wildestranger | Fic: The Truth of Masks Remus/Sirius NC-17

Part two

James watches Sirius and Remus, standing close and trying not to show their anger in their gestures. Sirius cracks up first, and his voice becomes louder as Remus becomes more still. Then Sirius is walking back to him, his cheekbones visibly red through the Mask and his posture full of pent-up energy. James hands him a pint of spiked Butterbeer. He knows better than to ask, has become used to calming Sirius down after his “conversations” with Remus. James has tried to talk to Remus a few times, but the viciousness he was answered with, usually reserved for Sirius, shocked him and he does not try anymore.

James likes to keep his friends close, but he isn’t sure whether Remus is a friend anymore. They sleep in the same room, eat at the same table, and have mostly the same classes. But in the last five months Remus has become a stranger, one who inhabits the body of Remus Lupin but does not recognise his friendships. Remus answers when spoken to, most of the time anyway, but James has stopped talking to him because he can’t stand to see Remus look at him as if he doesn’t know him. Peter tries to be cheerful, and Remus usually doesn’t care enough to tell him to stop bothering him. Sirius provokes him, and argues with him, and appears not to care about the venom Remus throws at him. But there are moments when James feels the loss in their circle, the world grown smaller and darker.

But Sirius is almost smiling, and says something outrageous about Lily’s apparent fondness for her sword, and then everything is alright for a while.

: :

Lily watches Lord Byron arguing with the dark angel, and fingers the hilt of her sword. One Face is animated with anger and a hint of desperation, the other apparently calm, the only sign of agitation the slight movement of his wings. She looks at the long fingers prying the other’s hand off him, and the graceful and economic movements with which he moves to the door, only to be stopped by the green man she had spoken with earlier.

There is mutual respect in their posture, an awareness of speaking to an equal. The courteous bending of the head, the glances of great politeness, and the drawl evocative of dusty libraries and port-wine in front of the fire. Despite the Costumes they know something about each other.

Lily thinks about joining them. Yet a little lack of something keeps her from moving. They walk away together, and when Lily looks back at Lord Byron she sees him stop in mid-sentence, swallow, and then go back to talking to King Arthur. Which confirms the dark angel’s identity; there’s only one person who can cause Black’s mask to slip.

When Potter begins to look in her direction more and more, clearly talking himself into approaching her again, Lily finds a good reason to leave. The hallway is empty, but the sound of a lazy drawl wafts towards her from the third staircase on the right, and she follows. The sound of the door to the Great Hall slamming again a few minutes later gives her an excuse to walk quicker.

: :

She finds him in the fifth floor, leaning against the wall next to an unmarked door. His wings flicker as she comes closer. Her voice is slow and steady.

“Do I know you?”

His mouth quirks at the sides.

“I’m not sure. Would you like to?”

His voice is smooth. Lily smiles, and places her hand on her sword.

“I might. Will you tell me your name, Sir?”

“And what if I have no name? Is it my name that you’re after?”

Lily looks at his smirk and thinks about what she wants. Embarrassment has no place here, her Costume takes care of that, and in any case dignity isn’t what she’s hoping for. Well, not that kind of dignity, but confidence produced by action.

“What can I offer you?”

Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent.

There is something familiar about the words, something she feels she should be aware of. Yet the tantalising suggestions he is whispering into her ear about things that are forbidden, things hidden from her to keep her low, find a response in the words that come to her tongue easily, and Lily herself decides this is something she wants.

: :

Sirius is looking for James, but all he can see is Morgan le Fay doing something indecent to a Quidditch-player in the corner, and Vampire-Snape scowling at a Merlin who’s pointing to the ceiling and almost stepping on him. The teachers must be aware of the huge amounts of alcohol in punch, but for some reason they made no comments and left the room to the students. Which is something Sirius would be suspicious about in another time (they probably have some kind of a spying spell going on which will be shown in public to cause much humiliation and to teach the consequences of drunkenness), but now he needs to find James. Or even Peter would do, but nobody’s seen him since the start of the Ball.

The spiked punch is getting to him, and he leans against the wall to rest. The swirling figures on the ceiling seem to be getting more lewd as the night goes on, but whether the naked satyrs and the nymphs rutting with godlike heroes are part of the original spell or a late addition from some enterprising student, Sirius doesn’t know. The music is getting louder, a wizarding interpretation of the traditional chant. Sirius’ blood is humming with words, heroic couplets and dramatic monologues, and something about gunnery and a nunnery. He looks at the people whose faces have become a meaningless mass of familiar and unknown features. And suddenly the alcohol in his blood and the lines in his head are telling him that he needs to find Remus, rip off the Mask and force a dramatic resolution. Without the bloody poetry.

: :

From somewhere, incongruously, an apple appears. The dark angel holds it out to Lily.

“Would you like to taste, Lady Rosalind? Or be tasted?”

Lily looks at the body displayed before her, the flickering silver cloth revealing smooth muscles. The skin is warm beneath her hands, and she can feel his heartbeat. She knows she has the control here, he will take or be taken, whatever she wants.

“How can I tempt you?”

She is rarely tempted by anything. But this something she can want. A game she can play, a role she can adopt. She comes closer, feels him tremble. Something she can have.

: :

The Room of Requirement has provided them with a luxurious bed, but Lily is reluctant to use such conventional comforts yet. She is leaning against a wall, watching her companion’s wings moving to surround them both. One brushes against her cheek, then turns to stroke her shoulder.

“What do you want? What shall be our sport, then?”

The movement stops. She can barely hear his whisper. For the time remained stupidly good, of enmity disarmed.

“What do you want to give me?” A grin.

Lily is silent for a moment, and looks at his hands. She knows he is looking at her, but for some reason it is important that she doesn’t look back just now. But her voice is steady.

“A taste?”

He is still. Lily places her fingers on his stomach. She can see his muscles jumping under her hands. She feels the tip of his wing on her neck, across her collarbone. She looks up.

His mouth is softer than she had expected. She sucks on his lower lip, and hears the tiniest moan. His hands are upon her back, and his hips are between her thighs, stroking her, moving restlessly against her. His fingers are making circles on her hipbones, under her breeches.

His wings are shivering as she runs her hands across his thighs, and drops on her knees before him. She looks up, smiles, and slowly pulls down the cloth covering his body. She swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock, teasing with her mouth and stroking his thighs with her hands until he groans and pulls her up.

“That’s not fair.”

Lily cocks an eyebrow.

“What would be fair then?”

He smiles, and puts her hand on his cock, strokes a few times. And then he puts his other hand into her breeches, under her knickers, and his fingers are cool and startling, and moving to the same rhythm as hers. Lily tries to steady herself, to stand up straight, but her hips keep moving against his fingers in short, jerky motions. She pushes him forward until he is pressed against the bed, then pushes him to sit down. She leans over him, his fingers still inside her, and stretches her body close to his. Her fingers on his cock are almost touching hers, and she can feel his shaky breath on her lips. She is trying not to think about what his hands are doing to her, trying not to feel it but then she can’t feel anything else and there are tendrils of pleasure forming inside her skin and she comes, licking his lips as she moans. She lets go of him and her thumb scrapes the underside of his cock, and he tenses. The skin on his neck changes colour, and he shudders against her hand. She nuzzles at his neck, leans her hands on the coverlet, and there is smugness in her smile.

“That fair enough?”

: :

Sirius has given up trying not to listen, and moved on to trying not to touch himself to the sounds of they are making. He can’t see them, he is standing outside the door with a listening spell, but it is not difficult to imagine what they are doing. He know what Remus looks like when he is this close to coming, how his shoulders begin to shake and his breath becomes loud, the little moans that he tries not to make. He doesn’t want to imagine what Lily looks like.

He can hear them laughing, and kissing, and putting their clothes back up. He moves back, hides in an alcove, when they walk out. They are smiling, not quite touching, but then Remus becomes still and stops.

“Will you be alright from here?”

Sirius sees how Lily waits for further explanation, and lifts her chin when it doesn’t arrive.

“Of course.” A naughty smirk, “I do have my sword.”

Sirius watches her walk away, contained satisfaction and confidence in her step, watches Remus watch her until she turns a corner. Then watches how Remus carefully, with precise movements, turns to face him.

“Hullo, Sirius.”

: :

There is something in Remus’ smile, something beneath the calm politeness that makes the hair stand on his neck. Sirius allows himself to be filled with righteous anger to distract him from that feeling.

“How could you.”

“Why shouldn’t I? She was up for it, she wanted it.”

“You know James is in love with her, you know what she means to him! I know you don’t think we’re your mates anymore but that’s just not on. Fucking hell, you just don’t do that!”

By the end of the sentence Sirius is shouting, and Remus is dragging him into the Room of Requirement and slamming the door behind them.

“And why the fuck do you care? This should finally prove to you that I am not your friend.”

“Fuck that, Remus, some things you just don’t do.”

Remus gives him a cold smile.

“Exactly. And the fact that I do them, shows that I am…well, what you already knew I was.”

Sirius is speechless for a moment, then he starts jabbing Remus’ chest with his finger.

“No, you fucking don’t. You don’t get to do that, you don’t get rid of us that easily.”

“Us, Sirius? Don’t pretend it’s about anyone other than you. You don’t give a fuck about Lily, she’s just an excuse.”

“And what is she to you, then? Are you saying that you actually fancy her, that this wasn’t just a way of getting back at me?”

Remus looks down, and smiles with the corner of his mouth. When he looks up at Sirius, his voice is amused, and smug, and serious.

“Shall I tell you how I seduced her? How I saw her look at the other girls at the party, and saw how she talked to James. I saw how she held her sword and lifted her chin and walked not like a woman, and not a like a man either. How she was glad not be recognised. How pleased she looked, when I called her Rosalind, and knew her as Lily. She knew who I was, Sirius, and she knew I knew her. She wanted to seduce more than to be seduced. And I gave her the opportunity.”

“You know how it is, Sirius. Place yourself in the right light. Draw attention by not drawing attention to yourself. Be mysterious, be sarcastic, show how you can be vulnerable and can be reached only by her.”

“Give control to those who have none. Take it from those who have too much. You know, Sirius.”

Remus moves towards the door, is reaching for the handle when Sirius calls after him.

“How terribly controlled of you, Remus. But don’t you get tired of it? You couldn’t lose control with her, that would defeat the purpose. But I know that you need to lose it. So who’s the lucky man?”

Remus stops. Turns slowly to face Sirius.

“What makes you think I have to?”

Sirius grins, shrugs his shoulders.

“Was that Snivellus I saw you talking to earlier? Nice dress, he had. There’s something about whiny vampires in eighteenth-century costume that screams bottom to me.”

Remus is moving closer, with slow measured steps.

“Why, Sirius, are you jealous?”

“Are you sure he can take it, Remus? Looks like a coward to me.”

Remus stops three inches from Sirius. He is no longer smiling.

“Can you take it?”

Sirius lets out a breath, looks him straight in the eye.

“You know I can.”

Then he is being turned around, facing the bed, and ropes are snaking from beneath the curtains to tie his wrists and ankles to the bedposts. The bed is wide and Sirius’ arms are being stretched painfully, and his face is being pressed against the bedstead. Remus’ voice is hoarse with amusement but there is also coldness, such coldness and Sirius shivers.

“That golden sceptre which thou dids’t reject is now an iron rod to bruise and break thy disobedience.”

“Remus, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Sirius hears the voice that charms his clothes to disappear, and he stands naked except for his boots. Then he feels a solitary wing trail along his back.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Sirius? Isn’t this what you’ve been asking for all evening?”

“Fuck, Remus, not like this…”

Remus’ hand is moving from Sirius’ waist to his stomach, and stops just above his cock, which is still hard.

“Well, well. It appears that you are lying. Fancy that.”

Then Remus’ teeth are trailing his collarbone and the shimmering material of Remus’ costume is stroking his back, soft and painfully sharp at turns. Remus’ thigh is pressing against his balls from underneath, moving backwards and forwards, and it hurts, but then the pressure is loosened and Remus’ tongue is at the base of his neck, and Sirius shudders. Both of Remus’ hands are on his hips now, stroking the skin between his thigh and his stomach. Remus’ mouth moves lower, kisses its way across his spine, lapping up the sweat that is pooling at his lower back. Then his hands are separating Sirius’ ass cheeks, and he is stroking the cleft with his tongue.

Sirius moans, and pushes backwards against Remus.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Sirius twists his body, trying to get away from Remus’ tongue, but the fingers on his hips are grabbing him hard, there will be bruises in the morning, and Remus stops what he is doing, just breathes on Sirius’ puckering hole, and all of Sirius’s body hair rises up.

“Aren’t you?”

Sirius tries to turn around and look at Remus, but his bindings are too tight.

“You’re enjoying it too.”

Remus pauses.

“Don’t deny it, Moony. You like it too.”

Remus stands up with a rough shout and twists Sirius’ head around with his hand in Sirius’ jaw.

“Spite then with spite is best repaid.”

And then Remus is kissing him, his tongue forcing entrance into Sirius’ mouth, and his hand on Sirius’ jaw is rough but his lips are soft and Sirius can remember other kisses, drugging kisses, laughing kisses, and it’s just too good. Remus’ other hand is on his arse and then there’s a finger inside him, narrow but long enough to hurt, and it’s reaching up inside him and Sirius can feel his eyeballs rolling even though his eyes are closed.

Remus lets go of his chin and rests his head against Sirius’ back. He removes his other hand from Sirius’ arse and Sirius almost moans. But then Remus starts to lick his way down his spine, and Sirius does moan, little sobbing noises that he tries to hide. Remus fingers are stroking the piece of skin just beneath his arse. Sirius tries to spread his legs further.

Then Remus steps back.

“I’m going to fuck you now. And when I do, you are going to remember who I am, remember that it’s me doing this to you. Remember that this is what I did to you.”

The wings are moving around his body to cover him, and Sirius rests his head on the soft feathers. Remus’ breath is harsh on his neck but Sirius loves the feeling of his hands, caressing his hips, holding him in place. The push is slow, unbearable fullness and then the burning, and Sirius bites his lip. But then one of Remus’ fingers is smoothing over his mouth, spreading the blood, and Sirius sucks it into his mouth.

They stay still for a moment, Remus’ chest tight against Sirius’ back, and then he pulls out, and Sirius moans. Then they are moving, rhythm uneven and fast, Remus’ fingers burning bruises on Sirius’ hips, his teeth on his neck. Remus moves his hand to stroke Sirius’ cock against the rhythm of his hips, and Sirius screams, and comes on Remus’ hand. The ropes on his arms become loose and Sirius hangs on to the bed as Remus moves inside him, and shudders against him. Sirius leans over a hand to touch Remus’ hip, but Remus moves away, pulls out, stops touching him.

There’s a minute of uneven breathing, and Sirius stretches his hands. Then Remus speaks, and his voice is carefully unemotional.

“You should go now.”

Somewhere Sirius can hear a clock striking, and his face begins to shiver as the Mask melts away. The ruined shirt on the floor shimmers, Transfigures into white linen, and the Hessian boots on his feet turn back to trainers. He leans his head against the bed, and lets out a breath.

“No.”

Sirius turns around slowly. The pale, slender young man before him is nothing like the furious angel. The shimmering material covering his body has turned into white linen, slick with sweat and plastered onto his skin. The wings have disappeared, and now there is just Remus, with scars on his wrists and tension in his shoulders. But the look on his face is familiar.

Nothing as prosaic as pain, nothing as common as hate, but the mask of despair and desperation he wears is one Sirius knows. He is rarely allowed to see it, but there are traces of it in cold smiles and upturned eyebrows, the very sternness of the mouth. Not unlike one he wears himself.

Sirius finds it easy to deal with people; he knows what makes them tick, what kind of charm will persuade them and what kind of honesty will convince them. But Remus has always been difficult, refusing to react in an appropriate way to Sirius’ behaviour. Which Sirius used to appreciate, it pulled him out of himself and occasionally made him see what Remus called “sense”. Yet these last few months everything he used to know about Remus has become obsolete. Indifference he cannot understand, coldness is familiar but something he cannot handle. But the shaking of Remus’ fingertips tells him what he must do.

: :

The room is suddenly cold. Remus waits for Sirius to leave, shivering in his wet garments, the fire having long since died out. He is very tired, there are too many things he doesn’t want to think about, but he wants to leave not thinking about them till tomorrow, and breakfast. Yet Sirius seems fixed to the spot, and unlikely to move soon. Remus begins to walk to the other side of the bed, each step slow and careless, stumbling in his shoes. He is focusing on getting to the side of the bed, his ears ringing and his breathing harsh, and doesn’t hear Sirius walk behind him.

“It’s not going to work on me.”

The words are spoken just behind him, but it still takes him a while to understand where they came from. He doesn’t have the time to say What, let alone construct a more scathing response.

“I’m not like Lily. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Remus leans against the bed, his knees weakening against the soft mattress, but his back is straight.

“What would it take then?”

Remus hears Sirius’ breath hitch, then stumble on furiously.

“There’s nothing you can do. Nothing that would make me. Nothing.”

“Who else do I need to fuck, Sirius? James? Peter? Both at the same time? Or someone from your family, Bellatrix perhaps, she was always interested in curiosities. Or you brother?”

Sirius says nothing for a while. Then he stands on his toes, and presses his lips on Remus’ nape. His hands are entangling themselves in Remus,’ attaching them together so that Remus can’t push him away. His mouth is soft, and his tongue is swirling strange shapes into Remus’ skin.

Remus feels his toes begin to curl, and makes a move to push Sirius away. Sirius does some complicated wiggle with his hips and ends up on top of Remus on the bed. The exhaustion is getting to him, he wants to just lie there and forget everything, but Sirius’ mouth on his body is sending little shocks through him and bringing him back. Remus isn’t sure he can handle that.

“Don’t.”

Sirius stops for a moment, then his breath is close to Remus’ lips and he is whispering.

“Just let me do this. I need to, just this, just let me. Let me.”

Sirius’ hands are unbearably gentle as they trace the scars on his back, and he presses kisses on Remus’ spine. This isn’t supposed to happen. Sirius is supposed to leave and never come back. He is supposed to realise that he wants nothing to do with Remus, and leave him alone. He isn’t supposed to figure out that the way to break Remus Lupin is like this.

When Sirius turns him over, and looks at him, Remus expects to see triumph. What he sees scares him more.

“This is how it is. You hurt me and I come back for more. But I won’t hurt you. Whatever you do to me, I won’t, and I won’t hate you, or stop wanting you, or touching you. There’s nothing you can do to get rid of me. I won’t let you.”

A pause, as Sirius looks at him. Remus closes his eyes, trapped between Sirius’ hands and his body.

“But you will let me.”

And then the kisses start again, slow over his cheeks, soft on his mouth, scorching over his chest. Remus whimpers and Sirius lets out a delighted laugh, and moves lower. When the pleasure comes, it is sharp against the hazy, drugging touches Sirius is lavishing on him, and Remus cries out. And Sirius is still looking at him, cheeks flushed and biting his lips, begging without saying a word.

He could push him away, leave now and never come back, and that would be it. But it is an honest surprise to find that he doesn’t want that. What he thought he had gotten used to, learned to live with and endure and expect, the coldness of a thousand small rooms, is also something he can refuse.

Remus reaches out and touches Sirius. The devil is not on his tongue anymore, but there is something that makes him take this even if he knows it’s a bad idea. It is not the devil that needs this, or admits to wanting it. And touching Sirius, he somehow comes closer to the surface of his own skin, and doesn’t fear.

It isn’t about forgiveness, or the rules of friendship, or trust. It isn’t even about what you can get away with. Just this, feeling alive and not quite yet in that cold room. And that has to be worth everything.

Remus doesn’t pull away when Sirius touches him again, but kisses the surprise and despair and longing away from his eyelids. And it is worth it.

The End

Notes: The poetry is Remus’ head is from John Milton’s Paradise Lost. Sirius’ lines are from Lord Byron, letters and journal and poetry. The line about gunnery and nunnery is from Don Juan, canto I, st. 38. ‘He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, / And how to scale a fortress – or a nunnery.’ Lily’s lines are from Shakespeare’s As You Like It. If you are curious about where a particular line is from, please ask me, I do have them written down somewhere.

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Current Music: Shudder To Think: The Ballad of Maxwell Demon