(no warnings other than a brief, vague mention of walburga being horrible, and then just a good bit of jealousy and breakups, and also this got very long, im sorry)
His name is Ivan, and his breath brushes over the curve of Sirius' ear, warm and wrapped around words that matter a whole lot less than the heavy weight of the gaze latched onto him from across the room. Poor Ivan. He's just some guy.
The thing is, when Sirius was sixteen and some guy made the mistake of publicly liking Remus enough to actually flirt with him in front of the whole world, Sirius made that poor guy cry. He didn't mean to. Well, no, he absolutely meant to, in the sense that he was being vindictive and harsh very much on purpose and with no shame, but he simply didn't know why.
Sirius was a bit stupid at sixteen.
Mm, or maybe not, because he and Remus got into a terrible, terrible fight about it that did in fact lead somewhere good. They'd practically brought the dorm down yelling at each other, because Sirius was being a prick for no good reason, apparently, and Remus didn't understand what his fucking problem was, and to be honest, Sirius also didn't understand what his fucking problem was, but he was damn sure that he had a problem to be yelling about in the first place.
Somewhere in all that yelling, Sirius had finally managed to convey to Remus that people simply couldn't flirt with him without repercussions for their actions. Oh, so it's a crime to flirt with me now? Yes, you tosser! How is that a crime, Sirius? It just is! That doesn't even make sense! It makes sense to me! Well, not to me! Oh, so you wanted him to flirt with you! So what if I did? That's not allowed! Who says? I say! That's not really within your power to decide! Like hell it isn't! Sirius! What? You—you can't just run off anyone who might want to mean something to me. Yes, I can, Remus, and I will. So, what, I'll just never have anyone, then? You'll have me.
They had kissed, then, their very first, and—to Sirius—it had been rather unexpected. For some reason, he hadn't seen it coming, and he didn't even know he wanted it until he got it. Because it was hands in hair and warm mouths, and Sirius remembers not closing his eyes, not being able to, just stood there watching the flush spread like spilled red wine over the bridge of Remus' nose as his eyelashes dipped, a delicate brown, almost hay-gold like the bronze of a falling sun. Remus had closed his eyes. Remus had looked like sin and salvation, hand-in-hand, heaven in who he was and hell where Sirius was headed just from wanting him so fucking much.
Remus had his mouth on the bolt of Sirius' jaw when he'd said but I don't have you, not really, and Sirius had released a high-pitched almost hysterical laugh and told him he was so stupid.
And Remus did have him, for a while. Still does, technically. All he'd have to do is crook his finger, and Sirius would go, easy, like Remus has the thread of them weaved between his hands and he's always, always, always tugging.
They broke up twice before the final time at twenty-one. Five years. The first time was in the middle of a fight, and they immediately got back together five seconds later. The second time was because of Walburga, who had made some vague threats that scared Sirius enough to literally end his friendships and his relationship for a solid two weeks, in which he spent finding enough blackmail material on his own mother to threaten her with so she'd leave him alone. He did manage to and popped back up like a bad habit later with his little brother in tow and a story that sent everyone into a spiral, and Remus inevitably took him back with no fuss once he understood what had happened in the first place.
That last time, though, had been a quiet, solemn sort of discussion between them, because Remus was moving away for a dream. A really good opportunity to do something he loved, just away from all those he loved, and Sirius didn't want him to go, but he did not say so. What he did, instead, was something he wouldn't have had the capacity or maturity to do at the age of sixteen, which was tell Remus that he could have more than him, and he deserved to.
Their pillows were heavy with tears by morning and the breakup wasn't so much a breakup as it was a goodbye. Sirius kissed him before he boarded his plane, and they promised to keep in touch, and then they didn't.
Sirius didn't.
He tried. He really did. But every conversation was full of silences that screamed come back to me and hurt in ways Sirius was not expecting. It took four months before Sirius stopped picking up his calls, and four and half before Remus stopped calling at all. They texted from time to time, short little check-ins where Sirius' fingers typed out I miss you and deleted them more times than he can recall now. If Remus missed him, he did not say, or maybe he couldn't bring himself to send the messages either.
James and Peter kept in touch, though. As far as they knew—because Remus and Sirius made them believe this—everything was fine, and they were all still talking, and keeping up with each other, and nothing was weird. Friends. Just friends, like at the start of it all.
But James knows Sirius enough to know when to treat him with care, and when Remus had found a new partner halfway across the world, it was James who gently delivered the news.
So, that was that. Life goes on, and Remus' did, and Sirius' did, too. Mostly. Almost.
Two years, and nothing compared to all the years between them, and then Remus showed back up. Rather shit timing on his part, Sirius had thought, because he'd just found someone he really, really liked. And the worst part was, Sirius had genuinely thought that it wouldn't matter, Remus coming back, because he'd made his peace and continued on. But, of course, that night when Remus did make it back in and they all met up at the pub to celebrate his return; that was all it took. Sirius called up that person he liked and miserably informed them that the two of them had no chance in hell.
So, as it turns out, Sirius had not, in fact, continued on as he thought. No, he stayed right there where Remus left him. That bastard.
And then! And then, Remus had the audacity to not come and collect him immediately! Sirius was and still is rather incensed about it. He's literally right here, ripe for the taking. But no, Remus has been careful with him, tip-toeing around him and giving him mild smiles and warm looks and never touching him and all-around just driving Sirius absolutely mad. He's been back for eight months. Eight! Why aren't they in love again? Sirius never stopped. Surely Remus could find his way back, if he wanted to.
Remus seems to want to, sometimes. A shared joke, a shared smile, a shared look that Sirius knows the meaning of because he's seen it plenty. A hitched breath, a blush, a light in his eyes that look a whole lot like his love used to.
And this, here, now. Ivan. Jealousy.
Remus wasn't the type to get jealous, at least not so obviously. He wasn't mean about it like Sirius was at sixteen. Sirius grew out of that—mostly. For one thing, Sirius took it too far when he was young, and he didn't—and doesn't—own Remus, or anyone. It was hard for him to understand back then, because people owned him, little pieces of himself that he gave away to those he trusted to keep him safe; James, Remus, Peter, Regulus. But not everyone thinks of it that way; some people are entirely whole and belong to themselves, and Remus is nothing if not a lone wolf who grants people permission to touch, but never domesticate, never alter the nature of who he is—and Sirius doesn't want to, not really. He just wants, always, the gift of getting to touch.
But Sirius is familiar with jealousy; he knows what it looks like, and yeah, that right there is category five levels of an incoming storm. Remus wouldn't even have to say anything. Ivan could look at his face and that'd be enough to make him cry, probably. It'd definitely be enough to make him take his hand off Sirius' hip.
Sirius would like Ivan to take his hand off his hip, because he wishes it was Remus' hand instead, and he could probably tell Ivan this himself. Ivan is not doing anything wrong. Ivan is funny and nice and someone who is not Remus Lupin, and also someone who Remus Lupin is glaring at so intensely that it's a wonder he doesn't just immediately burst into flames.
Sirius has never seen Remus jealous like this before, and he likes it, a lot. He wonders, too, if Remus would do anything about it, if he was given the chance. Sirius can give him the chance, and he does. Like the little shit he is deep down, he meets Remus' gaze and mouths help.
Remus peels away from the bar so fast that it would be comical under any other circumstances and he's across the room in a flash. Sirius' heart thumps hard, and he doesn't have to wait very long at all before Remus is right there, slipping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him away from Ivan so casually that even Ivan looks a little confused about how it happens.
"Sweetheart, you never came back for your drink," Remus murmurs, voice soft, though his gaze is cold and locked onto Ivan.
Meanwhile, Sirius is melting. Remus hasn't called him that in going on three years now, and it puts all sorts of lovely, squirmy feelings in his chest. He embraces his opportunity and tucks himself up against Remus like it's still his spot.
"Got a little held up, sorry," Sirius says, a little too breathless and pleased to sound like he's upset about this predicament.
"Oh," Ivan blurts out. "Oh, shit, sorry. I—I didn't know you were taken."
"Well, he is," Remus informs him, voice short and clipped and final.
"Right, yeah, right. Sorry. You two, ah, make a lovely couple." Ivan coughs and holds up his hands in easy surrender, then makes his rather graceful retreat. Sirius has to respect him for that, and he hopes Ivan bumps into the love of his life tonight. Sirius just isn't that, though. Can't be, when he isn't available.
Remus watches him go, tense, and then he relaxes and looks at Sirius. "Are you alright?"
"Oh, I'm thriving," Sirius admits, grinning. He raises his eyebrows. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Remus."
"What?" Remus mutters. He still hasn't let go of him. Doesn't seem to want to.
Sirius is so pleased. "You were jealous."
"I wasn't."
"Mm, yes, you were."
Remus opens his mouth, closes it, then blows out a deep breath and mumbles, "Old habits."
"You never used to get jealous," Sirius points out, turning into him, closer, hand on his hip.
"That's where you're wrong." Remus snorts. "I was jealous plenty of times."
"No, that was me," Sirius corrects with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut when Remus mirrors him, hand on his hip. It's easy, far too easy, to lean in and let their foreheads tap together. They stay there for a moment, breathing, and Sirius' heart threatens to burst out of his chest. He swallows, mouth dry, and takes the leap. It's been too long. He's right here. He stayed right here. "See, I was jealous, because I didn't have you, no one has you but you, and you always had me. Still do."
There's a moment. Just one. Sirius opens his eyes, and Remus is already looking at him. Studying him. He looks—startled? Why?
The look shifts, and then Remus breathes out an enlightened, "Oh, you're so stupid," and then he's kissing him like a hello, I came back to you, I missed you, too.
Hands in hair and warm mouths, and Sirius keeps his eyes open for as long as he can, because he doesn't want to miss this. Inevitably, his eyes do sink shut as he sinks into something he's known since he was sixteen and hasn't ever forgotten in a moment following. He tried to forget and couldn't, and this is why. It's always like this. So good, every time. Worth every single goodbye to have their hello again.
"You didn't keep in touch," Remus croaks, pulling back to stare at him, old wounds still bleeding.
"I tried."
"But you didn't."
"Because you wanted to be there, and I wanted you to be here, and I think if I asked, you would have come back," Sirius whispers. "It was getting too hard not to ask, and you deserved to do what made you happy. The only thing I could ever bring myself to say to you was a plea to come home, and so I said nothing."
"I would have," Remus admits, "if you asked."
"I've always been a bit too selfish with you," Sirius murmurs. "I wanted to do better this time."
Remus huffs a weak laugh. "Sirius, it doesn't matter where I am, or what I'm doing, you have me. Every part of me. All of me."
"Even there?"
"Ever there. I would have—well, I think we could have done the long-distance thing. I practically did anyhow. So, yes, even there."
"Even now?" Sirius asks, breathless again, warm in the chest and pressing closer.
"Even now," Remus confirms, lips twitching right before Sirius occupies them with his own.
Ivan does indeed bump into the love of his life that night, but the two idiots kissing in the corner are too wrapped up in each other to notice. They stay there, left behind and found again. They never really went anywhere else in the first place.
i feel like i should thank the firstprince fanfic writers for expanding my vocabulary in English with the way y'all write Henry. thank you for doing more to improve my skills than I did this year <333
Pre war Bucky was a gay icon who protected closeted lesbians by picking them up for dates to avoid their parents suspicion and then taking them to hang out with their girlfriends (but staying close enough that he could punch the daylights out of any fucko who tried to harass them). This is canon.
Oh, to be a handsome young navy man in 1930 with curly hair and dirt on my nose on my break from hauling cargo from the shipyard, reading a Little Blue Book titled Homosexual Life that I bought for 5¢, pretending not to notice the banker’s son eyeing me in a truly sinful way.
Some of these are getting so specific that I’m not convinced y’all ain’t just describing your past lives in some weird missed connections faux tumblr meme
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