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wildestrangerThis story was inspired by the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dogdaysofsummer challenge.
Title: The Days Are Bright
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5729
Era: Post-Hogwarts, pre-Azkaban
Summary: The summer after finishing Hogwarts Remus was kicked in the face by the Werewolf Registry.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns these characters, I have no permission to use them and I am making no money out of this. No infringement of copyright is intended.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kabeyk and pre_raphaelite1 for listening to me moaning about this and looking through it.
Cross-posted toremusxsirius, remus_centric and starcrossedmoon
Both characters are over 18.
The Days Are Bright
The summer after finishing Hogwarts Remus was kicked in the face by the Werewolf Registry. He found out that he wasn’t allowed to work; most jobs he could apply for weren’t enough to support him and any potential employers were warned against hiring werewolves. He wasn’t allowed to own property or to earn above a certain amount of money a year. He wasn’t allowed to get married or be a guardian to a child.
His friends did what they could; Sirius took him in and James convinced his dad that they should hire someone to catalogue the library. But there wasn’t very much to be done. Even with good friends. And Remus was very grateful to his friends.
Remus tried to keep the flat clean; he felt he should do something since he was allowed to stay there for free. But the flat was in the top floor of an old apartment building and Sirius hadn’t bothered to buy curtains. It was hot and the windows only opened to let in noise and dirt. Remus told himself it made sense to stay up at night when it was cooler and to sleep during the day.
He drank the bottles of wine Sirius brought home after work. He said he’d go out the next day and buy more to replace them, but he never got around to it; it was too hot and they were too many flights of stairs.
Sirius shouted at him when he stopped buying food. Remus wouldn’t eat Sirius’ food unless Sirius cooked it and then pestered Remus about it, but he didn’t have enough money to buy any for himself. He was losing weight, he knew, and it was stupid not to eat, and he should do something about it. But it was too hot to move, and he was tired.
There was reading to be done, and letters to be answered, but you couldn’t ask owls to fly in this weather. And the books James’ dad had sent him were heavy, and there was something wrong with his wrists; he couldn’t hold them up for very long. He should wait until they were better. It was only sensible, and then he’d be able to do the job better. When it wasn’t so hot. And he wasn’t so tired.
: :
Sirius came home one day to find Remus lying on the sofa, still wearing the pyjama bottoms he insisted sleeping on. He had clearly gotten up at some point, there was a mug of cold tea on the coffee table and yesterday’s paper, which Sirius had brought, was open on the floor. Remus slept restlessly, he knew, when he slept at all and didn’t stay up all night drinking and reading strange seventeenth-century poetry. Sirius had asked him about it a few times and been treated to some truly filthy language. But only some of it was Remus’.
Remus was sweating in his sleep. Sirius could see where the moisture was gathered on his belly, just above his hipbone, a little pool of drunken heat and nightmares and nausea. His hair was plastered on his forehead. Sirius resisted brushing it aside. Remus didn’t like to be touched when he was sleeping. Didn’t like to be touched at any time.
He could see the hollows on his sides and the ribs, always visible, that had become more prominent. And his skin, pale and coloured only by occasional freckles, becoming thin and almost translucent.
Yet Remus was beautiful.
There was a sharpness to his bones that was new. A casual elegance in the wasted limbs that used to be precise in their actions, used to know exactly how to move and where to place themselves. Now they were mostly still, but the rare movement, hesitant and unsteady, was still uncanny in its loveliness.
Sirius didn’t like himself any better for liking Remus better when he was ill and unhappy. But now he was vulnerable, and maybe vulnerable enough to accept what Sirius so badly wanted to offer.
As his friend, it was Sirius’ duty to look after him and keep him from destroying himself, no matter what the Registry or anybody else thought. Certainly no matter what Remus thought, since Remus found it quite easy to see himself as expendable.
Remus’ sleep was restless. Sirius watched him twitch, bad dreams or something worse, he had never asked. But Remus shouldn’t have to go through that, even asleep.
“Moony.”
Sirius poked Remus’ shoulder. He did like poking Remus, the results were usually very satisfying and Remus often squealed, but these days that was too much touching, touching that Remus couldn’t stand.
“Moony. Wake up.”
Eyes were opened, eyes that should not be so clear on waking. But Sirius knew that Remus didn’t see very much of things outside his own head, didn’t want to see anything else these days.
Remus didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask why Sirius had woken him up or what did he want. Sirius felt fury rising in his stomach, something that he was accustomed to but didn’t want to grow accustomed to.
“Get up.”
Remus closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sofa.
“ I’m tired.”
“You are always tired. You should get up. Get something to eat.”
Sirius watched as one eye opened, looked at him and turned away. He didn’t clench his fists.
“Not hungry.”
He knew that Remus was getting ill, not just from not eating and not going out. There were wounds festering that he couldn’t reach, couldn’t heal with any kind of friendship.
And there was a thin belly before him, faint muscles turned into swollen emptiness, and that was too much, that was something he wouldn’t accept.
“Right.”
He grabbed Remus by the shoulders, lifted him up and he was too light, never the heaviest of blokes but by God this was too little for a grown man to weigh. Remus was struggling, but he couldn’t really, and Sirius could see that there was neither energy nor determination, for anything anymore, to fight him. Sirius pulled him along, dragging dirty feet on the dusty floor, avoiding boxes of curry and empty wine bottles and thought this has got to stop, I can’t take it anymore. He can’t take it anymore.
The water in the shower was cold, but Sirius didn’t turn it on warmer; he needed the punishment for doing this to his friend as much as his friend needed its coolness.
And he wanted to wash the sweat away from Remus’ body. It was illness and dirt and despair and he wanted to get rid of it. Cool water, which they weren’t really allowed to have but what else was magic good for if you couldn’t help you friends. And make them better.
Remus was leaning against the wall, sandwiched between green tiles and Sirius, whose t-shirt and jeans were completely soaked. Those would be a bitch to get off, later. Remus had closed his eyes against the water, he just lay back and took it, and Sirius had to hide his face against Remus’ shoulder. And taste whether the sweat was still there, or whether he would have to wash it away with his hands, scrub and stretch and lick through every pore, just to be sure.
Remus moaned. It wasn’t a happy moan, not do that again, more, harder. Not that Sirius knew what that kind of a moan sounded like from Remus’ lips. But I’m breaking and please don’t touch me and please touch me and I can’t bear it.
There was nothing he could do, and it hit him hard to realise that for all the things he thought he had, all the things he was proud of, he couldn’t help Remus now. His fingers were by Remus’ hips, on the concave beneath the bones that bruised his hands when he tried to touch them. Tried to hold Remus upright, but he couldn’t stand, he was falling over and against Sirius, hanging on with sharp nails that made Sirius stop breathing.
“Remus. Remus, stay awake! I’ll just, fuck, just get you cleaned up, yeah, and then you can go back to bed, have a nice nap, yeah? Fuck.”
But suddenly Remus’ eyes were open and he was holding on to Sirius, suddenly seeing him and not registry numbers tattooed into his back, not poverty and hunger and one small cold room after another.
“Sirius. Please. Sirius.”
Sirius just stared. This was Remus.
“What can I do? What can I do for you?”
Remus blinked, once, then fell heavily against Sirius, all energy spent.
Sirius carried him back to the bed he himself slept in, slept at least when Remus’ snarling and laughter, carried from the living room with all its drunken bitterness, didn’t keep him awake. There were proper clean sheets and cooling charms in place, and a soft, soft bed. Then he owled Lily, and asked, begged her to tell him what to do.
: :
Remus was tired when he woke up. He didn’t want to open his eyes, and his eyes didn’t want to open, there was nothing to see anyway and it would hurt.
His hair was wet. He could vaguely remember a shower, and Sirius, and something he else that was really important, if only he could…but there were words in front of it that he couldn’t get past. Remus turned his head, tried to find a side of his hair that was dry, but there was sticky moistness everywhere, and every way he turned was too hot, too sweaty, too much.
“Remus?”
Lily’s voice was gentle and looking at her wouldn’t hurt, but she wasn’t what he wanted to see. Remus kept his eyes shut and pretended to sleep. But there was a strand of hair on his face, and he couldn’t brush it aside while Lily was in the room, and it was tickling his nose. Remus tried to think of something else, but the hair was getting closer to his nostrils and soon he would have to sneeze and that would be the end.
“Moony?”
Remus twitched. Sirius’ fingertips on his stomach were gentle, he knew they were, but somehow also painful. His skin didn’t like to be touched, and rebelled by sending shocks all over his body, sensations too intense for him to endure. But Sirius would touch him until he opened his eyes.
“What?”
Sirius was a dark blot, getting clearer until Remus could see the sharp curve of the cheekbone and the ridiculously long lashes. Sirius’ lips were red and bitten.
Remus’ mouth was dry. He reached out his hand to get some water, but his fingers slipped on the glass and there was a crash, and Remus let his hand fall and closed his eyes again. Shouldn’t have opened them.
“Here, Moony.”
There was a cold glass pushing against his lips, and Remus knew he must sit up to drink it otherwise he would spill again. There were Sirius’ hands on his back, sending shockwaves all around, but the hint of apple juice in the air made him ignore that. The liquid was cool, and Remus almost smiled out of happiness, it was that good.
He could feel the coldness running down his throat, and he could breathe again, for a while at least. He drank more.
Then Sirius was pushing a sandwich at him, rye bread and lettuce and tomato and turkey, and Remus could see it was the kind of sandwich he would love if he were better and wanted to eat. He could smell it, and it was lovely, but.
“Please eat something, Remus. Please.”
Sirius should never sound so desperate. Remus tried to smile; it wasn’t his friend’s fault that Remus was sick. His own fault for being a…well, a stupid fuck.
He opened his mouth, but then Sirius’ hands were at his back and all his nerve-endings were alive. Remus pushed forward to take a bit, to get away from Sirius, but the hands followed him and if the sandwich hadn’t been so good he would have sobbed from frustration. But there were things coming at him from all directions, the intense taste in his mouth and Sirius’ fingers sharp on his skin.
Remus moaned. It shouldn’t sound so pitiful in his own ears. He tried to wriggle away, but Sirius held on, and he couldn’t get away, couldn’t eat any more, it was too much.
“Come on, Moony. Eat just a bit more.”
“Sirius, I think you shouldn’t…”
Lily’s voice was hesitant and low, not screeching in his ears. Sirius moved away and he could hear furious whispering on the other side of the room, but Remus didn’t really care now. He put the sandwich on the table, lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
: :
Sirius knew that the heat was making Remus worse. The stifling air that even his magic couldn’t move. Remus was sleeping now, twitching and mumbling, sheets bundled in a sweaty pile around his feet. Sirius watched as Remus turned his head on the pillow, tried to find a comfortable spot and couldn’t.
He had made Remus eat the sandwich. Remus had begged, no more Sirius, please, no more, I can’t, don’t make me, don’t want to. But Sirius hadn’t stopped until the last bite was down. And if he had to go and be sick afterwards, at least Remus had eaten, and was getting better. His stomach was swollen, no doubt full of the food that had been forced down his throat. Sirius put his hand on Remus’ stomach. Remus twitched.
Sirius brought his other hand to his mouth to keep in a sob. Remus was mumbling again, twisting on the sheets, and Sirius could feel the movement of nerves and muscles under his hand. Hair standing on end, soft golden hair, dark in the half lit room. They didn’t keep the lights on, that made the heat worse and Remus couldn’t bear to look at him anyway.
Remus’ skin was getting clammy. Sirius knew that if he covered the thin body before him in sheets, Remus would fret and grow feverish and throw it away. But he was getting cold now: the summer night was too cold to be naked and too hot for sheets.
“Sirius?”
Remus’ eyes were open. They didn’t look dazed.
“You gave us a bit of a fright.”
Sirius tugged at the sheet, not wanting to look at Remus in any way that might seem accusatory.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, “ Sirius spoke quickly. “Just remember to eat from now on.”
He grinned, a tentative smile. Remus licked his lips, and Sirius could see a little drop of sweat in the corner of his mouth being lapped by Remus’ tongue.
“Yeah.”
They looked at each other for a while. Sirius realised his hand was still on Remus’ stomach. He should remove it, and go to the kitchen, get Remus a glass of juice. Leave him alone, in peace, to sleep. Since he couldn’t help.
He couldn’t just take what he wanted. Not even when Remus was lying in front of him, half naked, smiling at his friend. Especially then. This is not the time to be selfish, he told himself over and over again but when is it really and with Remus you had to be selfish for him and if that was being selfish for himself as well then.
He should leave Remus alone.
Sirius stood up, suddenly wanting to hit his head repeatedly with a heavy book.
“I’m going to get you some juice.”
The window in the living room was open and there was the barest of breezes, just enough to make you long for cooler air. The streets below were still full of honking horns and people pretending to enjoy the rare summer heat by getting very drunk and taking all their clothes off. Sirius put his head outside the window. The smell of the Indian takeaway downstairs was the strongest, the promise of the tasty food, spice and meat and some miracle of cooking that Sirius knew from experience would be proved false at the first bite.
Suddenly the idea of food, so repulsive earlier in the humid weather and the sight of Remus’ emanciated body, was very tempting and Sirius was very glad the kitchen was full. Lily had brought all kinds of healthy things he was supposed to feed Remus.
He was halfway through making a sandwich when Remus’ footsteps shuffled through the other room. He knew the pattern, the slightly wet pat of the foot on the floor, the sound of something crawling across the ancient floorboards, the creak of Remus’ knee joints as he moved, painfully, one step after another. Sirius’ ears were trained to listen to those sounds; they dragged him away from half-sleep and made his body alert on the bed, then unable to sleep for hours.
The flick of the lighter was more unusual.
Remus was standing by the window, leaning out with his elbows on the sill. He was still wearing the old pyjama bottoms, wrinkled and too thick to be comfortable in this heat. Remus back showed the signs of unquiet sleep, creases left by the sheets and blotches where the sweat had gathered. But the curve of his spine was still a perfect arc. His head, bend down to catch a cigarette, looked heavy, barely supported by the vulnerable neck exposed in the dark room.
“Moony? Didn’t know you smoked.”
Remus turned his head and there was half a grin and a mouth pursed to suck the nicotine out of the little paper stick.
“A new habit. Very bad, I know.”
“Mind if I steal one?”
Sirius was halfway across the room before he finished speaking, hands outstretched. When Remus threw him the pack he caught it and didn’t show any disappointment. But the window was not that big, and their arms were shoved together, muscles jerking beneath the skin, a jagged rhythm of lifting the arm, holding it in place, letting it drop. Sirius’ hands were shaking, only a little, but noticeable next to Remus’ long fingers that were suddenly certain, brushing against his lips as he brought the cigarette to his mouth and brushing against Sirius’ arm when he tapped off the ash.
It seemed fitting somehow, the smell of tobacco that would now cling to Remus’ skin, to both their skins, a sign of summer madness and bright light and pain. Summer in London was not green grass and blue skies, fresh air and plump berries, but pollution making the air swerve, the warm beer on a man’s breath, the smell of overfilling ashtrays and over poured wine and sex after a late party. A sour taste on a friend’s fingers.
Remus smiled, yet another bitter grin twisting his face into something new and disturbing, then stumped his cigarette on the wall outside the window, and went back to bed.
: :
The next day there was a letter from the Werewolf Registry.
Mr. Lupin,
We are pleased to inform you that the Werewolf Registry is now offering its members a new sign of classification. This will make it easier for us to keep track of our members. You are invited to attend our office in your local area within the next two weeks.
Sincerely yours,
Petronella Morfolk,
Junior Assistant
Werewolf Support Service
Remus washed off any signs of illness, put on his nice suit, and left the house before Sirius woke up. Better get it done and over with. Better not give them anything more then a clean body and an empty mind.
The street outside was full of litter that was already starting to smell in the morning sun. People were going to work in suits they would regret wearing in a few hours. Remus liked his, the material thin and worn like him and smooth on his narrow shoulders, close to his skin, untouchable for a few more moments at least. He hadn’t eaten this morning, hadn’t been tempted by the sandwich that Sirius had left for him last night. The idea of food made him sick. But then, so did everything else.
He stepped into the office of the Werewolf Support Services and closed his mind.
: :
“How can I help you?”
Sirius gave his most winning smile and explained to the Healer that he was Sirius Black, and wanting to know about the new procedures taking place in the Werewolf Registry. He was interested in a career in regulating dangerous beasts through law reform, and perhaps the lovely young lady would be kind of enough to tell him about the activities taking place here? He let his name and his features do their trick, said the right words that made her want to tell him everything. It was a Slytherin skill, a Black skill that he hated using even though he was frightfully clever with it.
“These measures are only for their own protection. Well, most of them faint during the procedure, they’re not very strong, you see. The degeneracy in their bodies makes them weak at all times except the full moon. That’s why they can’t hold jobs, of course.”
Sirius thought about Remus who wouldn’t eat and couldn’t stand upright for very long. Who couldn’t bear to be touched by softest of fingertips.
“What happens then? What does the procedure consist of?”
“Well, first they make sure they have no diseases. Like dogs, werewolves tend to catch all kinds of dangerous things and sometimes they have to be put down. Then they test their reactions to things like wolfsbane, silver, fire, because you know, this varies from beast to beast and we have to make sure we have the correct information for each. Some of them are awfully resistant, you know. And then, of course, there is the tattoo, a serial number put just above the left kidney. So we know where to find them. Sometimes they try to claw them off so we use a special ink, with some silver in it, and that way they’ll be recognisable even in wolf form.”
“That must be quite painful.”
“Well, as I said, most of them faint. I expect they try to get sympathy.”
“Right. Well, thank you for all the information. I’ll be sure to remember how helpful you were.”
Sirius grinned, but couldn’t quite look at the Healer, and stepped away. There were seats outside the reception, presumably for human family members, and he sat down, picked up an ancient copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them that somebody had left there. He was nauseous with the heat and sweating; there was no air conditioning wasted on these offices and all the staff had individual cooling charms. The chairs had a distinct smell to them, which made him feel worse; years of sweat created by other things than heat.
Then Remus was there, hard and thin and untouchable despite the Healer, whose hand was grabbing Remus’ forearm, who was clearly aware of the discomfort he was causing. Remus stood quiet, looking at the Healer with blank features, nodding occasionally. He didn’t look at Sirius when he walked out.
They walked side by side, hands in their pockets, eyes firmly ahead.
“Why did you come?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Hurt accusation in Sirius’ voice, and a little fear. Frustration and teeth-held determination in Remus’ words, spoken to deflect accusations as much as to ask. They continued walking.
“I don’t need you to look after me.”
Remus said this as if they both didn’t know it was a blatant lie. Yet some words are necessary even when untrue and Sirius didn’t contradict him. Not so much because Remus couldn’t handle contradiction, not when Sirius was still in awe of what he could handle, but because the feeling of being humoured and mollycoddled was something that tended to produce extreme reactions in Remus. Such a reaction might do some good.
But there was nothing, Remus was silent throughout their journey and Sirius felt himself slipping back into a state of helpless despair, frustration and longing and grinding his teeth absentmindedly.
: :
The water was cool. Remus knew he should have a hot bath, best way to get rid of all the things they had done to him. But cool was better, it soothed the heat in the back of his neck where his hair had been sweating. It made the dryness less painful.
He immersed himself in the water until nothing but his face remained. He blinked. This was good. He could stay like this for a while. He couldn’t feel his body, just a pleasant numbness everywhere, skin made insensitive but prickling underneath. He almost couldn’t feel his shoulder.
He hadn’t looked at it yet. They had talked about getting tattoos, a paw for Sirius, a horn for James and a little tail for Peter. Teeth for Remus, or a half moon, and he had considered it as yet another thing he could do to conquer the wolf. Make it mean brothers and freedom and dark nights in the forest, instead of this.
But now the numbers etched to his body meant only what they could do to him, how little control he had, what they could force him to do.
He didn’t want to look at his body. It was never something he took pleasure in, white scars, purple marks where the muscles had torn themselves, useless hands with broken nails, all colourless and dead looking. And yet it was him, it was the thing that made others despise him, what made him vulnerable and dependent and something they could use. What made it possible for them to do things to him. Not his, really.
There was nothing humiliating in being stripped naked anymore, their investigations had been more invasive in the past and would be again. He didn’t mind their attitude; when people are so obvious about trying to offend you it’s rather easy to ignore them. The small rooms, almost cages, where he’d been kept would have made him claustrophobic if he’d allowed himself to think about it.
The worst of it was the knowledge that they could ask him to come back at any time, keep him there as long as they liked, and he could do nothing about it. There were laws in process that would give him less control over his own body, give others arbitrary power over it.
The mark they had left didn’t make him their property. But what they could do with it, the constant threat, that almost did.
: :
Remus had been in the bath for an hour when Sirius decided to break in. Fear of what Remus might do was choking him, nagging at his insides so he couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think. Remus had thrown off his suit as soon as they had got back to the flat and incinerated it with a silent spell. Sirius hadn’t had time to look for marks on Remus’ body before he’d locked himself in the bathroom.
It was only a lock, no spells. He thought a loud Alohamora would be enough warning.
The door banged against the bathroom wall, a creak and a thud, then silence.
Remus was lying in the bathtub, his head lolling just above the water and his eyes closed. He didn’t move. His arm was hanging over the tub, dripping water on the floor, veins swollen and blue against the pallid whiteness. Sirius could see scratch marks where Remus had tried to scrub himself clean, the skin broken in the delicate line of the wrist, above the pulse.
“Remus. Remus! Wake up! For fuck’s sake, not this, not this again…”
But Remus was struggling against Sirius’ hands that tried to lift him, and somehow the fact that he was fighting made it better.
“Sirius, what the fuck are you doing, get off me!”
“Well what the bloody hell took you so long?”
The water had sloshed all over Sirius and on to the floor and he refused to let go of Remus who was still trying to get away.
“What?”
“Why were you so long in the bath? I thought something had, thought you’d…”
Sirius realised that he was making no sense. He was probably hurting Remus, there would be bruises later. He could feel the pulse in the thin arms, too fast, too much for this body to handle.
“I wouldn’t do that, Sirius.”
Remus looked down, at his body, at Sirius’ hands.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
That he could say it so calmly, as if he wanted Sirius to just step back and leave him alone, was unbearable.
“”You’re so much not fine that it’s ridiculous. How can you say that? How can you…fuck! Fuck!”
“Sirius! Stop it!”
Sirius was kicking the bathtub and the water was spilling everywhere. The look on Remus’ face didn’t make him want to stop but rather to lift the bloody tub off its hinges and throw it against the wall. Instead he spoke.
“Show me the mark.”
Remus looked at him, long, then turned over and showed Sirius his back. Six numbers in silvery blue, uneven letters spilling over each other. The blood had been washed off.
Sirius fell down on his knees and pressed his lips on to the tattoo. His hands were holding Remus in place as he twitched and tried to pull away.
“Sirius, don’t, don’t. This is my body. Don’t you see? It’s sick and deformed and scarred. It doesn’t…don’t do that to it.”
“And what should I do with it? Hurt it and mark it like they do?”
Remus turned, his eyes strangely wide and wild. He stood up, dragging Sirius with him, water falling down his body.
“Yes.”
: :
Sirius wanted to help him, he knew this, but all the things that were wrong couldn’t really be fixed, and anyway he didn’t want to be fixed. There was caution mixed with helplessness in Sirius’ movements these days, the posture of a man who had had the floor kicked out from under him and couldn’t understand why it couldn’t be made up right.
Sirius didn’t know hot days that couldn’t be enjoyed, when things like splashing and ice cream and sun screen were impossible. Movement that had to be calculated based on the energy it would require and things it would cost, sometimes too much. Summer nights that weren’t balmy and romantic but yet another reminder of a day wasted and not spent on work or looking for work. The frustration of knowing that he did nothing because there was nothing to be done and yet he could have tried harder, tried something that might have meant there was something to be had. If he had been better.
There was a certain kind of satisfaction in knowing that he was slowly killing his body, refusing it nourishment, refusing exercise and fresh air. Not that he wanted death. But it felt good to know that what hopes he had allowed himself to build during his years in Hogwarts were melting away along with his flesh until there was only bone. A harder new Remus.
Sirius didn’t like his new body, but couldn’t look away, the angles more awkward now, the edges cutting through skin and cloth. Remus’ sickness made him notice things he hadn’t see before, like how much Sirius liked to touch him. How he swallowed every time Remus bit his lips. How easily Remus hurt him.
Sirius was standing before him and Remus could see fear and desire and confusion, heartbreakingly open for him. He moved closer.
“Do you want me, Sirius?”
He didn’t want to be worshipped. He didn’t want pity or concern.
“Yes.”
Sirius looked at him like Sirius was the one who was hurt.
“Well then.”
Remus’ hands seemed to remember some of their old confidence as they wove themselves tightly into Sirius’ hair and pulled their mouths closer. Sirius blinked, once, twice, and then Remus kissed him. He wasn’t tender.
Sirius’ hands were touching him everywhere and it hurt, every finger a prick of pain on his skin, and Remus moaned, wanted more. Sirius’ wet clothes were grinding into him, harsh buttons and the tough material of his jeans cutting him raw. But naked skin would be more.
“Take these off,” Remus said between bites on Sirius’ ear, tugging at his trousers until Sirius opened them himself and pulled them down, off.
Skin on skin was better and Remus liked the feeling of Sirius’ smooth muscles against his own dry sparseness. And Sirius nails were back on his body, leaving marks, and Sirius mouth was sucking on his collarbone.
The floor of the bathroom was hard, but Remus didn’t let Sirius drag him into the bedroom and to a soft mattress. There were cold tiles against his back, colder than his skin. Sirius’ fingers were big and bruising inside him, forcing him open and he spread his legs wider, wanting the vulnerability and the invasiveness of it.
Sirius’ mouth was soft and hot against his lips, and Remus bit him, hard, as Sirius pushed into him. Remus’ body was shaking, the legs wrapped around Sirius’ waist, pressed between the cold floor and Sirius inside and above him. He was stretched and paralysed and open, the muscles in his legs were jerking erratically and he couldn’t move, and his blood was humming, and his fingers were twitching and he was bright and hot and alive. And when Sirius whispered love you into his neck as he was coming, Remus could think, yeah, maybe that too.
: :
It wasn’t comfortable, sleeping with Sirius. The room got too hot and they were both sweaty and Remus didn’t like having people near him when he slept.
But there was a certain childish glee in knowing that even when fucking Sirius, he was still private and quiet inside himself. He could choose to not share his thoughts. He could tell Sirius things that were untrue, or lie by omission, keep himself safe inside his mind. Not that he wanted to lie, but he could. There was liberation in not having to explain what he felt. And choosing not to do so.
Remus didn’t like sharing a bed. He allowed it, though.
The End
dogdaysofsummer challenge. Title: The Days Are Bright
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5729
Era: Post-Hogwarts, pre-Azkaban
Summary: The summer after finishing Hogwarts Remus was kicked in the face by the Werewolf Registry.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns these characters, I have no permission to use them and I am making no money out of this. No infringement of copyright is intended.
Thanks to
kabeyk and pre_raphaelite1 for listening to me moaning about this and looking through it.Cross-posted to
remusxsirius, remus_centric and starcrossedmoonBoth characters are over 18.
The Days Are Bright
The summer after finishing Hogwarts Remus was kicked in the face by the Werewolf Registry. He found out that he wasn’t allowed to work; most jobs he could apply for weren’t enough to support him and any potential employers were warned against hiring werewolves. He wasn’t allowed to own property or to earn above a certain amount of money a year. He wasn’t allowed to get married or be a guardian to a child.
His friends did what they could; Sirius took him in and James convinced his dad that they should hire someone to catalogue the library. But there wasn’t very much to be done. Even with good friends. And Remus was very grateful to his friends.
Remus tried to keep the flat clean; he felt he should do something since he was allowed to stay there for free. But the flat was in the top floor of an old apartment building and Sirius hadn’t bothered to buy curtains. It was hot and the windows only opened to let in noise and dirt. Remus told himself it made sense to stay up at night when it was cooler and to sleep during the day.
He drank the bottles of wine Sirius brought home after work. He said he’d go out the next day and buy more to replace them, but he never got around to it; it was too hot and they were too many flights of stairs.
Sirius shouted at him when he stopped buying food. Remus wouldn’t eat Sirius’ food unless Sirius cooked it and then pestered Remus about it, but he didn’t have enough money to buy any for himself. He was losing weight, he knew, and it was stupid not to eat, and he should do something about it. But it was too hot to move, and he was tired.
There was reading to be done, and letters to be answered, but you couldn’t ask owls to fly in this weather. And the books James’ dad had sent him were heavy, and there was something wrong with his wrists; he couldn’t hold them up for very long. He should wait until they were better. It was only sensible, and then he’d be able to do the job better. When it wasn’t so hot. And he wasn’t so tired.
: :
Sirius came home one day to find Remus lying on the sofa, still wearing the pyjama bottoms he insisted sleeping on. He had clearly gotten up at some point, there was a mug of cold tea on the coffee table and yesterday’s paper, which Sirius had brought, was open on the floor. Remus slept restlessly, he knew, when he slept at all and didn’t stay up all night drinking and reading strange seventeenth-century poetry. Sirius had asked him about it a few times and been treated to some truly filthy language. But only some of it was Remus’.
Remus was sweating in his sleep. Sirius could see where the moisture was gathered on his belly, just above his hipbone, a little pool of drunken heat and nightmares and nausea. His hair was plastered on his forehead. Sirius resisted brushing it aside. Remus didn’t like to be touched when he was sleeping. Didn’t like to be touched at any time.
He could see the hollows on his sides and the ribs, always visible, that had become more prominent. And his skin, pale and coloured only by occasional freckles, becoming thin and almost translucent.
Yet Remus was beautiful.
There was a sharpness to his bones that was new. A casual elegance in the wasted limbs that used to be precise in their actions, used to know exactly how to move and where to place themselves. Now they were mostly still, but the rare movement, hesitant and unsteady, was still uncanny in its loveliness.
Sirius didn’t like himself any better for liking Remus better when he was ill and unhappy. But now he was vulnerable, and maybe vulnerable enough to accept what Sirius so badly wanted to offer.
As his friend, it was Sirius’ duty to look after him and keep him from destroying himself, no matter what the Registry or anybody else thought. Certainly no matter what Remus thought, since Remus found it quite easy to see himself as expendable.
Remus’ sleep was restless. Sirius watched him twitch, bad dreams or something worse, he had never asked. But Remus shouldn’t have to go through that, even asleep.
“Moony.”
Sirius poked Remus’ shoulder. He did like poking Remus, the results were usually very satisfying and Remus often squealed, but these days that was too much touching, touching that Remus couldn’t stand.
“Moony. Wake up.”
Eyes were opened, eyes that should not be so clear on waking. But Sirius knew that Remus didn’t see very much of things outside his own head, didn’t want to see anything else these days.
Remus didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask why Sirius had woken him up or what did he want. Sirius felt fury rising in his stomach, something that he was accustomed to but didn’t want to grow accustomed to.
“Get up.”
Remus closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sofa.
“ I’m tired.”
“You are always tired. You should get up. Get something to eat.”
Sirius watched as one eye opened, looked at him and turned away. He didn’t clench his fists.
“Not hungry.”
He knew that Remus was getting ill, not just from not eating and not going out. There were wounds festering that he couldn’t reach, couldn’t heal with any kind of friendship.
And there was a thin belly before him, faint muscles turned into swollen emptiness, and that was too much, that was something he wouldn’t accept.
“Right.”
He grabbed Remus by the shoulders, lifted him up and he was too light, never the heaviest of blokes but by God this was too little for a grown man to weigh. Remus was struggling, but he couldn’t really, and Sirius could see that there was neither energy nor determination, for anything anymore, to fight him. Sirius pulled him along, dragging dirty feet on the dusty floor, avoiding boxes of curry and empty wine bottles and thought this has got to stop, I can’t take it anymore. He can’t take it anymore.
The water in the shower was cold, but Sirius didn’t turn it on warmer; he needed the punishment for doing this to his friend as much as his friend needed its coolness.
And he wanted to wash the sweat away from Remus’ body. It was illness and dirt and despair and he wanted to get rid of it. Cool water, which they weren’t really allowed to have but what else was magic good for if you couldn’t help you friends. And make them better.
Remus was leaning against the wall, sandwiched between green tiles and Sirius, whose t-shirt and jeans were completely soaked. Those would be a bitch to get off, later. Remus had closed his eyes against the water, he just lay back and took it, and Sirius had to hide his face against Remus’ shoulder. And taste whether the sweat was still there, or whether he would have to wash it away with his hands, scrub and stretch and lick through every pore, just to be sure.
Remus moaned. It wasn’t a happy moan, not do that again, more, harder. Not that Sirius knew what that kind of a moan sounded like from Remus’ lips. But I’m breaking and please don’t touch me and please touch me and I can’t bear it.
There was nothing he could do, and it hit him hard to realise that for all the things he thought he had, all the things he was proud of, he couldn’t help Remus now. His fingers were by Remus’ hips, on the concave beneath the bones that bruised his hands when he tried to touch them. Tried to hold Remus upright, but he couldn’t stand, he was falling over and against Sirius, hanging on with sharp nails that made Sirius stop breathing.
“Remus. Remus, stay awake! I’ll just, fuck, just get you cleaned up, yeah, and then you can go back to bed, have a nice nap, yeah? Fuck.”
But suddenly Remus’ eyes were open and he was holding on to Sirius, suddenly seeing him and not registry numbers tattooed into his back, not poverty and hunger and one small cold room after another.
“Sirius. Please. Sirius.”
Sirius just stared. This was Remus.
“What can I do? What can I do for you?”
Remus blinked, once, then fell heavily against Sirius, all energy spent.
Sirius carried him back to the bed he himself slept in, slept at least when Remus’ snarling and laughter, carried from the living room with all its drunken bitterness, didn’t keep him awake. There were proper clean sheets and cooling charms in place, and a soft, soft bed. Then he owled Lily, and asked, begged her to tell him what to do.
: :
Remus was tired when he woke up. He didn’t want to open his eyes, and his eyes didn’t want to open, there was nothing to see anyway and it would hurt.
His hair was wet. He could vaguely remember a shower, and Sirius, and something he else that was really important, if only he could…but there were words in front of it that he couldn’t get past. Remus turned his head, tried to find a side of his hair that was dry, but there was sticky moistness everywhere, and every way he turned was too hot, too sweaty, too much.
“Remus?”
Lily’s voice was gentle and looking at her wouldn’t hurt, but she wasn’t what he wanted to see. Remus kept his eyes shut and pretended to sleep. But there was a strand of hair on his face, and he couldn’t brush it aside while Lily was in the room, and it was tickling his nose. Remus tried to think of something else, but the hair was getting closer to his nostrils and soon he would have to sneeze and that would be the end.
“Moony?”
Remus twitched. Sirius’ fingertips on his stomach were gentle, he knew they were, but somehow also painful. His skin didn’t like to be touched, and rebelled by sending shocks all over his body, sensations too intense for him to endure. But Sirius would touch him until he opened his eyes.
“What?”
Sirius was a dark blot, getting clearer until Remus could see the sharp curve of the cheekbone and the ridiculously long lashes. Sirius’ lips were red and bitten.
Remus’ mouth was dry. He reached out his hand to get some water, but his fingers slipped on the glass and there was a crash, and Remus let his hand fall and closed his eyes again. Shouldn’t have opened them.
“Here, Moony.”
There was a cold glass pushing against his lips, and Remus knew he must sit up to drink it otherwise he would spill again. There were Sirius’ hands on his back, sending shockwaves all around, but the hint of apple juice in the air made him ignore that. The liquid was cool, and Remus almost smiled out of happiness, it was that good.
He could feel the coldness running down his throat, and he could breathe again, for a while at least. He drank more.
Then Sirius was pushing a sandwich at him, rye bread and lettuce and tomato and turkey, and Remus could see it was the kind of sandwich he would love if he were better and wanted to eat. He could smell it, and it was lovely, but.
“Please eat something, Remus. Please.”
Sirius should never sound so desperate. Remus tried to smile; it wasn’t his friend’s fault that Remus was sick. His own fault for being a…well, a stupid fuck.
He opened his mouth, but then Sirius’ hands were at his back and all his nerve-endings were alive. Remus pushed forward to take a bit, to get away from Sirius, but the hands followed him and if the sandwich hadn’t been so good he would have sobbed from frustration. But there were things coming at him from all directions, the intense taste in his mouth and Sirius’ fingers sharp on his skin.
Remus moaned. It shouldn’t sound so pitiful in his own ears. He tried to wriggle away, but Sirius held on, and he couldn’t get away, couldn’t eat any more, it was too much.
“Come on, Moony. Eat just a bit more.”
“Sirius, I think you shouldn’t…”
Lily’s voice was hesitant and low, not screeching in his ears. Sirius moved away and he could hear furious whispering on the other side of the room, but Remus didn’t really care now. He put the sandwich on the table, lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
: :
Sirius knew that the heat was making Remus worse. The stifling air that even his magic couldn’t move. Remus was sleeping now, twitching and mumbling, sheets bundled in a sweaty pile around his feet. Sirius watched as Remus turned his head on the pillow, tried to find a comfortable spot and couldn’t.
He had made Remus eat the sandwich. Remus had begged, no more Sirius, please, no more, I can’t, don’t make me, don’t want to. But Sirius hadn’t stopped until the last bite was down. And if he had to go and be sick afterwards, at least Remus had eaten, and was getting better. His stomach was swollen, no doubt full of the food that had been forced down his throat. Sirius put his hand on Remus’ stomach. Remus twitched.
Sirius brought his other hand to his mouth to keep in a sob. Remus was mumbling again, twisting on the sheets, and Sirius could feel the movement of nerves and muscles under his hand. Hair standing on end, soft golden hair, dark in the half lit room. They didn’t keep the lights on, that made the heat worse and Remus couldn’t bear to look at him anyway.
Remus’ skin was getting clammy. Sirius knew that if he covered the thin body before him in sheets, Remus would fret and grow feverish and throw it away. But he was getting cold now: the summer night was too cold to be naked and too hot for sheets.
“Sirius?”
Remus’ eyes were open. They didn’t look dazed.
“You gave us a bit of a fright.”
Sirius tugged at the sheet, not wanting to look at Remus in any way that might seem accusatory.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, “ Sirius spoke quickly. “Just remember to eat from now on.”
He grinned, a tentative smile. Remus licked his lips, and Sirius could see a little drop of sweat in the corner of his mouth being lapped by Remus’ tongue.
“Yeah.”
They looked at each other for a while. Sirius realised his hand was still on Remus’ stomach. He should remove it, and go to the kitchen, get Remus a glass of juice. Leave him alone, in peace, to sleep. Since he couldn’t help.
He couldn’t just take what he wanted. Not even when Remus was lying in front of him, half naked, smiling at his friend. Especially then. This is not the time to be selfish, he told himself over and over again but when is it really and with Remus you had to be selfish for him and if that was being selfish for himself as well then.
He should leave Remus alone.
Sirius stood up, suddenly wanting to hit his head repeatedly with a heavy book.
“I’m going to get you some juice.”
The window in the living room was open and there was the barest of breezes, just enough to make you long for cooler air. The streets below were still full of honking horns and people pretending to enjoy the rare summer heat by getting very drunk and taking all their clothes off. Sirius put his head outside the window. The smell of the Indian takeaway downstairs was the strongest, the promise of the tasty food, spice and meat and some miracle of cooking that Sirius knew from experience would be proved false at the first bite.
Suddenly the idea of food, so repulsive earlier in the humid weather and the sight of Remus’ emanciated body, was very tempting and Sirius was very glad the kitchen was full. Lily had brought all kinds of healthy things he was supposed to feed Remus.
He was halfway through making a sandwich when Remus’ footsteps shuffled through the other room. He knew the pattern, the slightly wet pat of the foot on the floor, the sound of something crawling across the ancient floorboards, the creak of Remus’ knee joints as he moved, painfully, one step after another. Sirius’ ears were trained to listen to those sounds; they dragged him away from half-sleep and made his body alert on the bed, then unable to sleep for hours.
The flick of the lighter was more unusual.
Remus was standing by the window, leaning out with his elbows on the sill. He was still wearing the old pyjama bottoms, wrinkled and too thick to be comfortable in this heat. Remus back showed the signs of unquiet sleep, creases left by the sheets and blotches where the sweat had gathered. But the curve of his spine was still a perfect arc. His head, bend down to catch a cigarette, looked heavy, barely supported by the vulnerable neck exposed in the dark room.
“Moony? Didn’t know you smoked.”
Remus turned his head and there was half a grin and a mouth pursed to suck the nicotine out of the little paper stick.
“A new habit. Very bad, I know.”
“Mind if I steal one?”
Sirius was halfway across the room before he finished speaking, hands outstretched. When Remus threw him the pack he caught it and didn’t show any disappointment. But the window was not that big, and their arms were shoved together, muscles jerking beneath the skin, a jagged rhythm of lifting the arm, holding it in place, letting it drop. Sirius’ hands were shaking, only a little, but noticeable next to Remus’ long fingers that were suddenly certain, brushing against his lips as he brought the cigarette to his mouth and brushing against Sirius’ arm when he tapped off the ash.
It seemed fitting somehow, the smell of tobacco that would now cling to Remus’ skin, to both their skins, a sign of summer madness and bright light and pain. Summer in London was not green grass and blue skies, fresh air and plump berries, but pollution making the air swerve, the warm beer on a man’s breath, the smell of overfilling ashtrays and over poured wine and sex after a late party. A sour taste on a friend’s fingers.
Remus smiled, yet another bitter grin twisting his face into something new and disturbing, then stumped his cigarette on the wall outside the window, and went back to bed.
: :
The next day there was a letter from the Werewolf Registry.
Mr. Lupin,
We are pleased to inform you that the Werewolf Registry is now offering its members a new sign of classification. This will make it easier for us to keep track of our members. You are invited to attend our office in your local area within the next two weeks.
Sincerely yours,
Petronella Morfolk,
Junior Assistant
Werewolf Support Service
Remus washed off any signs of illness, put on his nice suit, and left the house before Sirius woke up. Better get it done and over with. Better not give them anything more then a clean body and an empty mind.
The street outside was full of litter that was already starting to smell in the morning sun. People were going to work in suits they would regret wearing in a few hours. Remus liked his, the material thin and worn like him and smooth on his narrow shoulders, close to his skin, untouchable for a few more moments at least. He hadn’t eaten this morning, hadn’t been tempted by the sandwich that Sirius had left for him last night. The idea of food made him sick. But then, so did everything else.
He stepped into the office of the Werewolf Support Services and closed his mind.
: :
“How can I help you?”
Sirius gave his most winning smile and explained to the Healer that he was Sirius Black, and wanting to know about the new procedures taking place in the Werewolf Registry. He was interested in a career in regulating dangerous beasts through law reform, and perhaps the lovely young lady would be kind of enough to tell him about the activities taking place here? He let his name and his features do their trick, said the right words that made her want to tell him everything. It was a Slytherin skill, a Black skill that he hated using even though he was frightfully clever with it.
“These measures are only for their own protection. Well, most of them faint during the procedure, they’re not very strong, you see. The degeneracy in their bodies makes them weak at all times except the full moon. That’s why they can’t hold jobs, of course.”
Sirius thought about Remus who wouldn’t eat and couldn’t stand upright for very long. Who couldn’t bear to be touched by softest of fingertips.
“What happens then? What does the procedure consist of?”
“Well, first they make sure they have no diseases. Like dogs, werewolves tend to catch all kinds of dangerous things and sometimes they have to be put down. Then they test their reactions to things like wolfsbane, silver, fire, because you know, this varies from beast to beast and we have to make sure we have the correct information for each. Some of them are awfully resistant, you know. And then, of course, there is the tattoo, a serial number put just above the left kidney. So we know where to find them. Sometimes they try to claw them off so we use a special ink, with some silver in it, and that way they’ll be recognisable even in wolf form.”
“That must be quite painful.”
“Well, as I said, most of them faint. I expect they try to get sympathy.”
“Right. Well, thank you for all the information. I’ll be sure to remember how helpful you were.”
Sirius grinned, but couldn’t quite look at the Healer, and stepped away. There were seats outside the reception, presumably for human family members, and he sat down, picked up an ancient copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them that somebody had left there. He was nauseous with the heat and sweating; there was no air conditioning wasted on these offices and all the staff had individual cooling charms. The chairs had a distinct smell to them, which made him feel worse; years of sweat created by other things than heat.
Then Remus was there, hard and thin and untouchable despite the Healer, whose hand was grabbing Remus’ forearm, who was clearly aware of the discomfort he was causing. Remus stood quiet, looking at the Healer with blank features, nodding occasionally. He didn’t look at Sirius when he walked out.
They walked side by side, hands in their pockets, eyes firmly ahead.
“Why did you come?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Hurt accusation in Sirius’ voice, and a little fear. Frustration and teeth-held determination in Remus’ words, spoken to deflect accusations as much as to ask. They continued walking.
“I don’t need you to look after me.”
Remus said this as if they both didn’t know it was a blatant lie. Yet some words are necessary even when untrue and Sirius didn’t contradict him. Not so much because Remus couldn’t handle contradiction, not when Sirius was still in awe of what he could handle, but because the feeling of being humoured and mollycoddled was something that tended to produce extreme reactions in Remus. Such a reaction might do some good.
But there was nothing, Remus was silent throughout their journey and Sirius felt himself slipping back into a state of helpless despair, frustration and longing and grinding his teeth absentmindedly.
: :
The water was cool. Remus knew he should have a hot bath, best way to get rid of all the things they had done to him. But cool was better, it soothed the heat in the back of his neck where his hair had been sweating. It made the dryness less painful.
He immersed himself in the water until nothing but his face remained. He blinked. This was good. He could stay like this for a while. He couldn’t feel his body, just a pleasant numbness everywhere, skin made insensitive but prickling underneath. He almost couldn’t feel his shoulder.
He hadn’t looked at it yet. They had talked about getting tattoos, a paw for Sirius, a horn for James and a little tail for Peter. Teeth for Remus, or a half moon, and he had considered it as yet another thing he could do to conquer the wolf. Make it mean brothers and freedom and dark nights in the forest, instead of this.
But now the numbers etched to his body meant only what they could do to him, how little control he had, what they could force him to do.
He didn’t want to look at his body. It was never something he took pleasure in, white scars, purple marks where the muscles had torn themselves, useless hands with broken nails, all colourless and dead looking. And yet it was him, it was the thing that made others despise him, what made him vulnerable and dependent and something they could use. What made it possible for them to do things to him. Not his, really.
There was nothing humiliating in being stripped naked anymore, their investigations had been more invasive in the past and would be again. He didn’t mind their attitude; when people are so obvious about trying to offend you it’s rather easy to ignore them. The small rooms, almost cages, where he’d been kept would have made him claustrophobic if he’d allowed himself to think about it.
The worst of it was the knowledge that they could ask him to come back at any time, keep him there as long as they liked, and he could do nothing about it. There were laws in process that would give him less control over his own body, give others arbitrary power over it.
The mark they had left didn’t make him their property. But what they could do with it, the constant threat, that almost did.
: :
Remus had been in the bath for an hour when Sirius decided to break in. Fear of what Remus might do was choking him, nagging at his insides so he couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think. Remus had thrown off his suit as soon as they had got back to the flat and incinerated it with a silent spell. Sirius hadn’t had time to look for marks on Remus’ body before he’d locked himself in the bathroom.
It was only a lock, no spells. He thought a loud Alohamora would be enough warning.
The door banged against the bathroom wall, a creak and a thud, then silence.
Remus was lying in the bathtub, his head lolling just above the water and his eyes closed. He didn’t move. His arm was hanging over the tub, dripping water on the floor, veins swollen and blue against the pallid whiteness. Sirius could see scratch marks where Remus had tried to scrub himself clean, the skin broken in the delicate line of the wrist, above the pulse.
“Remus. Remus! Wake up! For fuck’s sake, not this, not this again…”
But Remus was struggling against Sirius’ hands that tried to lift him, and somehow the fact that he was fighting made it better.
“Sirius, what the fuck are you doing, get off me!”
“Well what the bloody hell took you so long?”
The water had sloshed all over Sirius and on to the floor and he refused to let go of Remus who was still trying to get away.
“What?”
“Why were you so long in the bath? I thought something had, thought you’d…”
Sirius realised that he was making no sense. He was probably hurting Remus, there would be bruises later. He could feel the pulse in the thin arms, too fast, too much for this body to handle.
“I wouldn’t do that, Sirius.”
Remus looked down, at his body, at Sirius’ hands.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
That he could say it so calmly, as if he wanted Sirius to just step back and leave him alone, was unbearable.
“”You’re so much not fine that it’s ridiculous. How can you say that? How can you…fuck! Fuck!”
“Sirius! Stop it!”
Sirius was kicking the bathtub and the water was spilling everywhere. The look on Remus’ face didn’t make him want to stop but rather to lift the bloody tub off its hinges and throw it against the wall. Instead he spoke.
“Show me the mark.”
Remus looked at him, long, then turned over and showed Sirius his back. Six numbers in silvery blue, uneven letters spilling over each other. The blood had been washed off.
Sirius fell down on his knees and pressed his lips on to the tattoo. His hands were holding Remus in place as he twitched and tried to pull away.
“Sirius, don’t, don’t. This is my body. Don’t you see? It’s sick and deformed and scarred. It doesn’t…don’t do that to it.”
“And what should I do with it? Hurt it and mark it like they do?”
Remus turned, his eyes strangely wide and wild. He stood up, dragging Sirius with him, water falling down his body.
“Yes.”
: :
Sirius wanted to help him, he knew this, but all the things that were wrong couldn’t really be fixed, and anyway he didn’t want to be fixed. There was caution mixed with helplessness in Sirius’ movements these days, the posture of a man who had had the floor kicked out from under him and couldn’t understand why it couldn’t be made up right.
Sirius didn’t know hot days that couldn’t be enjoyed, when things like splashing and ice cream and sun screen were impossible. Movement that had to be calculated based on the energy it would require and things it would cost, sometimes too much. Summer nights that weren’t balmy and romantic but yet another reminder of a day wasted and not spent on work or looking for work. The frustration of knowing that he did nothing because there was nothing to be done and yet he could have tried harder, tried something that might have meant there was something to be had. If he had been better.
There was a certain kind of satisfaction in knowing that he was slowly killing his body, refusing it nourishment, refusing exercise and fresh air. Not that he wanted death. But it felt good to know that what hopes he had allowed himself to build during his years in Hogwarts were melting away along with his flesh until there was only bone. A harder new Remus.
Sirius didn’t like his new body, but couldn’t look away, the angles more awkward now, the edges cutting through skin and cloth. Remus’ sickness made him notice things he hadn’t see before, like how much Sirius liked to touch him. How he swallowed every time Remus bit his lips. How easily Remus hurt him.
Sirius was standing before him and Remus could see fear and desire and confusion, heartbreakingly open for him. He moved closer.
“Do you want me, Sirius?”
He didn’t want to be worshipped. He didn’t want pity or concern.
“Yes.”
Sirius looked at him like Sirius was the one who was hurt.
“Well then.”
Remus’ hands seemed to remember some of their old confidence as they wove themselves tightly into Sirius’ hair and pulled their mouths closer. Sirius blinked, once, twice, and then Remus kissed him. He wasn’t tender.
Sirius’ hands were touching him everywhere and it hurt, every finger a prick of pain on his skin, and Remus moaned, wanted more. Sirius’ wet clothes were grinding into him, harsh buttons and the tough material of his jeans cutting him raw. But naked skin would be more.
“Take these off,” Remus said between bites on Sirius’ ear, tugging at his trousers until Sirius opened them himself and pulled them down, off.
Skin on skin was better and Remus liked the feeling of Sirius’ smooth muscles against his own dry sparseness. And Sirius nails were back on his body, leaving marks, and Sirius mouth was sucking on his collarbone.
The floor of the bathroom was hard, but Remus didn’t let Sirius drag him into the bedroom and to a soft mattress. There were cold tiles against his back, colder than his skin. Sirius’ fingers were big and bruising inside him, forcing him open and he spread his legs wider, wanting the vulnerability and the invasiveness of it.
Sirius’ mouth was soft and hot against his lips, and Remus bit him, hard, as Sirius pushed into him. Remus’ body was shaking, the legs wrapped around Sirius’ waist, pressed between the cold floor and Sirius inside and above him. He was stretched and paralysed and open, the muscles in his legs were jerking erratically and he couldn’t move, and his blood was humming, and his fingers were twitching and he was bright and hot and alive. And when Sirius whispered love you into his neck as he was coming, Remus could think, yeah, maybe that too.
: :
It wasn’t comfortable, sleeping with Sirius. The room got too hot and they were both sweaty and Remus didn’t like having people near him when he slept.
But there was a certain childish glee in knowing that even when fucking Sirius, he was still private and quiet inside himself. He could choose to not share his thoughts. He could tell Sirius things that were untrue, or lie by omission, keep himself safe inside his mind. Not that he wanted to lie, but he could. There was liberation in not having to explain what he felt. And choosing not to do so.
Remus didn’t like sharing a bed. He allowed it, though.
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 07:28 am (UTC)yeah, maybe that too
Oh yes, that's good.
Also: *sobs inconsolably* *wails and thrashes, beating chest in misery at all the angst* *etc* add those to your evil tally chart.x
That is wonderful.x
kxx
no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 07:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 07:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 07:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 09:10 am (UTC)The story evokes the post-Hogwarts period vividly and imaginably, but I could imagine this continuing as an AU, with Remus actually dying. Your Remus is seriously screwed up -- with reason -- and there could easily come a time when Sirius was no longer able to reach him. I'm not sure at the end whether to see him as isolated -- the feeling of holding back emotion is uncomfortably familiar - or see it as an irony that he has actually let himself be led back to reality and some balance in his life. Very interesting, anyway.
Okay, I better spell it out that I enjoyed that. No, enjoyed isn't the right word, but I found it riveting, readable, painfully authentic and worth a long and thoughtful comment! :D
^_^xx
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Date: 2005-08-08 09:14 am (UTC)But thanks for reading and commenting!
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Date: 2005-08-08 09:21 am (UTC)That was . . . oh fuck. Your Remus is so sad and haunting and believable. And poor Sirius. Oh fuuuuck. I wish it could all turn out happy for them, but how in hell's name is it possible?
Dammit. Your writing is so wonderful too. Argh. You've killed me. Fuck. I hate angst, I try to avoid it like the plague, but this just sucked me in.
Oh damn. Why? Argh. Sorry. 2am.
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Date: 2005-08-08 09:30 am (UTC)I'm glad it worked for you, but I hope it wasn't too traumatising. :)
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From:no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 09:37 am (UTC)Wow.
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Date: 2005-08-08 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 10:01 am (UTC)That was amazing. Painful and angsty, a chilling characterization of Remus, but it works.
Fantastic job.
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Date: 2005-08-08 10:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 11:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 03:02 pm (UTC)The part that really struck me was Sirius' conversation with the healer and how werewolves were looked at and treated - the inhumanity of it: "I expect they try to get sympathy." That just broke me.
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Date: 2005-08-08 06:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 06:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 07:57 pm (UTC)*thinks really hard*
This is something. Your Remus is heartbreaking and broken and all those things that you already know.
That ending just rang through me. Really really beautiful work. This is one of those stories that sticks to you really. Thank you for sharing this. It has a feel of being intensely personal and I almost felt embarrassed for Remus, if that makes any kind of sense.
Now I'm off to read A Thing of Dark Imaginings. If I have peculiar and heartbreaking dreams I'm calling you. ;)
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Date: 2005-08-09 01:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-08 09:50 pm (UTC)Wonderful.
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Date: 2005-08-08 09:51 pm (UTC)(I'm such a dolt.)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 03:13 pm (UTC)It has the power of the great tragedies, aching, haunting, compelling. But yet still so very real. These are human characters, developed, flawed, real. The shifts in perspective are ideal here because it is a psychology, an internal maelstrom which is quiet at the center. Danger, hopelessness, agony, and even love all swirl around Remus and his defence is to let it. It drags him down, breaking him, and his only control is to cause/contribute to his own destruction before something else does.
Yet Remus was beautiful.
There was a sharpness to his bones that was new. A casual elegance in the wasted limbs that used to be precise in their actions, used to know exactly how to move and where to place themselves. Now they were mostly still, but the rare movement, hesitant and unsteady, was still uncanny in its loveliness. I think I mentioned how much I love this, yes? Incidently (because I am a nerd) have you read Elizabeth Bronfen's Over Her Dead Body: Over Her Dead Body: Configurations of Femininity, Death and the Aesthetic? Really a fantastic exploration of the aesthetics of disease and death
And I hate your werewolf registry letter, but I KNOW I told you that. God, it's so typically, beaurocratically EVIL. *rages*
I adore your writing style. I really do. There's a darkness and an edge to it, shards of comedy and sarcasm. It's poetic without being grandiose... the smoothness of flow but an emphasis on the interal mind that is so natural, but so powerful.
Okay. I really must stop now... because, well, my finger hurts, and all. Not to mention the blantant abuse of grammar. *giggles*
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Date: 2005-08-09 03:22 pm (UTC)And this is better than PORN!
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Date: 2005-08-09 09:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 02:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 09:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-14 03:46 am (UTC)I have to be honest, as sympathetic as I feel towards Remus, I don't find him particularly likeable. Which is perhaps how it should be considering the torture he's endured and how twisted and bent out of shape he has become.
I did very much feel for your Sirius, who is desperate to fix something he can't even begin to understand.
The Werewolf Registry was very well-done, especially with their beauracracy and great glee in marking werewolves.
And the heat of the setting was oppressive, much like the coldness of the tone.
Very very well done, but deeply disturbing. Which is a fantastic combo to have pulled off. :)
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Date: 2005-08-15 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-28 12:20 am (UTC)I didn't think it would be nice but I didn't think it would so amazingly dry and cold at the end. Detached and pokey, and like the pain Remus feels when he's touched.
The heat was amazing, and stifling. And actually a bit difficult for me to get, because I'm used to dry heat and I revel in it. But not being able to sleep for the heat - I get that.
And Remus's such desperate control over his own body is heart wrenching. As is Sirius frustration. It seems in the end that Remus is in someways taking advantage of Sirius. And it's really sad, without really being able to be other than it is.
*argh*
I have to find me some happier angst.
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Date: 2005-08-29 02:06 am (UTC)But thank for reading and commenting!
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Date: 2005-09-29 08:01 pm (UTC)I'm trying to say something beyond "wow, that's really depressing!" Which I do mean as a very big compliment because it really is. Fics that show the nasty side of the Werewolf Registry and what it would be like for Remus always make me want to just scream because I hate that people really do treat each other that way.
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Date: 2005-09-30 03:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-21 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-21 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 02:41 pm (UTC)The contrast with Hogwarts is so stark, with all its darkness. It's almost scary, to think that right after all the joy and excitement at Hogwarts Remus and Sirius are plunged into such harrowing times. Remus, especially; it's almost as though he's an entirely different person from the schoolboy Remus. I think that if you continued writing in this vein through till James and Lily were killed I would be sobbing in a messy pile over here.. (you are evil in that way, you know. evil!)
The ending, goodness. So painful.
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Date: 2006-08-04 11:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-08 11:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 07:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 09:17 pm (UTC)im always a bit warey of eating disorder, and angsty fiction.
but that was something else
i really enjoyed it
x
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Date: 2006-11-27 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 11:02 pm (UTC)