wildestranger | Fic Split Me Open With Devotion Remus/Sirius NC-17

Happy Birthday

fleshdress! I realise this is a bit early (was planning to post this at 00:05, but then remembered I have to get up at five), but I'm going away tomorrow for a few days (to see U2. again.mwhahaa) and leaving early in the morning, so...here it is! Hope you like it, and hope your birthday is full of porn and fit blokes and whatever your perverted little heart desires!

Title: Split Me Open With Devotion
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Implied violence and sexual abuse (not in R/S, though).
Words: 2599
Summary: Sirius is molested, Remus is conflicted.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters, I have no permission to use them and I am making no money out of this. No infringement of copyright is intended.
Notes: Should anyone be looking for spanking or freckles (you know who you are), I'm afraid there isn't as much as I thought there would be.

Both characters are over 18 here.

Split me open with devotion

“You have to make him stop.”

James looks at Remus over the table, a pint in his right hand, his mouth a long thin line. He’s been holding the glass for fifteen minutes, but has yet to take a drink. Remus keeps sipping his, slowly. The beer tastes flat.

They’ve had this conversation many times before. Remus used to resent James’s attitude as the leader of their group, and his presumption in telling people what to do. These days it doesn’t bother him. James does what he thinks is necessary, and as the war escalates, things like competition and egotism have become trivial.

James has been saying the same thing for months. And still, Remus can give no other answer.

“It’s not my fault.”

But then it isn’t about placing blame. The things Remus says to deflect the issue become less and less convincing, and from the look on James’s face, that’s not good enough. Then again, Remus isn’t sure whether he cares about what James thinks is good enough.

“But you could stop him.”

James’s face is hopeful and desperate and angry, and Remus ignores the urge to say something that would make it all right again. James has this effect on people, and Remus has learned not resent himself for feeling it. But in this, he can’t do what James is asking. Won’t.

Yet he knows James is right. And the anger that he controls most of the time comes bubbling up again. He hates the fact that James is right, hates Sirius for putting him in this position. Hates what they’re asking him to do.

Remus is conscious of what he owes his friends, what they can expect from him, what bonds of friendship he is willing to honour. But there are limits, and this goes so far beyond them that the rules, which regulate his dealings with his friends, become almost meaningless.

“No, I couldn’t. I’m not the reason he’s doing this.”

James gives him a look, and Remus wonders, for the thousandth time, if that is actually true. And whether it matters.

: :

Sirius comes to Remus’ flat in the middle of the night, hands bruised from where they’ve been tied up, the skin on his wrists torn, dirty and bloody. His mouth is swollen from other men’s cocks, and his arms are marred with a hundred little cuts, cigarette burns, red welts from where the whip has delved too deep. His body is shaking from too much alcohol and dope and whatever else they gave him to make him perform better. His eyes are feverish, almost radiant with despair and loss and pain, but his gaze on Remus is steady.

Remus knows what to expect by now.

Sirius tells him what they did to him, how many times, how many men, how many positions. How good he is with his mouth, and what they call him as he sucks them off, how they hold his head and fuck his mouth and how he loves it. How they like to leave marks on his body, so he’ll remember, and wants to remember. What they make him do, how much they make him take. His voice is rough from screaming, and his words are a breathless rush of obscene images and strange logic, compelling in their viciousness and hunger. Remus controls the dizziness, the lust, brought on by Sirius’ voice, and stands still, facing him.

And then Sirius asks him.

Sirius steps close so that Remus can smell semen and blood and burnt skin and liqueur, and puts his hands on Remus’ collar. His mouth is dark and wet, and his lower lip is bleeding.

“Don’t you want me, Moony?”

The coyness in Sirius’ voice doesn’t hide the desperation. Remus keeps his hands by his sides and doesn’t touch Sirius.

“I’m not what you want.”

And then it starts again, the shouting and the throwing of books and plates and anything that Remus has foolishly left lying around in the living room. Until Sirius leaves and gets himself fucked in another back alley by another stranger, and then brings the marks to show Remus.

: :

James is angry with him, and sends him owls everyday telling him to sort it out. While they all agree that it’s not Remus’ responsibility, it is also painfully clear that he’s the only one who can have any effect, the only one who can make Sirius stop. In Order meetings he gets suspicious looks, and comments that he is intended to overhear about what a strange man he is, what must he have done to Black to make him behave like that. Remus considers pointing out that Sirius has always been like that, that it’s nothing to do with him, but then again it would serve no purpose. Lily attaches herself to his side throughout the meetings and makes sure he doesn’t say anything. She keeps whispering sympathy into his ear, saying she understands how difficult it is for him. So far he has avoided telling her what he thinks about her sympathy.

It isn’t difficult to ignore them, or even the people who claim to be his friends. Even ignoring Sirius is becoming easier. But Remus is starting to wonder how easy should it be. And as Sirius gets worse, the question of how much he should care becomes more pressing, and more difficult.

It isn’t even about giving in to Sirius. But what it would make Remus, what he would become if he did what Sirius wanted, is something Remus doesn’t dare to think about.

: :

Remus rarely goes to Sirius’ flat these days. They used to take turns to go and see if Sirius was still alive, but now the others have decided it is Remus’ responsibility, and leave him to it. It has never been a place he has enjoyed visiting, but now he prefers to avoid it, although Sirius doesn’t bring people home and is usually willing to let him in.

The flat reeks like it hasn’t been aired in weeks, which it probably hasn’t. The humid weather makes it worse, and Remus holds his breath as he steps over the piles of dirty clothes and take-away boxes, and knocks on the bedroom door. There’s no answer. He goes in.

Sirius is lying on the bed, naked and vulnerable in the afternoon sun. His body is covered in bruises, purple and yellow, and there are fresh wounds on his stomach and thighs, and a long uneven cut by his side. The urge to be sick that has been building up in Remus’ stomach flares up.

Sirius opens his eyes when Remus comes in, but doesn’t say anything. They look at each other for a while.

Remus gives in first.

“Please stop doing this.”

Sirius looks at him, carefully considers, and then smiles.

“You know what you need to do. If you want me to stop. You know what.”

“They’re killing you. And you’re letting them. You don’t need to do this.”

“And what do you know about what I need?”

Sirius’ voice is half seduction and half relentless contempt.

“You don’t need this. And you can’t continue much longer. You can’t take much more.”

Sirius’ mouth stretches wider and his lip starts to bleed more profusely. He looks at Remus steadily, and scratches a bruise on his hip. Remus refuses to look down.

“But surely the question is, how much more can you take?”

: :

It isn’t about what he wants. How very like Sirius to claim to know Remus’ deepest desires, and display them along with his abused body. But, as Sirius pointed out, there is a limit to what he will take.

Remus fears he knows too well what Sirius wants, and why he is doing this. The marks started showing on his body three years ago, when Sirius found out that Remus was gay, and came stumbling drunk to his bed one night. The sight of a naked Sirius Black offering himself is something Remus has been refusing ever since. Sirius doesn’t understand why Remus keeps rejecting him. Or perhaps he understands something Remus doesn’t, or doesn’t want to.

Remus knows he doesn’t want what Sirius is offering him. Which is not to say he doesn’t want Sirius, even self-destructive and mad as he is.

But what he wants least is for Sirius to slowly kill himself in this attempt to convince Remus.

: :

Remus has been to the club before, once with James, once on his own, looking for Sirius. He knows where the rooms for private entertainment are. There are noises coming from most of them, but Remus has a spell that helps him locate Sirius, so that he doesn’t have to listen at the door and wonder which one is hiding his friend.

That room is silent. But as Remus steps closer, he hears a man’s voice issuing commands, and a horrifying moan. He opens the door.

Sirius is bent over a black, metallic table. His hands and feet are tied down with leather strips, legs apart, the table a bit too high for him to stand easily. There’s a trickle of blood falling down his back, and Remus can see traces of old scars, older bruises beneath the white skin. He is naked.

The man standing next to him is big, holding a leather whip in his hand, but Remus doesn’t look at him. Sirius is making whimpering noises, his feet sliding on the sticky floor as he tries to stay on his toes. Remus notices the sharp edge of the table, and why Sirius is avoiding leaning on it. There will be bruises on his hipbones tomorrow.

The whip goes down. It hits Sirius’ back, curls around his thighs and he screams, his voice rough from begging.

“What are you doing here?”

Remus turns to face the man. He doesn’t look like he’s gotten too much into the evening’s activities yet. Which makes the whole thing easier.

“You will not touch him. You will release him, and give him back his clothes, and let him go. You will never touch him again.”

“And who are you, his boyfriend? His owner?”

“That’s right.”

“Moony?”

Remus ignores Sirius, and steps closer to the man.

“He likes it just fine in here.”

Remus smiles and shows his teeth.

“Release him. Now.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You would regret that very much.”

“I doubt it.”

The man turns away, moves closer to the table.

Remus appreciates the insult. He decides to allow himself this.

He doesn’t tear the man apart, quite. He will be able to walk in a few months time, and he will recover most of his eyesight. He won’t, however, visit the club again.

Remus carries Sirius to his flat, and ignores the drugged rambling coming out of his mouth. He strips Sirius, lays him on the bed, and surveys the damage. He can heal most of the shallow cuts, and some of the bruising, but there are many marks that will be permanent. Sirius has torn the tendons in his right wrist, and it swells under Remus’ hands as he tries to control the inflammation. The welts from the leather strips have pierced the skin, but Remus spells the cuts to heal and puts a cooling charm around them. The burn marks on Sirius’ stomach are more severe, but Remus has a first aid kit and The Mediwizards Guide to Household Accidents, and he manages to heal some of the damage.

Remus wraps Sirius in clean sheets, with bandages sticking out in places. He sits on the bed, and tries to gather up the energy to go get a glass of water for the bedside table in case Sirius needs it in the night.

“Have you given in then?”

Remus looks at Sirius, then at his hands, then at the wall. This is not a conversation he wants to have now.

“It appears I can’t take anymore.”

Sirius does not look victorious, as one might have expected. He nods, and closes his eyes, but there are traces of a smile in the curve of his lips. When Remus turns off the lights and wraps his arms around Sirius in the dark, he allows the protective circle.

: :

Remus wakes with his mouth on Sirius’ neck. He remembers, and struggles to open his eyes. His left arm is under Sirius, and he tries to extricate his hand, carefully, but Sirius snuggles closer to him. It’s raining outside, a relief after yesterday’s oppressive heat, but he needs to get up and close the curtains before Sirius wakes up. His eyes will be sore.

“Moony.”

Apparently the snuggling wasn’t unintentional.

“How are you feeling?”

Sirius turns around, and Remus cringes as one of the bandages starts to go red.

“Why did you come for me last night?”

Sirius has always found it easy to be immediately awake in the mornings. Remus has taken to hating it.

“I decided I had had enough.”

“Do you want me, then, Moony?”

Remus lifts a hand to Sirius’ face, strokes his lower lip, the one that isn’t broken, and suddenly it is easy.

“I always want you, Sirius.”

Sirius lets out a breath, and closes his eyes. Remus leans over to kiss his eyelids, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his lips. He can taste blood and sick and many other things, but it doesn’t really matter, this is Sirius, at last, this is Sirius. His hands are gentle as they stroke Sirius’ cheekbones, and Remus moans low in his throat as Sirius falls back on the pillows.

Sirius’ hands are shaking as they take off Remus’ pyjamas, reverent as they follow the scars on Remus’ chest, the ribs visible through the freckled skin, the pale shining hair as they go lower. Remus is pressing slow, hot kisses on Sirius’ neck, avoiding the welt coming up from his back.

“Moony, I need you to…you know what I need.”

Remus lifts his head. Sirius’ eyes are desperate, but sober, and the trembling of his body is becoming more pronounced as Remus touches him.

“No.”

“Moony, please, I need it. I need you.”

“I don’t need to hurt you.”

“Remus, please!”

Remus places a soft kiss on Sirius’ lips, and murmurs against his mouth:

“I’m not going to fuck you. I’m not going to be inside you. That’s not what this is about. That’s not what this will be about.”

Sirius whimpers, and as Remus’ mouth moves lower, he begins to squirm, grind against the sheets and against Remus, almost trying to escape his hands. Remus takes hold of his wrists, gives a lingering kiss on the inside of each arm, and keeps them by his side. His lips are leaving no part of Sirius’ body untouched, from the corner of his jaw, to his swollen hands, to the jumping muscles of his stomach and the fine hair on his thighs. When Sirius comes, his body is still shaking but there is less despair in the low cry he presses into Remus’ shoulder.

“Is this what you need, then?”

There’s a slight question in Sirius’ voice, and although his eyes are closed, he pulls Remus nearer. Remus looks at him, broken but mending, and thinks about last night. What he is willing to do.

“It would seem …”

Remus stops. What such words mean, what can he say now. What is needed.

“Yes. This is it.”

Sirius lies back on the pillows, and opens his eyes.

“Worth it all then.”

The End

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: The Divine Comedy: The Certainty of Chance