Work Text:
Sirius is on the phone when Remus comes home from work.
He's sprawled on his belly across the sofa, propped up on his elbows. The TV is on, but his attention is elsewhere – right hand scribbling on a notebook, while his left keeps the phone pressed to his ear.
So that's why he didn't pick up, Remus thinks, something sour curling low in his stomach.
He'd called him earlier during the day, but as the calls went to voicemail, Remus assumed he was busy with work, so he bought him a chocolate cake for dessert. Sirius's favourite. Now, standing in the entryway, Remus is not so sure he deserves it – because Sirius is not working at all. He's talking, happily, animatedly, with—
"No, Jamie," Sirius whines into the phone.
James, of course, Remus's mind supplies.
He rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated breath before heading left to the kitchen. The shopping bag hits the counter with a heavy thud, and he starts unpacking it, while Sirius's voice drifts through the apartment.
"I don't want to wake up at four in the morning on my vacation! Do you hate me?"
Remus puts the frozen goods in the freezer first, then arranges everything else in the cabinets, all while contemplating what he should make for dinner. It's Monday, and he's tired down to his bones. He spent thirty minutes stuck in traffic, elbow-to-elbow with strangers on a bus. Then a detour to the supermarket, which forced him to get off two stops early, leaving him to walk home in the freezing December air with a heavy bag. Now he stands in their kitchen, hands bracing against the counter, thinking if he even has the energy to cook.
He hears Sirius laughing from the other room – loud and bright – and follows the sound, leaning against the doorway. Sirius is still in the same position, legs bent and kicking absently in the air. He isn't facing Remus, but he must feel him enter – the same way Remus always feels Sirius like a warmth at the back of his neck – because a moment later, Sirius turns, glancing over his shoulder.
He smiles at him sweetly before speaking. "Yeah, we can just use the blue piste," he says into the phone, then looks back at his notebook. "I'll teach you the basics, and then you can show off to Lily. Help her get in her skis, hold her hand—"
"Sirius," Remus calls, soft but pointed.
Sirius glances back again, eyes flicking up toward him, but he doesn't speak – the phone still pressed to his ear. Remus wants to say hi, to ask if he is hungry, get his attention, just for a moment, the way James seems to earn so effortlessly. But Sirius doesn't shift. He just keeps kicking his feet, gaze on Remus like he's interrupting.
And Remus is exhausted. He parts his lips to try again, but Sirius suddenly turns away with a burst of excitement.
"Oh! That's brilliant!" Sirius crows, bright and carefree.
Something in Remus deflates. Just like that, he feels foolish for expecting Sirius would hang up, even briefly. A moment later he's spinning on his heel. He shrugs off his coat in the entryway, kicks his loafers aside, and heads for the bathroom. He'll take a long shower – because he's exhausted, and cold, and yes, maybe a little annoyed that Sirius isn't. Worse: that Sirius doesn't seem to notice at all.
***
Steam curls lazily against the bathroom mirror, blurring Remus's reflection until he wipes a stripe clear with the side of his arm. He stands in front of the sink with only a towel wrapped low around his hips, the warmth of the shower still clinging to his skin, loosening the last knots of the day. He lathers up another thin layer of shaving cream along his jaw and lifts the razor again, focusing on the small, precise pull of the blade, when there’s a gentle knock on the door.
"Can I?"
He doesn't bother answering. It's not a real question – it's just something they do, a warning before entering. The door opens a moment later.
Sirius slips inside and closes it behind him with his hip. His hair is tied up messily, a few strands falling around his face. "Hi, babe," Sirius says, voice soft and bright. Remus meets his eyes in the mirror, only for a second, before focusing back on the razor. Sirius steps closer, leaning one hip against the counter. "I was just telling James—Fuck, I forgot to tell you, you'll love this—"
Already?, Remus thinks, jaw tightening as he drags the blade down his cheek.
He doesn't say anything. That would require the effort he's not sure he has. Not that Sirius is waiting for him to answer.
"So James thinks we should all go to France in February—well, technically he said ‘the Alps,’ but he said it with that voice he uses when he wants to sound cultured—Remus, I swear, you should've heard him—" Sirius laughs at the memory, loud in the small, tiled room. Remus's hand jerks a little at the sudden sound, the blade nearly catching his skin. He inhales sharply.
Sirius notices the movement but completely misreads it. "Oh—sorry, sorry," he says, then keeps going. "Anyway, we spent, like, an hour trying to decide which resort is best. Jamie kept insisting we go on the black piste, but he has no idea how to handle—"
Another laugh. Then Sirius pushes off the counter and steps behind him, fingers brushing lightly along Remus's hip.
Remus freezes mid-stroke. "I'm holding a blade, Sirius," he says, voice flat.
"Oh!" Sirius retracts his hand instantly. "I'm sorry, babe. Forgot." There's a beat of silence. "So then, he sends me this absolutely ridiculous video—"
Remus exhales through his nose. He rinses the blade under warm water, watching the foam swirl down the drain, trying – really trying – not to feel irritated. He thinks it would be fine if it were anyone else, if he wasn't so exhausted. If Sirius had even looked remotely interested in saying hello when he came home. But Sirius is now leaning over the cabinet, close enough that his hair brushes Remus's shoulder as he digs for something, still talking.
"—I swear, he kills me. I really miss him." Sirius sighs, fond. "It's just so easy with him."
Remus's hand stills against his jaw. Something twists unpleasantly in his stomach. Jealousy is a stupid word, childish and too dramatic, but there's no other good name for the feeling settling heavy in his chest.
Sirius doesn't notice the shift in the air at all. He straightens with Remus's moisturizer in hand and grins like he's recounting the best story of his life. "He gets me. Always has."
The razor hits the porcelain with a louder clatter than Remus intended. Sirius finally goes quiet, the silence sharp and sudden.
"You okay?" Sirius asks, voice more careful now.
Remus wipes the remaining foam from his jaw with a small, deliberate swipe of the towel. He doesn't look at Sirius – only at himself in the mirror, a faint flush rising under his skin. "Yeah." It was too quick. Sirius hears the lie; Remus can tell. For the first time since entering the bathroom, Sirius goes still – studies him.
Remus keeps his eyes on the mirror, jaw clenched, as he dabs on aftershave. He makes a move for the door, but Sirius is quicker, sliding into his space and blocking the frame. He wraps his arms around Remus's bare waist, snug and tight – the only way he knows how.
"Something happen at work?" Sirius asks, voice low and suddenly gentle.
Remus wants to laugh. Sirius's face is tilted up at him, lips pinched with worry, looking so fucking cute he could almost forget all about his troubles. A part of him contemplates bending Sirius over the sink and work the frustration right out of his system, but another wants to make it difficult for him.
"Oh, suddenly you care?" Remus mutters through his teeth.
"Hey! Not fair…"
"Let me get dressed, please." His tone is tired, and Sirius loosens his hold immediately, hands falling away. Remus steps past him into their bedroom. He pulls a long-sleeve over his head, when Sirius appears in the doorway.
"Was it Minerva?" Sirius asks. It's a fair guess – his boss can be brutal on a good day. "Arthur?" Again, fair. Remus does complain about his chatty coworkers often. When Remus doesn't answer, Sirius stills, two hesitant steps into the room. "You wanna be alone?"
Remus loves that question. It reminds him how far they've come, how intuitively they read each other now. It means a lot, coming from Sirius, and usually fills him with warmth. The problem is tonight, Sirius got it all wrong.
"I didn't even notice—sorry, love," Sirius murmurs, voice small.
Remus takes a slow breath as he walks to the dresser. He knows he won't stop once he starts talking. "It was a lot of things," he says, pulling out some briefs and tossing them onto the bed. "Did you look outside? It poured all day." He opens another drawer, fishing for trousers. "I get to work with my socks soaked through, and late. Of course." He walks over, sits on the edge of the bed with the trousers in hand. "Minerva gives me shit for it—rightly so. And I'm already pissed at myself 'cause you know I hate being late." He stands again, letting the towel fall from his hips. "Whole day is shot after that." He steps into the briefs. "Then I call my boyfriend, he doesn't pick up, so I'm thinking he must be having a shitty day too,l. Alright, I'll get him a sweet thing, it'll cheer him up". He puts on the trousers. "I got you that cake you like, and a few other things. And for what? You were perfectly fine. Couldn't put James on hold long enough to call your boyfriend?"
Sirius blinks once. Then again – slower this time – as if Remus's words are hitting him in delayed, uneven waves. For a moment he just stands there, hands dangling useless at his sides, mouth parted but empty of words. Remus crosses his arms, heart beating too fast for how tired he is.
He stares Sirius down, daring him to say anything, but he doesn't. Instead, Sirius steps forward, careful, almost timid – which is something Remus has only seen a handful of times in all the years they've been together – and stops just before reaching Remus's space.
"Remus," Sirius says softly. "Baby… I didn't know."
Remus scoffs, looks away. "Obviously."
Sirius flinches like it physically hurt. He takes another small step, then halts, conscious of the distance. "I wasn't ignoring you," he says quietly. "James called while I was planning the trip, and… you know us. Once we start—" He drags a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face. "I didn't check my phone. I should've. I always check for you."
Remus doesn't trust himself to speak. His throat burns.
Sirius continues, voice dropping to something small. "And then you came home and you looked so—" He waves his hands around, "—beautiful, and tired, and cold, and I should've hung up the second I saw you. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."
Remus lets out a slow exhale, shoulders sagging. His anger is still there, simmering, but it's losing shape. Sirius's expression doesn't hold a trace of defensiveness – just guilt and something tender that tugs at Remus's ribs.
Sirius moves a little closer, slow enough that Remus has every chance to stop him. When Remus doesn't, Sirius lifts a hand and places it lightly on Remus's hip – like testing the ground before stepping fully onto it.
"You bought me a cake," Sirius whispers. “Walked home in the cold. And I made you feel like you didn't matter.”
Remus swallows. "You didn't make me feel—" But Sirius's eyes are too earnest, too open, and he can't lie.
Sirius steps in fully, and wraps both arms around Remus's waist with a gentleness that's so unlike his usual exuberant clinginess, that Remus's chest tightens. "I love you," Sirius murmurs into his shirt. "I want to do right by you. Always. I'm sorry I didn't tonight."
Remus rests his hands on Sirius's shoulders – not pulling him closer, but not pushing him away. His anger is dissolving into something smaller. "You just… didn't notice me," Remus says quietly. "Not when I called. Not when I got home. And I needed you."
Sirius's arms squeeze tighter, like he's trying to hold the apology in place around Remus's body. "I notice you," he whispers fiercely. "I always notice you. You're the first thing I see every morning and the last at night. I messed up, but I promise Remus, you're never second to anyone."
Remus closes his eyes. That sentence is unfairly effective.
Sirius leans back just enough. "Look at me." His expression is open and earnest and stupidly sweet. "Let me make it up to you?" he asks, hopeful. "Please?"
Remus exhales through his nose, but his hands drift down to Sirius's waist. It's permission.
Sirius brightens – just a quiet, relieved warmth – and cups Remus's jaw. "You're adorable when you're grumpy," he says, thumb brushing Remus's cheekbone. "How about this—" He tilts up to kiss Remus's chin. "You go lie on the sofa. I'll order some food. And then you can tell me everything about your day. All of it. No distractions."
Remus huffs, pretending he's annoyed, but there's fondness creeping in. "All right," he mutters. "But I'm not sharing the cake with you."
Sirius gasps dramatically. "No! Remus…"
Remus rolls his eyes, but when Sirius leans up again Remus meets him halfway. The kiss is warm, gentle, grounding. Sirius's hands slide up Remus's back, and Remus exhales against his mouth, tension finally melting. When they part, Sirius presses a small kiss to the corner of Remus's lips.
"Let me take care of you tonight, yeah?"
Remus nods, soft and tired. "Yeah."
And Sirius beams, like the world has been set right again.
***
Sirius was true to his word. They ate delicious Indian food curled together on the sofa, watched two episodes of The Office, and Remus's mood had lifted inch by inch, like thawing ice. Later they retreated to their bedroom, brushed their teeth shoulder to shoulder, and put on face masks before crawling into bed.
Remus has a book open on his chest, and Sirius scrolls through a webtoon beside him, waiting for the masks to dry.
Remus reaches the end of a particularly dull chapter and lets the book fall shut against him. He turns his head toward Sirius – sheet mask pressed neatly to his face, ridiculous red fluffy headband holding his hair back – and feels something warm and helpless expand in his chest.
The most beautiful man I've ever seen, Remus thinks. And somehow—somehow—he's mine.
After five years, the fact still startles him. With joy, yes, but also with fear. The fear of losing something so impossibly precious.
Sirius notices he's staring. "Hi," he says, soft as honey. They just look at each other for a beat, until Sirius giggles, eyes creasing. "What?"
Remus swallows. "Can I take it off?"
Sirius checks his phone for the time, then hums. "Yup." He sits up and extends a hand. "Give it to me."
Something in Remus loosens. He sits up and lets Sirius peel the mask gently from his face. Sirius slips off the bed and disappears down the hall to toss them away and Remus's eyes follow him out the door. He keeps looking at the empty doorway even after Sirius is gone, an odd fluttering warming low in his belly. He waits, his whole body feeling soft and quiet.
When Sirius comes back, the smile he gives Remus is so bright and pleased that his breath catches. Sirius crawls onto the bed from the foot of it, moving slowly up the mattress until he's straddling Remus's covered thighs. Sirius settles fully, the warmth of him sinking through Remus's clothes and making him feel anchored and safe. Remus's hands hover in the space between them, caught between reaching and clinging. His breathing is a little shallow, his cheeks warm, and Sirius notices instantly – of course he does.
Sirius smooths his palms over Remus's ribs, slow and steady, thumbs tracing a comforting line up and down. "There you are," he murmurs, like Remus has been gone for hours instead of sitting right beside him. "Hi, baby."
Remus's throat tightens. He nods, but it's small and powerless. He always feels a little powerless around Sirius.
Sirius leans in just enough that Remus can feel his weight shift. "Talk to me," he says, low.
Remus's fingers twitch, reaching for the hem of Sirius's shirt. "Just… want you."
Sirius inhales softly. He cups Remus's jaw with one warm hand. "You have me," he says – gentle and certain, as he always is.
Remus shakes his head, frustrated with his own inability to form words. "Not like—" He swallows, his chest is tight. "I just—" His voice breaks. He looks away. "I need you."
Sirius's thumb presses gently under his chin, guiding Remus's gaze back up. "I know," Sirius whispers, with certainty. "Look at you, love. You're dropping on me." The words land hot and humiliating and perfect. Remus exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut. Sirius's hand moves from his jaw to cradle the back of his neck, warm fingers spreading through his curls. "There it is," Sirius breathes. "That's it. Let go."
A sound escapes Remus – thin, fragile, barely anything at all – but Sirius hears it. Remus has his full attention. He shifts closer, thighs snug around Remus's hips, chests brushing, surrounding him in heat and weight.
"Hey," Sirius murmurs, lips brushing Remus's temple. "I'm here. I've got you."
Remus melts. Actually melts. His hands lift to clutch at the sides of Sirius's waist, gripping the fabric like he might fall without it. He's pathetic. He knows it. Sirius kisses the edge of his jaw and then just beneath his ear – careful, slow, lingering.
"Sirius," he whispers, breath catching in his chest.
"Oh, baby," Sirius murmurs, smiling against his skin, "I'm yours." A shudder runs through Remus, and Sirius holds him firmer, guiding him by the nape until their foreheads press together and they're breathing the same air. "I'm yours completely. And you're mine."
Remus's eyes flutter, helpless.
Sirius kisses him – slowly, deeply, the kind of kiss that feels like sinking into warm water – and Remus leans into it, greedy, needy, desperate for more. When Sirius pulls back, Remus chases him instinctively, but Sirius catches his face between his palms.
"Lie down," he says softly, thumb stroking Remus's cheek.
Remus sinks back into the pillows the moment he's told to, breath coming too quickly, heart pounding too hard. He feels exposed with the way Sirius is looking at him, like he's already undone him with his eyes alone. His fingers clutch at the sheets. "Sirius," he whispers, voice shaking. "I want—I need to show you—"
Sirius presses a gentle finger to his lips. "Hey," he murmurs. "Stop." His voice is soft, but leaves no room for argument. "You don't have to prove anything to me," Remus tries to shake his head, but Sirius cups his cheek, grounding him in place. "I mean it. I don't need anyone else. I don't want anyone else. I love you, Remus Lupin."
"You do?" he asks. It's not a real question – it's just something they do.
Sirius's thumb strokes Remus's lower lip, tender. "I do. Only you."
"I love you," slips out of Remus, a half-whine, half-sigh.
Sirius's face softens with something fierce and aching. He kisses Remus again, slow and devoted. When he pulls back, his voice is thick. "It'll always be you. You know that."
Yes, I know, echoes around Remus's mind.
He does know, but hearing Sirius say it fills his lungs with air. Nothing makes him feel more alive.
Sirius rests their foreheads together, breath mingling warm and uneven. "And I'm going to make sure you feel it," He kisses Remus again – slower – as if he doesn't know the path to his mouth. "Make sure you know you're the only one for me," he whispers against his skin.
Remus's hands slide up Sirius's sides, finally touching him with the desperate need he's been holding back, but Sirius takes his wrists and guides them above his head, pinning them to the mattress. His hold is just firm enough that Remus goes quiet all over, pliant and warm.
"You're mine," Sirius murmurs, lips brushing Remus's jaw. He trails slow kisses along his neck, each one deliberate, claiming. Remus feels heat curl low in his stomach. "I'm not going anywhere."
He loves how easily he unravels under Sirius – how seen he feels, how wanted, how impossible it is to hold onto any of his usual composure when Sirius touches him like this.
Sirius's mouth traces a slow path along Remus's collarbone, like he's tasting the tension out of him. His hands slide down Remus's sides, slipping under his shirt and pushing it upward until Remus's skin is exposed to the cool air. "No one," Sirius murmurs against his chest, brushing a kiss to his nipple, "could ever take you away from me." His voice is low, eyes dark when he lifts his head. Remus shivers.
Sirius moves lower – further away – hands sliding behind Remus's knees to shift him exactly where he wants him. Remus follows without resistance, breath catching when Sirius's brushes his hand on his clothed erection.
"Look at me," Sirius whispers.
Remus does – and the moment their eyes meet, Sirius eases him out of the rest of his clothes, slow but certain. Remus is bare in seconds, sprawled open in front of him, and all the air seems to leave his chest at once. He wants to say something – thank him, beg him, kiss him – but Sirius is already lowering himself again. His mouth hovers Remus's already hard cock, breath flaring around the tip.
Sirius darts his tongue out and what follows is dizzying. He watches him, checking every tremor, every exhale, every moan coming from Remus's lips – which are many – as Sirius's takes more of him in his mouth, down to his fist, head pressing against the back of his throat.
He's slow, careful, tasting. Then suddenly, his hands travel down Remus's legs, and he's pushing them up – and up – until Remus's feet are dangling above his shoulders and Sirius's face is buried between his thighs.
It's overwhelming in the best possible way – the room thick with the scent of sex, with their filthy sounds, with the rustle of sheets as Remus twists beneath him. Sirius works with a hypnotic kind of focus, and Remus feels every old insecurity dissolving under Sirius's steady, unrelenting attention.
Time goes strange. Remus isn't sure how long he's been drifting, only that Sirius is between his legs, desperate and famished and moaning like Remus is his favourite food.
Remus is right where he wanted to be – vulnerable and open for him.
He clutches at the sheets until he can't anymore, until instinct takes over and he's reaching for himself for a bit of relief. Sirius makes a pleased noise, smearing spit across his hole, pushing his tongue deeper, before shifting his weight to one forearm, and teasing Remus's rim with the pressure of an experience finger.
Remus barely feels it when it goes in, but his mouth hangs open all the same, at the sight of Sirius's red and wet lips and his heavy eyes on him. He slides it in and out, puts it in his mouth – along with a second one – and sucks them wet. He gives Remus only a second before he's pushing them inside.
"Fucking hell," Remus gasps, helpless.
"That's right, baby," Sirius murmurs, fingers brushing against his prostate immediately.
"Baby—please," Remus's breath breaks, hips grinding down, hand gripping tighter around himself. "Sirius," He sounds desperate, a bit demanding maybe. "Sirius."
Sirius looks up with a wicked, adoring grin, fingers still fucking in and out of him. "You're so sexy when you talk to me like that."
"Oh yeah?" Remus manages, breath shaking. "Then give me your fucking cock."
Sirius laughs – delighted, maniac – but pulls back anyway, jumping out of bed and stripping off his clothes. "I'll give you my fucking cock," he says, standing beside the bed, flushed and grinning. He grabs the lube from the nightstand and makes a show of stroking himself with it, fusing with precum, eyes locked on Remus like he can't look away.
"Come here."
Remus is already moving, crawling to him, reaching with unsteady hands. He grabs Sirius's cock, pulling playfully and making Sirius stumble even closer. They kiss – hungry and urgent – Sirius gripping Remus's sides and then his arse cheeks until Remus is panting into his mouth.
He turns, bracing himself on hands and knees. Feels Sirius line himself up, head pressing in. He takes a deep breath.
Then something buzzes sharply on the nightstand.
They both turn their heads.
It's Sirius's phone.
James's picture flashes on the screen.
"Oh—" Sirius murmurs, reaching for it with automatic urgency. Remus's hand closes around Sirius's wrist.
"Remus?" Sirius freezes, breath catching. "I'm not answering."
Remus doesn't respond. He just looks at him – feeling a calmness that wasn't there even two minutes ago. Something warm and steady has replaced all his early insecurity. He takes the phone from Sirius's loosened fingers. Turns it over. A picture of James with Sirius lights up the screen.
Remus presses the green button.
Sirius's breath catches, and Remus thinks he forgot how to inhale for a second.
"Hiya!" James chirps.
Sirius reaches instinctively for the phone, but Remus moves it out of reach. He settles back on his calves, thighs open, eyes roaming Sirius's body, the quick rise and fall of his chest, the swallow in his throat.
"Remus—" Sirius says, voice trembling. It's a warning. A plea. A surrender.
"What about Remus?" James asks. "Is he okay?"
Remus lifts his eyebrows at Sirius. Go on, answer him.
Sirius's mouth is open, but he's still staring at Remus. He manages an unsteady breath. "…he's fine. Remus is fine. Did you need something?"
Remus watches him. Close enough to touch.
James rambles cheerfully on. "You left before I could tell you this part, this is hilarious—"
And that's the moment Remus chooses to lay a gentle hand against Sirius's stomach. His entire body jolts. Remus can see it in his expression, how Sirius tries to focus on the words. Tries very, very hard. It's useless. His voice jumps a pitch.
"Uh—yeah? I'm—I'm listening," Sirius says, though he absolutely is not.
James keeps talking, laughs at something, and Sirius laughs too – an instinct – but it's a strangled, broken sound that makes Remus smirk in quiet satisfaction.
Sirius gives him a helpless look, eyes wide, pleading for mercy – but Remus only leans closer, brushing his lips along Sirius's jaw. "Keep talking," he murmurs, away from the phone he's still holding.
Sirius shudders visibly. It's doing amazing things to Remus seeing him barely holding it together. "Y-yeah mate—that's—that's great—"
Remus's hand moves lower, and Sirius makes a sound he has to swallow back, when Remus wraps his fingers around the base of his cock. "You see?" he whispers. "You can talk to him all you want." His voice is dark near Sirius's ear. "But I'm still the one you're fucking."
Remus catches the sound he makes with his mouth. He tosses the phone carelessly onto the bed, and touches Sirius's cock with reverence. It's slick with lube and precum, and Sirius's body jerks in response, his hips pushing into Remus's fist.
His hand slides up and down just a while longer, before he's turning away, bracing himself on hands and knees again, settling exactly where they left off before the interruption. His free hand reaches back, guiding Sirius's tip at his rim.
"You good, Sirius?" James asks distantly through the speaker. "You sound weird."
"Yeah—" Sirius answers. And Remus has to bite down on a noise he almost lets slip as Sirius presses inside. "I'm—I'm good—"
He forces himself to look back over his shoulder, lips parted. The words he mouths are silent, though he wishes he could shout them. "So good."
Sirius's fingers dig into his skin.
Oh, so good, Remus's brain supplies.
James chatters on, oblivious, while Remus tries to stay quiet, lips sealed, and Sirius drives in and out of him. Sirius tries to form another response, but his voice breaks mid-sentence.
"Mate?" James's voice sharpens.
Sirius's breath stutters out of him, a trembling exhale that Remus feels all the way through his body.
Remus tightens around him, and the sound Sirius makes in response nearly undoes him. "Say goodbye," The command is soft, but his tone leaves no room for argument.
Sirius swallows hard, the movement visible down his throat. He fumbles for the phone with shaking fingers, and Remus feels the moment Sirius slips out of him like a hollow ache, almost making him moan.
"James?" Sirius rasps. "I—I’ve gotta go. Talk tomorrow?"
"Sirius—"
Sirius doesn't wait. He ends the call before James can question further. The moment the line goes dead, Sirius drops the phone like it burns and collapses into a shuddering breath.
Remus turns onto his back, chest still rising too quickly, limbs loose with relief and something darker, deeper. He feels flayed open and satisfied all at once, even as hard as he is. When he looks at Sirius, a slow smile pulls at his lips. He's beautiful, always, but especially like this – cheeks flushed, pupils wide, chest heaving.
Sirius crawls up over him, gaze locked to Remus's face as though he can't look away. His thumb drags across Remus's lower lip. "Remus John Lupin," he whispers, voice ruined. "That was—"
"Too much?" Remus asks, tilting his head just slightly, though he already knows the answer.
Sirius shakes his head instantly. One hand anchors on his cock, while his legs spread Remus's thighs further apart.
"No. God no. Not too much." His voice is raw. He lines up, tip nudging at his rim. "I can't believe you made me answer…"
Remus's smile softens. He cups Sirius's jaw with both hands, drawing him down until their foreheads meet. Their breaths mingle. "You're mine," Remus whispers, gentle and certain. "Sirius Black."
Sirius groans and sinks into him with a desperate, unstoppable need. Remus lets out a small, broken noise – shock and relief and want all tangled together – as Sirius begins to move, fucking into Remus with deep thrusts.
"Remus," Sirius whispers against his mouth, voice thick and trembling. "I never want anyone the way I want you."
A soft, involuntary sound breaks from him as Sirius kisses him, and Remus kisses back. Kisses with his whole body, fingers sliding into Sirius's hair, pulling him closer, closer, closer.
Sirius's breath breaks against his collarbone, and Remus feels every shudder as if it's happening inside his own chest. The room is warm, thick with sweat and want and everything neither of them has said aloud. Sirius is clinging to him like Remus is gravity itself. And Remus loves it. Maybe too much.
The jealousy is still there – not gone, never gone – but tonight it's twisted into something sharp and electric. It's a weapon. Something that hums beneath his skin as Sirius moves in and out of him, desperate, devoted. Something that whispers: you're mine.
He knows it's not fair. It's not healthy. He knows they'll crash into this again, probably tomorrow. But right now? Right now Remus wants Sirius to feel the edge of Remus's fear and want pressed right into him. He wants to carve into his mind: you're mine. Stay mine.
This isn't healing. It isn't resolution. It won't last. But tonight, Sirius is fucking him hard, and Remus leans up, lips brushing Sirius's ear, voice low and scraped raw.
"You're mine," he says. "Don't make me remind you like this again."