Just A Kiss
Sirius/Remus fic by Am-Chau Yarkona, rated a soft R. Written for Victoria P.
It was just a kiss.
Remus tried to downgrade it: just a kiss, nothing more, the
usual, what—twelve years ago—he regarded as normal.
But the twelve years ago stubbornly refused to go
away; this was Sirius, again, Sirius whom he'd thought he'd never see again, let
alone kiss. His heart was racing, his mouth didn't want to close… this was
Grimwald Place, hardly a happy home, and…
"Sirius," he hissed, "what are you
doing?"
Tipping his head to one side, tongue still sneaking out of
his mouth, Sirius considered before replying, honestly, "Pulling you into a
deserted room and kissing you."
"I know that," Remus replied, "but
why?"
"Oh, Moony," Sirius said, "don't be silly.
Why do you think?"
"I think Azkaban did drive you insane. The rest of the
Order are downstairs! They're going to come looking for us soon!"
"All the more reason to speed things up," Sirius
said, pulling him back in for another kiss.
Remus gave a half-hearted wriggle as if he was trying to
get away, but then gave in. It might be a mere kiss, but it was very welcome.
* * *
"This is turning into a habit," Remus gasped,
when Sirius released his mouth. "We're getting dusty."
"I think it's a good habit," Sirius told,
"and who cares about a little dust?" He didn't let Remus get up, but
leant over him and started sucking his lower lip.
Remus nearly protested—he was supposed to be working,
someone would wonder where they were, this wasn't the right moment—but then
Sirius found the little spot just at the corner of his mouth which always made
him squirm, and he gave in.
"Umm… Sirius… " he managed, running his hands
through Sirius' hair, down his back, rubbing up against him. "'s
good…"
"'course it's good, it's me isn't it?" Sirius
replied. Damn the arrogance of him, and double-damn the fact that he was right.
"Shut up," Remus said, took hold of a tangled
handful of black hair, and pulled. "Kiss me."
Sirius obliged.
* * *
Propriety insisted that they be given separate rooms, but
Sirius insisted that they be next door to each other. Remus could only hope that
Molly and Moody and the rest don't understand, though he suspected their smiles
of being knowing.
Two kisses: is that enough to constitute an invitation?
Remus can't remember such questions ever bothering him
before. A decade-and-a-fifth ago, everything had seemed simple. He loved Sirius,
Sirius loved him, they were sharing a flat; going to bed together was an
extension of the tussling tumbles they'd been taking since they met.
Natural as breathing, he thought, and was self-aware
enough to give himself a mental kick for using clichés.
He snuffed out the last candle with his fingers—too much
effort to use magic for something so mundane—and lay in the dark. The house,
settling down for the night, groaned a little.
Remus listened. Upstairs was quiet; the children were
asleep, he felt he could sense them, though he knew such things were usually
illusion. Below, nobody stirred. Molly had thankfully finished sorting out the
kitchen, or at the very least Arthur had convinced her that it could wait until
tomorrow.
Searching for something to focus his attention on, he
rolled over, and tried to hear Sirius.
Buckbeak scratched the floor, a noise that contrived to
echo three floors down. Remus sighed, waited, then strained his ears again.
At least snore, you bastard, he said silently to
Sirius.
No sound.
Then, a breath. Deep, a rush of air into lung; Remus could
almost feel it skimming his skin. He lifted his head from the pillow, leaning
towards the sound as the breath flowed out again.
He stayed there, frozen, for three more breaths. The
fourth, though, was different; a whisper of sound that could have formed a word,
but somewhere downstairs a clock started to strike eleven, and distracted him.
When the soft peal was over, he tried to tune in again to
Sirius' breathing, wondering as he did so how it was possible that the walls
were thin enough to let him hear so well.
"Remus," Sirius hissed. "Are you
awake?"
Close. Sirius sounded close, closer than was possible;
there should be at least six inches of wall between them.
"Yes," he said, softly, staring about in the
dark. "Sirius? Is that you?"
"It's me, Moony," Sirius replied. "Lumos."
And it was Sirius. Right there, four inches away, lying
just on the other side of… a double bed.
Remus began to laugh. "Fake walls, Padfoot?"
"Only the one," Sirius told him, with a sly grin
that made his tired face look eminently kissable.
"Of course—there's no one else like you," Remus agreed, and closed the gap between them.