tornados had zoomed into sight in a showy chevron formation, Remus might as well have been sixteen again. His eyes had zeroed in on Sirius instantly and all the dour common sense and carefully curated solitude of his adult life had melted away, like the snowflakes in Sirius’ hair three years before. They hadn’t actually seen each other in person since James and Lily’s wedding in ‘78, but even from his seat in the stands, it was apparent to Remus that somehow Sirius had become even fitter than ever. His eyes had followed the blue-clad blur of him around the pitch, not bothered to keep track of the Bludgers he thwacked around or the scores the Chasers were racking up against the Cannons. When Sirius had flicked his hair out of his eyes or laughed triumphantly at a Bludger thwarting the opposite team, it had gone through Remus like a jolt of electricity, tingling in his hands and face, skipping in his chest, and tightening in his trousers.

Yes, well, he reminded himself now as he walked aimlessly past a horde of young witches with photos they were hoping to have autographed by the players, Sirius smiling and winking from the pictures in more than two-thirds of their hands, You may have fancied him first, but while you’ve been mastering your Scouring and Mending Charms, the rest of the world have caught on and noticed he’s a bit of all right.

Remus had thought, or perhaps merely hoped, that there would be a bit of time to actually visit with Sirius after the game, but now that he was faced with the reality of things, he felt a sick prickle of embarrassment. Sirius’ time was evidently in high demand, and surely if he’d planned to visit with Remus, he would have told him where they ought to meet, wouldn’t he? Hell, he was keeping his adoring fans waiting, and was Remus really much better than any one of them anyway, skulking outside the Tornados' changing rooms, half-ill with desire?

Remus took exactly one step in the direction of the Disapparition area, before the soft bark of a dog cut through the noise and bustle of the crowd. Remus very much doubted that anyone else would have even noticed, but the sound seemed to reverberate through him, as if it had plucked the string of some instrument in the vicinity of his ribs. He looked around, trying to peer through the sea of blue and orange robes people had worn in support of their teams, seeking the familiar black shape of Padfoot. He startled when something wet touched his fingers, looking down to find the dog grinning up at him, tongue lolling, Sirius’ grey eyes bright with mirth.

“Pads!” was all Remus got out, before Sirius was loping away, leaving him no other choice but to follow the fluffy wagging tail through the crowd. It wasn’t an easy job, and at one point, he was sure he had lost sight of him, but another bark drew his attention to the right, where a nondescript door stood ajar. He hurried over to it.

No sooner had he stepped inside than the door was shutting behind him, and he was confronted with Sirius in dizzying proximity. Sirius' hand was flat against the door, just to the left of Remus’ head, his chest directly in front of Remus’ face. He was still in his kit, though he’d loosened the laces, so that a sliver of fair skin and dark chest hair was visible. Remus’ mouth went dry as his imagination cooked up a mental image of Sirius tugging the laces loose with the same easy nonchalance he’d always had as he loosened his school tie. He tore his eyes from Sirius’ chest to look up at his face, only to half-regret it. His hair was artfully tousled, he might have thought it windswept from flying if he hadn’t known that it always looked like that. The pink in his nose and cheeks, however, was a result of flying through the cold December air. Sirius’ jaw had grown squarer as he grew further into adulthood, and there was a shadow of stubble on his face. His grey eyes glittered and his lips were sheer perfection, curved into the smuggest smirk Remus had ever seen.

“Hey, Moony,” he said, his voice quiet and raspy, sending sparks down Remus’ spine. It brought to mind the way Sirius had relished teasing him back at school, seeing how far he could push him with flirtations and sly looks and touches before Remus would snap, shoving him into a secret passageway and doing his best to make him scream. Remus pushed the thought away and pushed himself away from the door, putting some much-needed distance between his body and the perfection that was Sirius’.

“Hi,” he said, trying to sound conversational and like he wasn’t wondering if Sirius still got off on being bossed around, “G-good game out there.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said, with a wry lilt to his voice. He leaned his back against the closed door, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made his broad shoulders and strong Beater’s arms look as though they were sculpted from Carrara marble, “I wasn’t sure you’d come, honestly.”

“Of course, I did,” Remus said, as if there were any precedent at all for him coming to see Sirius play, “Thank you, by the way, for the ticket.”

Sirius waved it off dismissively, “Oh, don’t. It’s no bother.”

Something about Sirius’ tone rankled. Naturally a VIW ticket that cost the equal of a couple of months worth of Remus' rent would be negligible to Sirius. In fact, Remus really shouldn’t read too much into the invitation, Sirius probably sent James and Lily tickets to every match. Remus bit his lip, looking around the room Padfoot had led him into for the first time, in desperate need of some excuse to change the topic, “Is this a changing room?” he asked, rather idiotically, as if the rows of lockers, long narrow bench, and row of showers were not answer enough to that question.

“Well spotted,” Sirius grinned, then went on to explain, “They don’t usually put a team in here, though, if they can help it,” he explained, “There’s a couple Boggarts that’ve made quite a cozy home for themselves in the lockers.”

“Oh, I see now,” Remus teased, loftily, hoping he hadn’t stumbled on the truth, “You only invited me so I could get rid of them for you. You never did quite get the hang of riddikulus.”

“Moony, you wound me,” Sirius said, pushing off the door and laying one hand over his heart, “I invited you in hopes that I might be reunited with my dearest, most beloved recluse,” Remus didn’t allow the dramatic act to stir his heart, knowing Sirius well enough to predict the precise timing and tone of the punchline, “Though… now you mention it, if you wouldn’t mind, I’m sure you could make short work of them.” And right on schedule, there it was.

“Ha,” Remus said, rolling his eyes, “Nice try, but I don’t work for free.”

“No, of course not,” Sirius flicked his hair out of his eyes, “That’s what the ticket was for.”

“Yes, well, you ordered me not to sell the ticket, so I’m afraid it won’t go far towards paying my bills,” Remus said, a bit more sharply than intended.

Sirius’ grin faltered and Remus was equal parts vindicated and sorry. Sirius wasn’t trying to be patronizing, he was trying to be generous. He’d never known how to be humble about wealth, and why would he? He’d been taught to flaunt it right since the cradle, “Right, well,” Sirius said, a bit wrong-footed as Remus had waylaid his banter, “There’s plenty of changing rooms to go around, no need to disturb the current residents.”

“Fair enough,” Remus agreed, turning his back to Sirius and walking further into the room as if the uniform row of lockers held any particular interest for him. In truth, he just needed to collect himself, and he'd never manage it with Sirius looking like that in front of him.

Sirius watched Remus’ back and kicked himself soundly. This wasn't going well. He’d known Remus since he was eleven, known him better than anyone. And he was the most eligible bloody bachelor in the UK, so how was he buggering this up so magnificently? 

Since they’d left Hogwarts, Remus had drifted so far from him. And it had hurt. After the intense, heady closeness they’d shared towards the end of school, it had hurt like losing a limb to watch the distance stretch out between them. But Quidditch had kept him busy, and he’d hoped that perhaps Remus had simply moved on. Maybe he had built a new life and fostered new relationships, had grown distant simply because he was busy, and invested in new things and new people. But looking at the way his threadbare cloak hung off his too-skinny frame, the way anxiety seemed to have carved itself permanently into his brow and the set of his jaw, Sirius’ half-baked hopes that Remus was leading a happy life that simply didn’t include him had evaporated. It didn’t take a genius to see that the intervening years had not been the kindest to his Moony.

He’s not your Moony, he reminded himself, he’s not your anything. But he’d never really believed that. That had been the one problem back at Hogwarts, after all; Sirius had never really managed to wrap his head around the fact that Remus didn’t belong to him. Though they’d been comrades, packmates, best friends. Though they had both been mad with desire for each other, caught up in the thrill of sneaking around, climbing into each other’s beds while the others slept, hands dancing along thighs at breakfast, debauching every last hidden room and secret passageway, still Remus hadn’t been his.

“So, erm,” Remus said, and Sirius realized the silence had stretched on for an uncomfortably long time, “You really did play well today.”

“You don’t have to be polite, Moons,” Sirius said glumly, nearly regretting inviting Remus if the whole of it was going to be this awkward.

“Pardon me?” Remus said, turning halfway to look back at Sirius and Merlin, the years hadn't been entirely cruel, he was even fitter than he’d been before, finally having grown into the mature lines his face had always had. But Merlin, too, was he thin, looking at him from the side, there was no missing the lack of any and all fat on his frame.

“You’ve never cared about Quidditch,” Sirius said, his voice gone all snippy with frustration at all the things he was better off not saying out loud, “I reckon you think it’s a waste of my talents, swinging a bat around and looking pretty when I could be like a Healer or an Auror or something useful.”

Remus’ brow furrowed and then he threw his head back and laughed abruptly, “Jesus Christ, Sirius, bloody high opinion you’ve got of yourself, innit?” he laughed again, but there was nothing derisive about it and Sirius relaxed infinitesimally, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re much too self-involved to be any good as a Healer and you're too reckless to be an Auror, even if you are up to your ears in magical ability,” Remus put his hands on his hips and cocked his head at Sirius, quirking his lips to the side in consideration, “I’ve always thought you’d make an alright teacher, if only you had a whit of patience or any respect for rules. But as you haven’t, it’s a lucky thing you’re so good at swinging a bat around.”

Sirius blinked at Remus, a little surprised by the speech and relieved to hear that Remus did not, in fact, look down on his career path as an athlete. He couldn’t help himself, and a smirk tugged at his lips as he prompted, “Don’t forget the looking pretty, Moony, it’s a very important bit, that.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed, gaze raking slowly from his feet up to his eyes. Sirius’ heart sped up as that familiar molten something flashed in Remus’ amber eyes, “Thank Circe, you’ve never had a problem with that.”

“If I’m so pretty,” Sirius said slowly, raising an eyebrow challengingly, “What in Merlin’s name are you doing all the way over there?”

There it was again, that dangerous thing in Remus’ eyes that had always turned his knees to jelly! Remus smiled at Sirius’ words and his cheeks might have pinkened slightly, but to Sirius’ disappointment, he did not charge over and grab him as he might have done at sixteen, “I can tell how pretty you are well enough from this vantage point, thanks,” was Remus’ dry response.

Sirius pouted and watched the way Remus’ eyes dropped hungrily to his lips, “Suit yourself,” Sirius baited, dragging his hands up his chest from his hips to begin toying with the laces of his kit, “I only thought you might fancy helping me out of this.”

Remus’ teeth snagged on his lower lip for a second, over the faded scar there, and then he put his hands in the pockets of his patch-kneed corduroys and said, “I’m sure you can handle it without my assistance.” Silence fell thick between them and Sirius’ fingers twitched uncertainly on the laces.

It had been easy, shockingly easy, to fall into the old rhythm of flirtatious banter with Remus, but so far they hadn’t said or done anything that couldn’t be taken back or made light of. If Sirius began bloody undressing himself, though, that would be real, and unmistakable, and well... bloody vulnerable. Suppose Remus wasn't interested in doing any more than looking and he made an absolute tit of himself? He’d never been shy about his body; he was beautiful and he knew it, and even before three years of changing and washing in front of teammates regularly, he’d had no qualms about it. But this wasn’t casual, practical nudity like that, though, this was hovering nebulously in the realm of take-your-clothes-off-because-I-said-so nudity, no-Silencing-Charm-but-Moony’s-hand-over-his-mouth nudity, this might be we’re-just-mates-who-get-off-together-and-aren’t-in-love nudity. And Merlin, how was he even considering it, when Moony couldn’t even be bothered to owl him more than once or twice a year? But Merlin, too, how was he even hesitating when just the smolder in Remus’ eyes turned him on more than anyone else’s touch ever had?

“Remus,” he said, voice coming out low and a bit shaky.

“Take it off,” Remus said, a bit more sternly, a mirror flash of Sirius’ own uncertainty and desperation as he added softly, “Please.”

Sirius’ fingers were deft and made quick work of the laces on his kit, shrugging it off once it was loosened enough. He wore no shirt beneath and shivered as the cool air of the disused changing room hit his bare skin, chilling what lingered of the sweat of the game. Remus made a small noise in his throat that made Sirius’ cock stir in his navy uniform trousers, and he glanced up and was pleasantly surprised to find that Remus had taken a few steps towards him, “Merlin, Padfoot," he said, "but you aren’t pretty, you’re bloody gorgeous.”

The praise was like a tender touch, like when Remus used to give his dog form a scritch in just that spot behind the ears. He felt his cheeks heat up and his cock filling, but could do little more than smile at Remus adoringly, “Go on, then,” Remus said, jerking his chin at Sirius still-clad lower half.

“Ask nicely,” Sirius said, tossing his hair over his shoulder.

“This is me asking nicely, take it off.” his voice had gone sort of hoarse and it brought goosebumps to the surface of Sirius’ skin. 

He thought about defying Remus, or better yet, clarifying what the hell they were doing here, or what Remus’ intentions were. That was how grown-ups went about this, wasn't it, and they certainly weren't the children they had been any longer. It had been years and much as he wanted this, Sirius didn’t know if he could stand it if Remus was just going to disappear into thin air again once he’d got his leg over. Remus raised one eyebrow sharply, though, and that was all it took and Sirius pushed his doubts aside, toeing off his flexible riding shoes, unfastening his dragonhide knee and shin guards with trembling fingers, unbuckling and pushing down his trousers so that he stood before Remus in nothing but his pants, chest heaving with his shallow breath. He looked at Remus imploringly, and it came out too near to a whine when he said, “Moony,”

Remus seemed to recognize the plea in Sirius’ voice and his demeanor softened as he stepped closer, “You’re so good, Sirius,” he said, and his voice was rough, but gentle, nearer to his normal speaking voice as he asked, “Alright?”

Sirius’ knees felt weak, his cock was throbbing now, and nothing could have prepared him for the emotions rising within him. He’d known his feelings about Remus had been intense once, but he hadn’t thought they’d still hit him quite so hard. He’d hardly thought Remus would even come to the match, much less rise to the challenge of his flirtation like this. He felt off-balance and unprepared and more aroused than he’d been in years. He nodded a bit shakily, “Yeah,” he said, surprising himself when he admitted, “I’ve just really missed you.”

And as if that were some sort of incantation, the invisible barrier between them seemed to dissolve and Remus was on him in a second. His hands on Sirius’ cheeks, he pulled him down into a searing kiss. Suddenly, it was as if a day hadn’t gone by, it was as if they were seventeen again, tucked away in some private corner of the castle, stuck to each other like magnets. Remus’ tongue was in his mouth again, and fuck he tasted the same as he ever had, like tea and chocolate and wild magic, and his teeth were dragging along Sirius’ lower lip and pulling a moan from him. Remus’ right hand left Sirius’ face and Sirius broke the kiss, seeing Remus shake his wand from his sleeve, training it on the doorknob. He grabbed Remus’ wrist, and Remus smirked at him, “Really?” he said, one scruffy curl of tawny and silver falling into his eyes.

Sirius shook his head and leaned back into Remus, “Don’t lock it,” he breathed against Remus’ ear, before moving down further to nibble under the corner of his jaw, nosing aside Remus’ scarf.

“Bloody madman,” Remus hissed, stowing his wand and burying his hand instead in Sirius’ hair, “You always did—mmm—like the idea of getting caught,”

Sirius made no effort to conceal the shiver that went through him at the words, sucking at Remus’ neck, “I never had anything to hide,” he corrected, before sucking on Remus’ earlobe, rewarded by the hungry groan he knew it would elicit.

“You’re—ah!—full of shit,” Remus whispered, a breathy laugh softening the accusation. His hands slid greedily down Sirius’ bare skin to grip at his hips, “S-seventh year, after the match with R-Ravenclaw,”

Sirius shuddered at the memory, “The last time you h-had me in a changing room,” he said, straightening up to smirk down at Remus.

“Right, and you Disillusioned us when you heard people outside,” Remus pointed out, not quite managing to seem stern with his eyes gone glazed and a love bite blooming on his neck under the loosely looped scarf.

“Oh, stuff it, you were glad I did when it turned out to be McGonagall!” Sirius pointed out, grabbing hold of the back of Remus’ neck and tugging him into another kiss. Their tongues tangled and Remus groaned into him, fingers digging in as he gripped Sirius’ hips more tightly. Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’ neck, deepening the kiss, trying to pour into it all the soft, gooey, vulnerable things that were so hard to say, no matter how much he meant them.

A second later, Remus had spun them, surging forward to press Sirius flat against the row of lockers. The metal of them was cold as ice against his bare back and it made him gasp into Remus mouth. It was worth it to have Remus flush against him, warm and slender and hard, unexpected strength coiled tightly in his slight frame. His clothes were rough against Sirius’ skin, a symptom of being cheaply bought and mended magically too many times over. But his blood sang at the press of Remus’ erection against his thigh and that peculiar, forbidden thrill of being mostly naked while Remus still wore all his clothes, even his traveling cloak and scarf. 

Remus broke the kiss, grinning wickedly up at him as he unwound Sirius’ arms from his neck, pressing his wrists against the cold metal of the lockers, “I didn’t care if we got caught,” he declared raggedly, “You were so bloody sexy, and you’d had your hand down my trousers at breakfast, chattering on to Prongs about Quidditch as if it didn’t even matter,” he scraped his teeth over Sirius’ collarbone and pressed his wrists harder, “And you just winked, I remember you bloody winked before running off and of course, the whole match I just couldn’t wait to get my hands on you,” he rubbed himself against Sirius’ thigh, his flesh hot even through his trousers, “It was a hot day, th-the first hot day that spring and you were all sweaty and that shouldn’t have been sexy, but fuck, I thought you were glowing and when I finally got my mouth on your skin I could taste the salt of it,” he licked a wet stripe up Sirius’ neck and Sirius’ breath caught, remembering it all like it was yesterday. Remus pulled back enough to meet Sirius’ eyes and there was something there, devastatingly soft within the darkly molten desire, “I remember I couldn’t believe it, Sirius, couldn’t believe I got to touch you.”

“Remus,” Sirius sighed, hips arching away from the lockers to rut against Remus.

“I can’t bloody believe it right now to tell you the truth,” Remus admitted, pressing his forehead to Sirius' and grinding their hips together. He released Sirius’ wrists and kissed him again, passionately, fumbling to unwind the scarf from his neck.

Remus’ heart was in his throat, barely able to make sense of how he’d found himself here, with Sirius in his pants, hard and trembling at his mercy. Wasn’t it just this morning when Sirius seemed like an unattainable dream, faded with the years? Surely, this hadn’t been his intention in sending him the ticket, but he was eager and gorgeous and Remus wouldn’t ruin this by overthinking in the midst of it.

“Moony,” Sirius sighed against his lips, impatiently pushing his cloak from his shoulders, “Fuck, I’ve missed it, Moony…”

“Me too, Pads, God,” Remus agreed as Sirius pulled his jumper over his head and started on his shirt buttons.

Sirius groaned loudly, “You always had a fetish for wearing too many fucking layers,” he accused.

“Not a fetish, I just like to be warm,” Remus corrected, as Sirius undid the last button and slid his hands along Remus’ ribs, up to his shoulder-blades before pushing the garment off. Sirius’ hands were more calloused than they had been at school, from years of full-time flying, and he moaned at the feel of Remus’ skin. Gratified as Remus was by his apparent appreciation, he shushed him, “A little q-quieter, Pads, I know they can’t expel you, but I reckon they could fire you.”

Sirius shot Remus a cocky smile, hands sliding down his back to cup his arse through his corduroys. He scoffed, “A third of the people cheering us on out there came because they fancy me,” he pointed out, tone more practical than it was vain, “They can’t afford to lose me.”

Remus knew the feeling and heard himself wistfully agree, “Who could,” Sirius’ smirk went soft, eyes shining and cheeks red, before he tugged Remus back against him. This kiss was different. Sirius’ tongue swept deeper into Remus’ mouth, making him shiver, tasting the unnamed emotions Sirius kissed into him. Sirius pulled back reluctantly to look down at Remus’ belt buckle as he undid it, and Remus felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with the removal of his clothes. He hadn’t meant to let that confession slip, and it hovered between them, achingly tender and entirely too honest. He rushed to try and regain the playful banter of a few moments before, “The p-press would have a bloody field day,” he said, as Sirius finished with his belt and moved on to his fly, “‘Famous Flying Heartthrob Sirius Black Positively Gagging for Penniless Werewolf,” he said, voice going reedy by the end as his trousers bunched around his ankles.

Sirius shook his head stubbornly, “I’d never let them publish anything about your furry little problem,” he said, kissing the corner of Remus’ lips and palming him through his pants, “‘Heartthrob Sirius Black Positively Gagging for Childhood Sweetheart’, more like.”

Remus' heart did indeed throb in his chest for Sirius Black. Even in the context of a silly bit of dirty talk, he wouldn’t even entertain the idea of outing Remus as a werewolf. It was so dear that it stung. Why in Merlin’s name had he pushed such a good friend away, even if that was all they could ever be? But then he’d just called them sweethearts and that was part of what had his heart throbbing, his eyes having the gall to prickle. He clumsily pushed Sirius’ pants down, just enough to free his cock. Remus took him in his hand, eager for the moans he knew he could draw from Sirius, touching him just the way he’d learned to years before.

Right on cue, Sirius moaned his name and it was the sweetest fucking sound Remus had ever heard. He never stopped stroking Sirius as he turned him around, to face the lockers. His own cock was throbbing nearly as much as his heart, and he needed to be inside Sirius as soon as possible. He murmured the lubrication spell he’d learned to perform wandlessly at age fourteen and Sirius keened at the cool, slick press of the first finger. Merlin, he was hotter and softer than Remus had even remembered and the chorus of moans and sighs he made as Remus worked first one, then two fingers inside of him, made his head spin.

He leaned his cheek against Sirius’ back, smooth and white as it had ever been, as his third finger nudged against Sirius’ entrance, “Moony,” he keened, and it Remus’ cock twitched impatiently. 

The words that had been circling in Remus’ head spilled onto his tongue and he mumbled against Sirius’ back, “We weren’t, not really,”

“Huh?” Sirius asked, breathless and fuzzy.

“We weren’t really ‘sweethearts’,” Remus explained, barely more than a whisper.

“We bloody well should’ve been,” Sirius hissed, arching his back to take Remus’ fingers deeper.

“What?” Surely, he couldn’t mean that.

“Please, Moony,” Sirius begged, “I’m ready, please,”

“P-please, what?” Remus prompted, trying to find some semblance of the authority he had felt in this role in the past, thrown off by Sirius’ words.

“Please fuck me, c’mon,” Sirius pleaded, “I need you inside me, Remus, it’s enough.”

Emotionally off-balance as he was, the words still shot to Remus’ cock like a bolt of lightning and he withdrew his fingers, making Sirius hiss. He pushed his pants aside, slicked some of the lube onto his cock and positioned himself at Sirius’ shining red entrance, before finally pushing himself inside in one thrust.

For a few moments, the confusion melted away, along with the years of longing and loneliness, and all that existed was the bliss of Sirius. The yielding heat of his body, the delicious sounds that spilled from his mouth, the way he thrust his cock into the circle of Remus’ hand. But as his pleasure mounted, as their movements became clumsier and more desperate, the words came bubbling out and there was nothing Remus could have done to stop them, “W-we should’ve been, Sirius, f-fuck, we should’ve been.”

“...y-you mean it?” Sirius panted, cheek pressed against the lockers.

“Yeah, M-Merlin, yeah,” Remus said, wrapping his free arm around Sirius’ waist and pulling him upright, pressing them chest to back.

“R-Remus, fu-uck,” Sirius moaned, bordering on a sob. They moved together as one, Remus hardly pulling out of Sirius and breathing heavy against his neck.

“Sirius,” Remus felt his balls tightening and knew he couldn’t hold off long, wanking Sirius faster and harder, surprising himself as he urged tenderly, between kisses to Sirius’ nape, “C’mon, and come for me, babe. Please, sweetheart, I need you to come for me.”

With a broken moan, Sirius did, every muscle tightening and trembling as he spilled over Remus’ fist. His arse tightened and fluttered around Remus’ cock and it undid him, drawing an orgasm from him so intense that his vision whited out and his legs nearly gave out beneath him. They leaned heavily against the lockers, still pressed tightly together for some minutes until Sirius squirmed and Remus slid wetly from him. Sirius turned around to face Remus and didn’t meet his eyes before bending down and removing Remus’ shoes and the trousers tangled around his ankles. He slid off his own pants and they stood there without a stitch on for an uncertain moment. Remus still felt dizzy and a bit muddled from the intensity of his orgasm and didn’t protest when Sirius led him over to the showers. He watched Sirius turn on the water and adjust the temperature.

Sirius pulled him under the warm, comforting stream of the water and Remus sighed involuntarily. Sirius smiled almost shyly (though certainly Sirius Black wasn’t capable of being bashful) and grabbed a couple bars of soap from the shelf, putting one in Remus’ hand. Sirius hesitated a second, and then began gently sudsing up Remus’ chest. Remus looked at the bar of soap in his hand, and realized as the hot water cleared his head that he was supposed to be using it to wash Sirius. He ran it along Sirius’ shoulder, watching reverently as it left a line of white froth that rinsed away after another instant. Remus couldn’t have said how long they carried on like that, silently guiding the soap along each other’s skin with care. Then Sirius set aside his bar of soap, scraped his wet hair back from his face and asked, “So. Was that… was that just your erection talking, or… or nostalgia, or…?”

Remus blinked at Sirius for a second, the grey eyes artfully not quite meeting his from beneath water-spiked lashes. He thought about denying it, blaming hormones or something, but that was a coward’s way out and he was no coward. Might as well own up to it, now that the kneazle was truly out of the bag, “Pads… don’t be daft. You must know I’ve been gone for you since we were, like, seventeen.”

Sirius snorted, looking at the soap dish as he disagreed, “I most certainly don’t know anything of the sort.”

“Well… now you do,” Remus said, setting aside his bar of soap and shifting his weight a bit nervously, “Because I’m telling you that I have.”

Sirius finally lifted his eyes to meet Remus’ gaze, his expression was wary and skeptical, even if the flush of lovemaking was still on his cheeks, “I thought it was just shagging," he said, "We said… well, I mean, we acted like it was just shagging, Remus.”

“Yeah, well,” Remus pushed his hair out of his face, “We were idiots. The shagging was brilliant, of course, but… yeah, I figure I wanted it to be… not just shagging.”

Sirius winced, his voice pitching up as he asked, “The whole time? Moony, if I’d known that, I… I wouldn’t have, I mean, I thought we were on the same page, I—”

“No, Pads, c’mon,” Remus rested his hands on Sirius’ shoulders, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose, “I didn’t know, not for a while. I reckon I didn’t even think it was an option?” He wrapped his arms around Sirius’ waist, “You didn’t lead me on or anything.” He held Sirius for a moment and then realized with a dreadful plummeting sensation in his stomach that Sirius hadn’t lifted his arms to hug him back. Reluctantly he pulled away a little, “So, I… I take it you… didn’t feel that way?”

Sirius chuckled, “Are you forgetting I’m the one who called us sweethearts? That was aspirational.” Remus shrugged, avoiding Sirius’ eyes. Sirius took hold of his chin, forcing him to look up into his face, “Remus Lupin,” he said gravely, “I think I was half in love with you before we ever even kissed. I was an idiot, as you so succinctly put it, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but…”

“I figured it out that Christmas, actually,” Remus confessed.

“Really?” Sirius asked, “Seventh year?”

Remus nodded, “Yeah. It… it was so bloody dear of you to stay for the full moon, and miss Christmas with the Potters. I remember feeling badly about that.”

“I’d have told you not to,” Sirius pointed out, and his cheeks reddened more, “And I feel like a sap telling you, the moon was really just a convenient excuse to get a whole week alone with you, Moony.”

Remus grinned at the idea that Sirius had wanted an excuse at all, “It was brilliant either way. And honestly, it was the only time it felt to me like we were… sweethearts, or what have you. All that cuddling by the fire and slow lazy shagging…” he shrugged, trailing off.

“I nearly told you I loved you half a dozen times that week, I swear,” Sirius rolled his eyes at himself, “Now I wish I had.”

Remus tugged him down into a brief but tender kiss. When they broke apart he whispered, “Remember you woke me up with that giant sodding bow on? I can’t tell you a single other gift I got, just that, just feeling like, ‘well, I’m done for, he’s all I want and I can’t bloody have him’.”

“Idiot, there I was giving myself to you with a bow, and you still missed it!” Sirius shook his head, water spraying off his wet hair and making Remus think of Padfoot. Sirius nibbled his lip and then peered over at Remus cautiously, “And… what about this Christmas, Moons? Am I still… I mean, do you still want me?”

Remus laughed incredulously, tugged Sirius back into a hug and kissed him soundly, “You’re the only thing I want.”

“Well, I’ll have to get a truly, hideously massive bow for tomorrow,” Sirius teased, “Maybe you’ll actually get the message this time.”

Remus snickered and held Sirius to him for a moment under the comforting stream of the shower. He kissed Sirius' cheek and asked, “What are you actually doing tomorrow?”

“Going to Prongsie’s, of course,” Sirius said and his eyes lit up, “Blimey, will you actually come this year?”

“I reckon I’ll have to,” Remus said, with feigned boredom, “Otherwise someone might think that great ugly bow is for them,”

Sirius laughed, “I’ll kiss you in front of everyone. Prongs might faint.”

“You’re twisted, Padfoot,” Remus said, and natural as anything, “I love you.”

Sirius beamed down at him, “I love you, too.”