the kids are alright but the kids will get older

Unleash the torrents, come clean Carry many lessons that the water teach But you better learn to swim or you'll get caught beneath

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots‌: 

Perhaps, one could say that this is their first. That everything that followed beforehand, was just an escape, a simple heat of the moment except multiple times repeated. Perhaps, one could say that this is their first time, for it means something now. His skin hypersensitive and the beating of his heart at Marlene’s mercy, for there’s no hiding anymore, and one could call it freedom that the two can now openly proclaim their love. 

Whether or not with precautions, however, is a concern yet to be found out. But they can cross that bridge when they get there, for if tonight’s shown Marlene and Sirius anything, it’s that they shouldn’t worry. Nothing can touch them, or at least love says so. 

They’ve never been so careful, so slow like this. So his eyes flutter, threatening to close, breath going shallow as her lips ghost across bare skin. His fingers curl around tendrils of dark hair tighter, a smirk toying with Sirius’ lips, already prepared to call her a tease. Until she slowly draws him in, slow. Enticing. Salacious. And it takes him everything to not pine for her, barely resisting the urge to abruptly draw her closer with his fist in her hair ( be soft, be soft. at least for now ). “Fuck,” he settles with, more of a breathy sigh than anything.

It’s as she eases him in, the whole of him devoured by the warmth of her mouth, that he releases a long breath. Shoulders dropping with the weight of it, lips parting as he croons, “Good girl, keep going.” But let it be known that Sirius doesn’t utter such words to belittle her, it’s never been - never will be - about that. He continues, airy chuckles intertwining with his request, “But stop when I say so, yeah? I’ve got to have my way with you too.” And he’ll make sure that when the night is done, he won’t leave. Even if the sun rises before she does.

She’s claimed time and time again that such an act is demeaning for whoever’s on their knees. Sirius’ reactions cause her to think otherwise. He’s reduced to a puddle of heat, shuddering and squirming as she coaxes those sighs from his lungs; those groans from his chest. Dynamic be damned, Marlene feels power, and she basks in it as she enjoys the taste and weight of him on her tongue. Tiny flicks tease the tip of his length as she catches her breath, her hand drawing up and down in a fluid motion reminiscent of waves kissing the shore, relentless in their desperation to deliver love. 

A laugh billows over his skin as she breathes it out, eyes slanting upwards to meet his heady gaze. Her own is playful, heavy-lidded, and tender. She quirks a brow to emphasise the most prior. “Oh, you do?” Marlene mutters, giving his base a squeeze, just to see how much she can push him. She won’t admit it– at least, not with words –but she likes it when Sirius takes control. Such is the constant battle that exhaustion clings to her bones like a second skin. Reluctant as she was at first, Marlene’s learnt to hand Sirius the reigns. Only sometimes. But it helps. And she likes the way his voice lowers to a husky murmur when he whispers praises and pet names into her ear, words that make her writhe and dance under whatever tune he plucks from her body. 

She returns her mouth to him, head bobbing up and down at a faster pace. By the time he pulls her back, she wants to feel the aching ghost of his fingers throbbing in her scalp. She wants to see his cheeks so dark it’s almost like he’s burning from the inside out. She wants to hear the raggedness in his breath, like sturdy fabric finally falling apart, revealing the softness within. 

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots‌:

See, for people like Sirius it’s easier to pretend. It’s easier to fill the space between them with harmless jests, and only passing glances with a sliver of affection to them. So he misses the way Remus stutters, for he doesn’t know what it’s like to struggles with one’s emotions quite so much. ( Sure, he has his own grapples, but it’s not even close to the way his friend resists his by the skin of his teeth ). 

Cue airy laughter before he brings his glass to his lips again, humming in agreement, “Well, maybe one day your wishes will come true, and I’ll get what’s coming to you. What goes around comes around, right?” And when it does, he’s too self assured - too cocky - that he’ll survive it as does he everything else. Let it be known, though, that nobody can tell if he’ll survive tonight in particular. If he’ll flee and hide in the shadows, tending to his own wounds after being so vulnerable in front of his friend - slash - something more. Like a stupid animal. The wayward boy will always feel that way, when it comes to love.

And then there it is.

The way his breath catches in his throat, the flutter in his heart that races all the way through him. Pretend and turn to comforting ignorance all he wants, if him and Remus were just friends, he wouldn’t be feeling this way. He wouldn’t be shifting his gaze from his lips to gentle, brown eyes, a slight tilt to his head that he doesn’t even realize. And he can’t fucking move, knows that it’s not out of fear this time.

“Me too,” Sirius whispers, sitting still. “I dream about you too.”

He leans in. Slowly, cautiously. Only inching closer as Remus does too, and he’s aware that his  mind’s fogged over thanks to several glasses of firewhisky. But he’s also just aware of what he’s doing; what he’s feeling ( whether he’s pre-calculated if he’ll regret it or not, is a different story ). Stormy eyes flutter close as lips brush against the other’s. Soft, a phantom’s touch. He swears he’ll put a stop to this later, before all unravels too far. But this is now, and now his hand finds the nape of Remus’ neck, reassuring him that he’s right here. Right now. That this is really happening, and there’s no shame - no horror - to that. 

He thinks he’s finally lost it. Whatever visions may have haunted him before have chosen to taunt him further, transforming into the sorry sight of Sirius leaning in to tease him with what he can never have. But then Remus feels the flutter of a butterfly kiss, barely there, and then the touch of lips faintly tracing the ridges in his own, and his eyes close. 

He thinks his heart’s ready to stop from how rapidly it’s beating. But it doesn’t. If anything, it hammers harder as the pressure on his mouth grows steady, strong. There are fingers cupped around the back of his neck and Remus suddenly finds himself kissing Sirius back. The ardour that had burned like a dying flame returns, doused. Fuelled by the fire roaring in his gut, Remus leans in with a growl, the dam exploding as the emotions pour out and into Sirius’ mouth. 

He thinks he’ll end up a pile of ash. But he doesn’t. He’s wildfire that spreads; finally, he knows why Sirius does it. Why he punches first and asks questions later. Why he throws his heavy heart into any and every pit of snakes, just for the off-chance that he won’t get poisoned. 

He doesn’t think when he leans forwards. When he clumsily clambers across the sofa and splays himself in Sirius’ lap. Now that he’s had a taste, he’s grown greedy. He can feel the ripple of wild, possessive instinct forming a growl at the back of his throat. Low, raspy, dominating. It’s Remus’ turn to touch; unlike Sirius, he isn’t delicate. He wraps tendrils of swirling black hair around his fingers and tugs, and bites at Sirius’ bottom lip like it’s penance for taking so long. 

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

It’s easy, the way his laugher chimes in with Remus’s, nose scrunched up in humour and little smile lines etched into skin. He loves the softness to his friend’s own smile too, believes he could melt at the mere sight of it if given the chance. But they both know that, although genuine, this is a mask of sorts. A means to avoid the very question that plagued their mines: what exactly are we?

Cue a glass lifted to lips, an amused smile hidden there at Remus’s jest. The utter irony to it. Sirius’ dreams were more of a feeling rather than a complex story. A brazen fire, the icy touch of death, the heat of a kiss – he dreamt of such thing once. Of Remus. And Sirius could hardly call it a night terror ( no, quite the opposite ), unlike if he were to lock lips with James. “Please,” he scoffs, dark locks concealing a mischievous gaze and smirking lips, as he leans in to refill Remus’s glass. He can feel his breathe on his skin, knows this by the shudder running up his spine. Knows what would happen if he dared to raise his gaze ever so slightly. Eyes on the glass, he chides himself. “I’m sure I show up in your daydreams more.” ( Now, is that an arrogant jest, or a reckless flirtation fuelled by firewhisky? ) 

As he pieces together what he’s going to say next, it’s uncertain whether a drunken haze or the tell-tale flutter of his heart blurs his surroundings. Makes him a little braver. “Do you dream of me often?” he murmurs, lips still parted and gaze drifting from his friend’s mouth to his gaze, as if the question lingers somehow. If his heart was fluttering before, it was certainly hammering now, whether it be out of warning or anticipation. “Because you show up in mine a fair bit.” Sirius takes another sip, a more nonchalant, sober-like statement following as if to cover up what he just said: “I wonder what that means.” But he’s staring straight at him, instead of lowering his eyes or averting them in pensive thought. He’s still looking.

With years’ worth of complicated jests under his belt, Remus thinks that he can handle the joke that Sirius flings so effortlessly into the mix. And even though he smiles, adds a laugh and a shake of his head; pretends he doesn’t feel his muscles locking up the nearer his friend draws, Remus knows that he can’t. He knows, because his heart has smacked hard into his ribcage, stuttering on a rhythm it usually manages to maintain. He knows, because he can feel the smirk on Sirius’ lips- fuck, those lips -pull his gaze towards it. He knows, because the pit of his stomach has vanished. “Y-yes.” Remus’ voice cracks when he speaks, throat suddenly parched. He clears it, takes a swig from his newly filled glass before continuing. He can’t leave it on such an admittance, after all. Even if it was just that. “Yes, I daydream about all those times you managed to get out of detention. Except, in my head, you actually get what’s coming to you.” His grin feels forced. His skin is too hot; too tight on his body. Remus shifts in his seat, feeling uncomfortably pent up, and on the verge of losing what little reign he has over his feelings. 

Little did he realise that the shift has caused him to lean closer to the chink in his armour. 

He drinks again, halfway down the glass. There’s comfort in the fuzzy feeling that’s lurking at the corners of his mind. Remus rarely allows himself to embrace this sense of fogginess. Right now, though, it’s the only thing keeping him from running away. From retreating, like he always does. He knows a lot about that. About ducking out of a conversation, a relationship, a feeling, before it gets out of control. Before people are put to risk. Before he hurts them. 

Because he’ll always hurt them. No matter what. The first time the rest of the Marauders showed up in their Animagi forms, he almost attacked James. Peter confessed to having witnessed such an event, despite James and Sirius’ warnings against it. Remus had been crushed for days. He’d snapped at his friends, demanding that they stay away from him. But they hadn’t. Unlike him, James, Peter and Sirius had refused to retreat. Instead, they’d turned up again and again, until Remus had found an unlikely pack. One to keep safe, and to be kept safe by, during nights of risk. 

And where was the fun when there wasn’t a little risk? Hadn’t Sirius always said that? 

He looks at him now, as he speaks, and Remus can feel something primal inside him urge him to take that risk, to throw caution to the wind and do what he’s wanted to do for so fucking long.  “Yes.” This time, he doesn’t follow up with a joke. Doesn’t cover up what he’s finally admitted. Yes, he dreams of Sirius often. Yes, it haunts him. Hurts him. But the longing sometimes gives way to utter joy. To pleasure. Excitement. 

Peace.

Remus’ breath catches in his throat when he listens to Sirius’ words. He swears his heart stops when the other fixes his gaze on him. Those grey, stormy eyes, pinning Remus to where he’s sitting. He can’t move. Fuck, he wants to. Either run away or lean in, but he can’t. 

“Sirius,” Remus whispers, his grip white-knuckle tight on his glass. 

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

Nights like these were often based on a basis of logic. A there’s no feelings attached. Or this is just for tonight. Just a physicality, a burning heat – a running, escaping, fleeing from each other when things ever got too close which it quite often did. But tonight is different, and anyone could tell just that. As he said: no running tonight.

Sirius’ kisses are slow. Deliberate. Senses tuned into the delectable sounds escaping from her, but also, how close she’s holding him tonight. How his head swirls and he can barely hear his own breathing, because for the first time it feels like he’s burning from this fire they’ve started. No longer playing a young god, avoiding the self-made carnage, but revelling in the fact that he’s fairly certain that he loves her even if they have the potential to break. He swears he’ll tell Marlene on day, maybe by the end of tonight.

He sucks his lower lip into a mouth, releasing it with a soft fuck through his teeth as she leaves a trail of kisses down his neck. And he doesn’t think she’ll go any lower, and accepts it wholefully if this is her choice. But a shudder races up her spine and he meets Marlene’s gaze, heavy-lidded and brows furrowed, both out of arousal and mild surprise as her lips graze the coarseness of his jeans. Sirius’ lips part, fingers threading through her hair as he readies himself to tell her that it’s okay. That she doesn’t have to do what she doesn’t want to. But her hands are already at his belt, and she utters one word, one enough to signal that she did want this. ( Nobody needs to ask him; it’s obvious what he desires )

“That should’ve been mine to say,” he murmurs, something between an earnest half-smile and a smirk on his lips. He means that it’s about time that he drops his ego and its best companion, control. He means what follows after his stare bores into hers, fingers tightening around her hair: “Please.” 

It’s almost as if they’re doing this for the first time. Perhaps it is their first time, Marlene catches herself thinking. One more time with feeling. This was it. She looks up at Sirius when he speaks, hears his voice and the way it’s laced with that intoxicating sound of arousal; one that only now she realises just how much she’s missed. Only this time it means so much more. This time, she knows that Sirius doesn’t just want her body. Doesn’t just want an escape. This time, they’re sharing their pain, their love, their hopes and dreams, and they’re not running away from it all. 

Marlene mirrors his smile, lets a chuckle float past her smirking lips. She reaches for the hand he doesn’t have in her hair, gives it a squeeze. Brings it to her mouth to press kisses to his knuckles, which she’s seen both punch and caress. One so violent can only love as such, but Marlene’s as savage as he is. He knows this. So does she. 

She finishes unbuckling his belt, eyes falling back to the task at hand. Hooking her thumbs both over his pants and underwear, Marlene remains playful when she gives the two garments a rough yank. They tug down with a rough scrape, and Marlene chuckles again. “Fucking skinny jeans.” The words ghost against his stomach as she leans in to kiss him there, drawing her lips down, down, down...

She’s teasing, at first. Knows that anticipation plays the biggest part in these games. Her lips feel around him, as though mapping out uncharted lands, though ones all too familiar. Heat radiates off his skin and bleeds into her veins, sending a shudder darting up her spine like an electrical zap, making her dig her fingers into his bare hips. Next, her tongue. Playful, she lets it glide along Sirius’ length in a slow, tantalising lick; as she reaches the tip, her eyes glide back up his body until the heat in their gazes meets and bursts, like a firework exploding in a dark, midnight sky. With one last contented sigh, Marlene takes him into her mouth, acclimatising herself to the weight and taste of him on her tongue. Relaxing her throat, she draws him in to the base. 

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

Sirius smirks too, almost mirroring the ghost of hers. Of course he does, when he all too easily catches the deeper meaning lurking behind playful jests. He doesn’t miss what follows next either – the grin gracing her features at the sight of an enchanted cake. In a simpler world, it could have been like this. Simple smiles, a simple snow adorned Christmas and two people who simply hope that whatever this warmth they had? Could blossom even more. 

But alas, nothing even comes close to the word simple. Not when magic is tainted by dark intentions, and he can’t entirely trust himself when it comes to handling love; a frail, wingless bird in the hands of someone who knows not what it means to be gentle. But perhaps he can try. Perhaps he can learn. ( Emphasis on perhaps for even the wayward son wasn’t particularly confident about this. But no matter his hesitations, for life moves on anyway, as do his emotions race ahead of his mind ). And so, moving on.

Sirius doesn’t even recall how exactly he thanked the bakery clerk; all he can focus on is the steadiness, the smouldering fire, to Marlene’s warm gaze as she says the one word he was hoping for. Not because he was anticipating the sinuous bumps and grinds of their bodies between sheets again, but past that this time. More than that. He wanted to show her that although his soul stutters behind, that he did want to be hers. That he attaches the words home and love to her. She walks backwards and his feet follows forward. Leaning in, lips only barely brushing against the line of her cheekbone, he murmurs into her ear, “I guess we did overcome other kinds of fears tonight.” Not ghosts, haunted alleyways nor the watchful gaze of the moon. But the fear of falling.

And fall they did, ungracefully so but what does it matter. Him almost toppling the two of them over as soon as they landed in his room, saved by an arm around her back, still lingering there as her back collides with the wall. They’re a mess of brazen, open-mouthed kisses and fingers tangled in hair, before he wills a more delicate pace out of himself as his lips brush along her neck. Paying particular attention to the catching of her breath, the hitches and the dips. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” Sirius murmurs against her skin. Usually, he stops here. Usually, he saves his ass by stopping here. But again, tonight is different: “I’ve missed you.”

She can barely feel the sharp jab of pain against her spine when her back knocks against the wall. She can hardly care that the skin there may bruise during the next few hours. How can she, when she has Sirius’ touch burning her skin? When one pain cancels out another, the torturous pulsing becomes pleasure. Sirius and Marlene are well acquainted with this kind of rippling heat, after all. 

She traces the inky swirls and symmetrical lines protruding from his clothes with deft fingers. Her head knocks back against the wall as she feels his lips dancing across her own skin. While seconds ago there was a desperation in their movements, an ache for closeness, now that they’re together, they slow down. They savour it. Marlene commands her body to relax, to let the pent-up tension deflate within her chest, expelling it as a heady, heavy sigh that cuts off into a moan when Sirius finds that treacherous spot on her neck, the one just above the juncture where her neck and shoulder meet, that makes her knees feel weak. She feels a jolt in her heart at the rumbling rasp of his heated words, breathing out against flushing flesh. She thinks he’ll stop there, too. Toying with fire is one of Sirius’ many charming skills; not once has she seen him get burnt. Not once has she found him, scarred and draped in ash, revelling in having finally put himself at true risk. Until now. Now, he carries on, and what he says has Marlene’s throat tightening, to the point that she can’t breathe; her pulse pounding in her ears, making her feel even dizzier than when she did at the match. 

Despite her body willing her to carry on, she stops. Her arms circle Sirius’ neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. Marlene squeezes her eyes shut, burying her face in his neck, breathing in the smell of him, one that makes her want to scream and beg and laugh and cry and bleed. She loves him, she wants to tell him. But the boy’s run away from her before, and she can’t bear the thought of losing him now. 

So, instead, Marlene lets her lips voice her feelings in a different way. As her hands glide down to his front, fingers slowly, sensually, pulling apart his jacket, pushing it from his shoulders, her mouth trails open-mouthed kisses down his jaw and neck, the occasional nip reminding them that, sure, they may be a jumble of pain and passion, but they still know how to have fun. As she lifts his T-shirt, her back slides along the wall, body lowering until her knees meet the floor. She kisses his ribcage, working her way towards the thin trail of hair that marks a path down toward her destination. As her lips find the coarse material of his jeans, Marlene looked up. She knows she doesn’t usually do this. She’s well aware of the times she’s spoken, back in Hogwarts, of how degrading this is. Now, though, she finds that she wants this. She wants to see the pleasure darken Sirius’ cheeks and eyes; make his breath part and his chest rumble in breathless groans.  “Let me,” Marlene whispers, hands working at his belt. “Please.”

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

It’s the speed of his own reply that bothers Sirius most too. An indication that he’s trained himself to have his guard up, perpetually at the ready. Call it fear. Call it ego. Call it whatever one wants, he doesn’t know the reasoning behind it either. All he knows is that it’s easier to falsify nonchalance, for as emotional as he may be, even Sirius is susceptible to drowning in his own turmoil. ( And what kind of turmoil are we discussing today? Well, distress over how to best avoid hurting his best friend, who he wishes he didn’t have feelings for )

But it’s easier. Easier as soon as they’re out of the moonlight, casting an expectant spotlight on the two young men. A hearty chuckle escapes him before the glass of amber reaches his lips, a smile still lingering as he swallows. “Thank you. I’m going to frame that compliment somehow,” he says, and it’s less of a joke and more of a statement. One fuelled by the nagging, warm rush of gratitude one would associate with a crush. And he almost detests himself for feeling this way. Not because it’s wrong, not because it’s unexpected – but because it isn’t fair on them. On Remus. His very soul yearns to say: you have my permission not to love me, I am a graveyard of forgotten things and neglected lovers. But oh, he can’t help his booming laughter chiming in with Remus, anyway. 

Sirius doesn’t hesitate to join him on the couch. Albeit, he pulls up only one knee, the other leg extended and arms folded snugly across his stomach. He internally claims he’s sitting so close to lean against the pillows, but that isn’t entirely true. God help the boy, he doesn’t ever know whether to inch closer or drift away. He sucks in his lower lip, humming an umm before airy laughter follows. “The second option, or being too tired.” Meeting his gaze, Sirius cants his head slightly, a brow arched as he notes, “I sure hope you’re not running to your sofa because of nightmares, though. When you could easily message me.” He means that at his core - no matter how much he fucks up - he well and truly wants to be there for him. He means sincerity.

Remus takes the opportunity to distract with humour. He holds his hands up, “Stop the presses, print out the new headline: Remus Lupin actually compliments master-in-mischief Sirius Black.” He snorts out a laugh, which sounds not unlike the snuffle of a content dog enjoying a new toy. Not that he could ever think of Sirius as a toy. A thing. After all, though the boy may not think it, Sirius has a soul. And how Remus loves it. 

He loves it so much, in fact, that he can feel his stomach clenching and his heart fluttering when the sofa collapses under the added weight of Sirius’ lithe frame. He can feel the warmth rolling in torturous waves off Sirius, washing over him, drowning him. Instinct compels him to shift where he sits, barely noticing as he drowns his sorrows in the cool glass gripped in his hand, the pillow squashed between them the only barrier separating their sides. When he registers it, Remus wishes that he had the true bravery of a Gryffindor, and that he was able to throw it aside, break down the walls and fling himself into Sirius’ hold. He can smell him, too. Aftershave, deodorant and a distinct mixture of leather and skin and smoke that has taunted Remus on many a night. Haunted him like a ghost lurking in the shadows, wafting over him when he dreams, or even in his waking hours. Those times are just a memory, though, relived despite his attempts to keep it buried beneath layers and layers of scar tissue. Now, it’s more potent than ever, and Remus can scarcely handle it. He empties his glass. 

“Now, Pads,” Remus begins, the shortened version of Sirius’ nickname dancing from his tongue in a familiar, playful jig, “why would I run to you for help when you’re the one plaguing my nightmares?” He quirks a brow, teasing. He’ll blame the alcohol tomorrow, but, for now, he barely realises that he’d admitted to Sirius the one thing that he was hoping to keep a secret until the day he lost himself too much in the wolf writhing within. Sirius Black plagues Remus’ sleep. He dreams of the messy-haired man before him. Dreams of the stubble shadowing a sharp jaw that he wants nothing more than to let his thumb drift over, as he cups the elegance of Sirius cheekbone in his coarse palm. Dreams of those eyes, almost as lupine as Remus’ very existence, watching him as he comes undone, unravels his hope and adoration and lust and love. Maybe he’ll unravel tonight. The firewhisky is making him feel threadbare as it is. He raises his empty glass. “Another?”

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

Because that’s all I have to offer.

“You know I don’t think that. Nobody believes that,” he’s quick to reply, dismay and worry knitting dark brows together. He doesn’t understand it – what, who, how his mirror reflection has become so warped, for in Sirius’ eyes a monster is more than a physical manifestation. Not the teeth, not the red-tipped claws; but found in murderous anger or a lust for power. Found in the crooked shadows to one’s humanity. And surely, Remus wasn’t anything like this. ( Or was he? As someone so private, perhaps Sirius doesn’t know as much as he thinks )

There’s a shift to his eyes, a flicker of confusion as Remus utters his soft protest. And that confirms it. Confirms his imagination, catching his best friend’s lingering gazes. Normally, one would be flooded with glowing relief. But Sirius feels the sharp pang of panic instead; cold needles crawling across fragile skin. Panic, in that he knows that this situation demands he be careful. Careful to not beguile Remus, tease him, for nothing. Careful not to hurt Remus nor Marlene despite his stupid, greedy longing for both. Careful enough to remember that he cannot have everything. Sirius simply lets his hand fall, his gaze dropping alongside it. “A’ight well.. let’s be off then,” he murmurs, lamely laying a ghost of a hand on Remus’ shoulder, just for the sake of dual-apparition. He doesn’t say sorry. Not because he feels justified. 

But because he’s certain he must save his apologies for later, positive in his ability to treat something as fragile as adoration ( love? ) like a bull in a china shop. Young gods are adored. Young gods are arrogant and volatile, and he’s no different.

They apparate to his place in silence, aside from the soft thud of soles against wood. Sirius’ apartment could not be described as messy, but careless is a better word. Pillows that clearly belonged to his bed residing on a charcoal coloured couch; a tidy stack of polaroids placed inside a box under the coffee table, yet a worn belt questions why it’s in there too. A wave of his fingers and the heater turns on. “Let me know if you want it warmer, or if I need to tidy up my shit. I know I need to get on par with you guys, when it comes to being a good host,” he jests lightly, an airy chuckle following. But there’s a hint of nostalgia there. ( Remus doesn’t invite them over much, but he was a great host. A warm one. And his friend was at his most handsome, his most radiant, whenever he was cosy and safe ) 

It’s the speed of Sirius’ reply what stings the most. It feels practiced, as though James has trained him to say that time and time again. Only, Remus knows Sirius isn’t the pet. Sirius is James’ equal. It’ll always be Padfoot and Prongs, first and foremost. Moony is their beast, their secret weapon. He’s the scarred, crippled creature, caged until they bring him out to play. What good can he do, when all he knows is tooth and claw? What beauty can come from a lifetime of pain? There is nothing but ugliness in Remus’ suffering. He doesn’t even deserve what feels like a lie falling flatly from Sirius’ rehearsed tongue.  “So they say,” is all Remus can reply, and he leaves it at that. It isn’t fair. None of it is. He knows that he should get down from his cross, but he’s nailed his palms too firmly to the wood. 

When Sirius breaks the silence of his flat, Remus can feel himself exhale. They’re back to their normal selves ( That is, if man and beast can be normal together ). He feels a smile lifting the corners of his lips. “I wouldn’t say that,” he replies, turning on his heel to take in the peeling wallpaper, lined with posters, photographs and cut-outs. It’s chaotic, but it’s Sirius. And Remus likes Sirius for his chaos. He feels the cool, solid press of something against his arm, and looks down to find Sirius’ outstretched hand holding out a glass of firewhisky. “See? I’d say you’re a better host than James,” Remus continues, accepting the drink and swirling it around. He gazes into the amber liquid, watching the tiny bubbles form and pop under his ministrations. He can’t look at Sirius right now, not when they’re so close. Not when he can feel his cheeks going pink, just from having their fingers brush together.  God, he’s worse than the schoolgirls Sirius used to woo. “All James has is shitty lemon and ginger tea.” He hasn’t cursed in a while, he knows. It’s reserved solely for when he loses control, when emotions run high and inhibitions sink low. Still, there’s always an exception to the rule. Always. Sirius is his. He likes cursing around Sirius, especially when they’re alone. He hope it impresses him. It always feels like the first time he let out a swear. Exhilarating. Dangerous. 

Remus sidesteps his friend, favouring the sofa over standing. He drops down onto the edge with a sigh almost as heavy as his limbs. Setting the glass aside, his fingers make quick work of his shoelaces, and he tugs off his boots with quiet grunts before pushing them aside. As he reaches for the glass, Remus pulls his knees up to his chest; he wraps his arm around them, shuffling back until he’s fully embraced by the pillows Sirius had left there- has he slept on the sofa because Marlene was in his bed? Can he not sleep next to her? Could he sleep next to me? “Nightmares?” He wants to ask those other questions, but they make his throat feel tight, and his heart feel cold and cruel. Instead, he nods down at the pillows he’s resting against. “Or were you just too drunk to make it to the bed?”

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

It was easy to dream, to be fooled into a false sense of hope here. All so simply done, to be drawn into the golden warmth the market offered; the gilded gifts and pleasant lilt of Christmas music. All too easy to imagine that they were just a normal, happy couple, surrounded by the magic that was Christmas and not the hazy nightmare that is war. A normal couple who had no weights attached. But they didn’t fit neatly into such a sentiment, did they?

Sirius knows - even if he pretends he doesn’t care - that them walking hand in hand towards the marauders one day would have its consequences. The batting of eyes; brows furrowed with a hint of worry in Lily’s case, and the diversion of Remus’ gaze. It was a risk. A risk he is, dare he say it, slightly afraid of. But the lion boy is selfish at heart; he wants her all to himself, anyway. He’s reckless too, doesn’t mind being eaten alive by this. Her. Them. 

It felt like only weeks ago that they would steal glances when the other wasn’t looking; a poignant static in the air whenever they so much as brushed hands. And yet here Sirius was, his arm perfectly moulded around her form as she sank into his hold. An effortless fit, even if it was much wiser - safer - to deny it. But he knows he never can. Knows that he cannot ignore the soft, serene curve to the corners of her lips at the moment. Let alone, drown in the warmth of her gaze. He adores the intensity to her eyes - noticed it the first time he saw her in Hogwarts. But this suits her too, that love-glazed look.

( For a moment, he wonders if it’s ill fitting on him, in contrast. Too soft for a young man whose features and bravado are blade sharp around the edges )

Nevermind his musings the minute Marlene speaks again. A smirk ghosts across his lips, accompanied by a, “If I told you, you’d hold it against me.” But his eyes flutter as he lips dance against the line of his jaw, and it’s clear that the answer to her query is: (pray for the boy for falling so hard) yes. It was hard to tell if he was saved or cursed by the clerk, who promptly tears them away from the moment. Though aloud, Sirius encourages Marlene to take her pick of baked goods, he cants his head her way when the clerk isn’t looking. “Stay at my place tonight?” he murmurs into her ear, voice teetering on the fine line between throaty and alluring, and full of promise. But tonight’s different from the others, for this time Sirius remembers to add, attempting to meet her eyes as he does so, “I won’t go anywhere this time.” 

And he knows he means it because he’s afraid.

Afraid that she might not trust him. ( God knows it matters when fear’s involved )

Marlene chuckles. Sirius has always made her laugh, or at least smile, when he’s wanted to. She knows that they’re both aware of that effect, no matter how sternly she tries to look at him when he cracks a joke at the wrong time. There’s always going to be that little twitch in her lip, or the slight glint behind the teetering brick wall that she rebuilds time and time again, after he leaves; when she has to pretend that his boyish banter doesn’t take her back to a time when, while they weren’t easy, things were certainly easier. 

“You don’t know how many things I already hold against you, Black,” she says, her murmur was warm as melted chocolate as it glides along his jaw. That is, until she has to pull away. The smirk is still there, perched casually on her features, which have lifted now, unmasked. Though she knows, too, that her statement bears the burden of deeper meaning. Rarely can Marlene joke without bite. After all, her humour’s been trained, unbeknownst to the two of them, by the dog-tooth sharpness of Sirius’ silver tongue. But the way warmth radiates from his very core is golden, and so Marlene can forgive him, for now, even though she might not forget. Too many are the mornings she’s woken up to an empty bed. Too many are the stitches she’s had to sew into her heart, to piece it back together. She wants to- oh, god, how she wants to -throw herself into his arms completely. But war has made her careful. Pain always makes people careful, lest they be victims of agony again and again. 

Still, she gives his hand a squeeze, as the other stretches out to pick up a small, round cake, covered in white frosting. On its flat surface, a snowman, moulded from sugar, ice skates to and fro, grinning up at them with its coal-black eyes. Marlene’s smirk widens into a grin. No matter how much she sees, and how much she performs of it herself, she’ll never get used to what lengths magic can reach. Why, then, if it is used for such enchantment, has it been tarnished by evil? Why must it be a weapon, when it can be used for good? Gingerly, Marlene sets the cake back down. She settles for a few mince pies instead. Simple. Familiar. 

Sirius’ murmur pulls Marlene out of her reverie. She blinks. The clerk is holding out a paper bag with their goods inside, his furrowed brow evidence of just how long she’s taken to snap out of it.  “Thank you,” Marlene blurts out, automatically, cradling the bag against her chest as she turns back to the grey-eyed boy behind her. For his spirit is still that of a boy’s. One of the reasons Marlene has come to love him. He reminds her, for all his hard edges; for all those moments when she sees him shift, transform into a man made weary by war, of a time when they were free. When their biggest concern was how James was going to piss Lily off next; how long they could watch each other for until either one noticed.  “Yes.” The answer’s out of her lips before she can even think to deny him. Yes, Sirius. Of course, Sirius.  Always, Sirius. “Excuse me, you two.” A voice drags Marlene’s eyes away from Sirius’. She twists to find the clerk looking at the both of them sheepishly. “Queue’s getting a little long,” he says, smiling apologetically, as though it’s his fault that the pair are holding up his business. Marlene can hardly smile and utter an apology before she’s grasping the hand Sirius has rested on her hip and pulling him away with such force one would think they were arguing, and not in love.  “Let’s go,” she says, walking backwards, her cheeks darkening under the blossom of burning scarlet. Her eyes are glowing, that exhilarated glint that she always gets when there’s a shift in the air, when something feels right, happens. “Right now. Let’s go.”

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

It was hard to miss – Remus’ growl, a stuttered interruption from his normally forbearing demeanour. Sirius froze too, eyes wide; almost crouching instinctively as if to shift into his animagus for. Just like many moons ago. But oh, he didn’t know. He thought he knew enough by having an inkling of Remus’ feelings for him, for catching the way his gaze lingered. But he had no clue what his best friend thought of him and Marlene. Besides, even if he did, he had no clue what to do.

Refrain from choosing between either of them? Or choose one? Both felt selfish regardless, capable of hurting either or both parties. And Sirius has never had a penchant for emotional decisions, let alone letting go of anything –

without leaving behind claw marks or fading scars.

Upon Remus’ automatic politeness, Sirius eased up, shoulders loosening and a hand pressed to his chest in relief. Cue a sigh and a crooked, reassuring smile. “’S okay, mate. Not your fault.” With that, he followed him into the shadows. A switch, a contrast, from Sirius leading them through the pouring moonlight before. As Remus spoke, he found himself hazed over. Trapped somewhere between a slow, albeit still resisting acceptance of his sentiment –  and being caught up on his friend’s words themselves. He’s always found Remus’ wisdom attractive. He’s known this since he was sixteen, sixteen and observing the way Remus chose his words so much more carefully than everyone else.

“I’m stubborn I guess.” Breathy laughters rolls off his tongue, grey hues trained on the ground as he treads beside Remus. “A large part of me thinks it is fair that I catch those that I care about. But I get what you mean… about coming second. That makes the most logical sense.” But he wasn’t logical, and that was the punchline; the reason for the bizarre little smile toying with his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Can we go back to yours?

The lifted corners of his lips straighten, not out of horror or shock, but anticipation laced with a hint of anxiety. It’s different this time. The air a little heavier, a lack of jesting lightness to either of them. As if they both know that there is more to this than what’s said. That things may change by the time Remus leaves his flat. But still, Sirius surprises himself with his answer this one time: “Of course.” And then the second: an extended hand for Apparition and recklessly appraising words, instead of a friendly arm to link onto. “For sure I’d cast you in one of my videos. But your charm’s right here as you are, why would I need the werewolf?”  

Don’t do this to me.

He wanted to snarl it at Sirius. Yell it out; carve it into the surrounding walls– maybe even into his skin. 

Don’t fucking do this to me. 

Remus couldn’t even begin to imagine the possibilities that stemmed from his and Sirius’ inadvertently unique friendship (though, Remus supposed, all of Sirius’ friendships with people were unique). He couldn’t comprehend that Sirius saw some potential in him. He’d forgiven him, of course he had, but ever since that near-fatal night of the full moon, when James had dragged a trembling, sweaty and panicked Snape from the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, Remus couldn’t help but feel little more than a pet to Sirius. It didn’t matter how many times James had joked around, mocking Sirius for his Animagus form, teasing him to no end about how his beastly dog was nothing but a mere mutation of the wolf. Remus recalled when he himself had piped up, suggesting that Sirius had perhaps chosen said mutation, as James had so eloquently put it, as yet another reflection of his mutation from the House of Black.  “Yeah! Yes, exactly that,” Sirius had said, pointing at Remus in agreement and smirking smugly at a dumbstruck James.  “Yeah, w-well,” James had spluttered, glancing between Remus and Sirius, a speck of betrayal in his eyes as his best friend (a traitor, in this situation) had sided with the enemy (again, only in this situation), turning James into the butt of the joke. “You’re still a bitch!” Remus had rolled his eyes and returned to his homework, leaving James and Sirius to squabble some more. He’d had the nagging sensation that Sirius wasn’t the Marauders’ pet. That role had been taken. Over the years it had made more and more sense. Hadn’t they taken care of him? Fed him chocolate and high spirits? Sometimes washed him when he was too weak? Dragged him to Madam Pomfrey like an owner taking their pet to the vets? It was bad enough that Remus felt barely human on a good day. He didn’t need Sirius teasing him, as unconscious as it was. He didn’t need Sirius baiting him with affection, love, only to snatch it away at the sight of Marlene McKinnon. 

And yet here Sirius was, taunting him once again. He was extending his hand like a lover would, thoughtless tenderness in his crooked grin as he spoke the words that made Remus’ heart flutter, futile in its efforts to soar with hope, only to come crashing down, cracking in half.  Please don’t do this to me. “Because that’s all I have to offer.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They came out rough and abrasive, like stone scraping stone. Remus froze, his eyes glued to Sirius’ elegant fingers, extended towards him like the lifeline his friend had become. He could feel a tiny fist of panic coil around his larynx, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Don’t,” Remus quickly murmured, averting his gaze to his sneakers as he quickly took ahold of Sirius’ wrist, avoiding the embrace of his hand. He’d sensed Sirius’ indignation threatening to spill out in the form of fierce reassurance. Remus avoided it as an addict desperately trying to stay clean from their favoured drug. Remus’ being Sirius’ acceptance; his affection. “Please, don’t.”

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

“Ah, right.” Averting his gaze, a faint smirk ghosts across his lips as he recalls what they personally use their polaroids for. Blankets concealing flushed skin, hazy eyes and whispered warnings that this was only for them. “Of course they’re not for public use.” But mischievous as Sirius may be, he never did the same with other girls. He never bothered with the permanence of a printed picture, because he knew they none of them would be an abiding figure.

Not like Marlene.

Oh, he’d catch her looking his way in class. But he would only allow his own gaze to linger once she didn’t. It was only easier to utter such flattering words for those who did meet his eyes, because he knew what to expect. He anticipated sheepish smiles and gossip racing down Hogwart’s halls; nights ending with him leaving another’s dorms, a phantom in the night. Sirius simply never dared when it came to Marlene, because he cared enough to be trepidatious over her reaction. And him? Scared? He was the lion amongst snakes in his family, he wouldn’t allow it.

Airy laughter escapes him, matches the golden hue colouring the market as he defends, “It was a compliment.” It was one of the first things Sirius noticed about her after all. That she didn’t have as much of an affinity towards reputation, being a role model, unlike the rest. At her question, Sirius feigns a thoughtful expression, lips pursed and eyes narrowed; facetious. “Mm.. I guess so, huh?” A fond smile graces his features as fingers trail down her spine before settling on her waist. Bringing her close. Never mind that anyone they know could see them; they spent long enough in hiding. 

He snorts, the derision on his face mirroring her. “No, no they wouldn’t.” As they line up behind a baked good stalls, other couples hand in hand before them, Sirius realizes – he hasn’t reassured her yet. That he intends to stay, to see only her, even if it isn’t easy. His gaze falls on her smile, unwavering and somehow so much brighter than those surrounding them. ( This is love, isn’t it? Wanting to make sure he’s one of the reasons she looks like this? ) “But you know you’re not just another Gryffindor I’m into, right?” An internal voice reprimands him, warns that he’s never said such words before, and that commitment was not made for people like him. But for once, Sirius wills it to quiet, his own voice much clearer in comparison: “I’ve never even looked twice at anyone, since I got to know you.”

And that in itself was prodigious, for who would ever think that he would stop scrabbling for something better?

He knows what better is by now. And she’s right here. 

It seemed as though their prior scuffle had emboldened the two of them. Fleeting brushes with death did that to people, Marlene had come to realise. They came to not only cherish the moments that they could share with loved ones, but seek them out, too. Marlene felt her cheeks warm when she recognised that Sirius was doing this now, his hand on her waist a kind reminder that they were alive; that they’d survived to linger in each other’s company. While once they did so tentatively, the pair’s touches now came with more ferocity, more demand. Marlene couldn’t help the heated shiver that danced down her spine, like Sirius’ fingers had not seconds ago. She loved the pull of his caress, of his hold. Mine, it said, you’re mine. And though Marlene would argue, to her very grave, that she was her own woman, she could feel her heart melting at the knowledge that Sirius wanted her, and that she was willing to give, give, give. Knowing that she would receive in return. 

A group of goblins were singing God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs twenty feet away, at an intersection in the erected market that split: to the left, towards children’s toys and Zonko’s artefacts; to the right, barely visible, a photo stall, followed by more food stands and tiny trinkets adorned specifically for the chilly festivities. Marlene hummed along to the song, a quirk in her lip. She recalled how shocked she’d been her first two years at Hogwarts, hearing the wizarding adaptation of Muggle hymns and Christmas songs. Her own family would toss on the same CD every year, with traditional Muggle music– White Christmas being her favourite. It was odd, then, when, at eleven, she’d been exposed to the raucous merriment of wizard Christmas songs. Now, she was fond of them, particularly given that they were laden with memories of the Marauders, along with Lily, Alice, Mary and herself, drinking themselves under the table in the Gryffindor common room, dancing arm in arm to a menagerie of wizard and Muggle music. In their sixth year, they’d even had a little music battle, though Marlene had promptly excused herself from it, abandoning Lily and some of the other Muggleborns to face the wizard half of the common room alone, belting out Wham! and Mariah Carey until their throats ran dry, only to lubricate them again and again with blistering, belly-filling Firewhisky (courtesy of the Marauders’ sleight of hand). A wave of melancholy washed over her, cold as ice, as the memory faded in her mind. They’d been so carefree then, thinking themselves safe within the confines of the castle. Now, they’d been thrusted into the midst of the war, and had little time and energy to spare when it came to having fun. James and Sirius, though, still saw to keeping the spirit of mischief alive. Sometimes, even Remus joined in, but he seemed to be feeling more and more withered with the passing of time. War would do that to you. Tire you out. Leave you clawing desperately for but a pinch of hope. If only Marlene knew how close she was to figuring out just how viciously Remus could scratch and tear for more. More happiness. More longing. More of a better life. 

Marlene sank a little into Sirius’ hold, her head pillowing itself on his chest. Two couples ahead of them had paid for their treats, and were striding away from the stand, making noises of glutinous delight as they bit into their cakes and pies. Marlene shuffled forwards under Sirius’ guiding hand. She only looked up when he spoke again. When their eyes met, Marlene’s breath hitched, as though she was seeing him for the first time. Her heart would never grow used to his natural elegance, one of the few good traits the Honourable House of Black had bestowed upon the rut of that particular litter. And what a rut Sirius was. The thought, coupled with Sirius’ words, made Marlene’s gaze soften even more, and her smile was gentle; almost at peace.  “That another compliment?” she teased him softly, her voice loud enough for him to hear, but low enough for the rest of the world to fade away, to encompass them in their own private bubble. “Have I beguiled you?”  Before he could answer, Marlene leaned up, craning her neck to brush her soft lips against the hard line of his jaw. Then, the clerk was beckoning them forwards, awaiting their order. 

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

He ducks his head in a sign of defeat and laughs, dark hair concealing his gaze, though not the warm humour radiating off of him all the same. Sirius isn’t surprised by Remus shrugging off his thanks, for it’s always been like this. No matter their differences, no matter their conflicting values barely concealed behind steely gazes, they would stand steadfast right by each other. 

It’s why he’s afraid to move closer.

There’s a reason why Sirius has only ever dated friends or those he hasn’t known for long. He’s seen every gilded, admirable trait to Remus’, alongside every dark corner. If they got too close, wouldn’t the latter only appear larger and more forbidding? He fears letting Remus see him that way too, dreads turning this stable brotherhood, this home of theirs, into something precarious. It wasn’t like it was as easy as it was with James, after all; the most extroverted between the three. Remus took a while to open up, as did Sirius to drop his act of bravado.

But he can’t help himself anyway.

He can’t help the smile ghosting across his lips as Remus reached out for him, and he does something that teeters on the fine line between brotherly and affectionate. Sirius cants his head, lets it lean against Remus’ as he chants internally to himself: this is friendly, this is normal. He knows it isn’t, his heart wouldn’t be pounding otherwise. “I guess –” he sighs, agreeing half heartedly. “But don’t they say that being a bystander to someone’s poor choices is just as bad?” Sirius falls silent though, indicating that he would be willing to drop the subject if need be.

He looks to his best friend instead, searching for his gaze as he offers an appreciative smile. “We can head out now and find some late-night coffee shop if you like, by the way. I know this guy’s a bit of a sod.” Sirius points at the moon, beautiful to him, albeit likely a monstrous sight to Remus. It’s only fair that he’s as considerate towards his best friend, as he is to him. For all his harsh edges and heated words, he does hold a poignant softness sometimes. “Besides we saw no ghosts. None. So there go my thoroughly planned dreams of starting a supernatural youtube channel,” he jests. 

Remus dared himself to imagine the the both of them, in the unexpected stillness of the moment, tilting their heads. He imagined their lips brushing together– softly, at first, barely a touch, the kind you’d expect from a wary fingertip ghosting over a flame, afraid of getting burned. Then, the small spark that had initiated such an action would burst into a feral fire, and Remus felt his heartbeat increase in tempo as he pictured Sirius grabbing the back of his neck, steadying his head so that they could both fight to claim each other’s mouths. But, of course, that would never happen. Sirius’ eye was busy being glued to Marlene’s tempting gaze, a thought that both dismayed Remus and, much to his surprise, yanked a quiet, snarling growl out of the very bottom of his chest. He retreated quickly then, stumbling back until the cool, dripping hardness of the prison wall smacked into his denim jacket, making Remus feeling even more caged than he usually did. Should the ground cave into itself, Remus would not only have sunk into the darkness extremely willingly, but he’d’ve tossed in a grateful few words to whatever deity was out there, hearing his prayers for a quick escape. Had he not felt so stiffly frozen in place, the gut-wrenching humiliation that was yanking his stomach away would have been enough to send him Apparating someplace far, far away (preferably a cave, where he most likely belonged). Pathetically, Remus attempted to cover the possessive growl with a cough, bringing his hand up to press his knuckles to his pursed lips as his broad shoulders shook in exaggeration.  “Excuse me,” he murmured in automatic politeness. He squared his shoulders, nodded Sirius along down towards a random walkthrough, stemming from the courtyard, and forced himself to relax as they stepped back into the shadows, away from the moon’s light. “I still think,” Remus continued, hoping that, by bringing their prior subject back, Sirius would quickly forget about his reaction to their fleeting moment of tenderness, “that you can’t live your life waiting for someone to trip up, just so you can keep catching them. It isn’t fair on you. The moment... The moment you put someone else first, the only thing that they learn is that you come second.” He nodded, firmly. 

Remus knew that such a philosophy was hypocritical of him to say. Hadn’t he allowed his friends– Peter included –to put him first, time and time again? Wasn’t he the one who had even begun looking forwards to each full moon, just because it was another reason to cement his relationship with the Marauders? Before they’d found out about his affliction, Remus had distanced himself from the merry gang, never once allowing himself to fully throw his heart and soul into the unique little square of friends. His monthly disappearances would always lie under a thin veil of excuses: I have to go back to my parents’... Family stuff... My rabbit died (James and Sirius had fun teasing him with that one) ... The dishonesty, while a tool used, Remus believed, to keep his friends safe, had become a barrier between them, too. While Remus had felt that it had been rather easy to build a wall to protect others, he hadn’t quite realised, up until his discovery, that it had also isolated him. And so, now that he’d been accepted, his most disgusting, most monstrous flaw exposed for all to judge (though, to Remus’ surprise, they hadn’t... much), he was allowing them all to care for him. Did that mean that he was using them? He glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eye, guilt clouding his expression as he ducked his head, hiding his saddened features in the jagged shadows. The last thing that he wanted to do was take Sirius for granted. But little came to mind when he tried to think of ways to prove how much he valued him. All of his ideas involved, in one way or another, treating him like more than a friend; even that, he knew, came from a selfish place. Remus sighed, despite his efforts to hide his feelings. He was selfish, after all. 

“Can we go back to yours?” Remus surprised himself a little with that question. He’d rarely been to Sirius’ newfound flat without James, or even Peter. It had always been the four of them, or three of the Marauders. Mostly, it was just James and Sirius. Remus could count on one hand the amount of times he’d spent alone in that shabby little place, teaching Sirius a few cooking tricks and tips. He’d always been useful, and then excused himself to return to his own home, claiming that he’d forgotten to water his plants (he hadn’t. He never forgets). For reasons Remus didn’t want to fully acknowledge, he didn’t want this private time between them to end. His lip quirked a tiny bit, forced. “You know those things are always staged. I’m surprised you haven’t cast me in a role for it yet. First werewolf sighting ever.”

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

It was a bold move – the kiss, and in all sincerity, Sirius hopes that he can continue to be this way: unafraid, zealous, committed. But he knew why he had such moments of hesitation; he knew that it was easier to hurt himself in an everyday situation, than to wound both Marlene and himself by making brazen, reckless moves. Did such thoughts come from a place of selfishness or selflessness, though? (Either way, he had to s t o p)

As Sirius pushes himself off the ground, he instinctively reaches out for her hand as she does, bumping knuckles before their fingers interlaced neatly together. Clumsy, slightly hesitant, but it felt something close to just right. A fond smile toys with his lips as he steals a glance Marlene’s way, at the leaves scattered through rivulets of hair. “A shame I didn’t bring my polaroid, that would’ve made a great photo. Aesthetic: Beautiful local girl in the winter.” Though his nose scrunches up and the corners of his mouth curls upwards with amusement, adoration shines in his grey hues, even if for the briefest of moments.

Easy laughter rolls out of him, a brow arched as he teases, “Sounds like one hell of a family. Your pa’s clearly the role model of the house, just like you.” Though his voice is laced with sarcasm, there are no harsh edges to his words. “My Christmases were the opposite: pretty fuckin’ formal, and my aunts and uncles would take it as a yearly opportunity to ask me what Slytherin girl I’m with at the time too.” ‘Ask’ was a light choice of wording, though. No, it was more like they scrutinised his every move. 

“I don’t think they realize I have a type.” With a sideways glance, a wink follows alongside a crooked smile. But it isn’t the cocky kind, the mischievous smirk that demands attention. Sirius’ smile and his gaze lingers instead; I’m aware, I could fall for you.

STAGE DIRECTION: Boy rips his heart out of his chest. INNER MONOLOGUE: ‘I hope vulnerability doesn’t have teeth.’

Marlene couldn’t help the snort that escaped her. She was no less insecure than Lily was, having grown emboldened by teasing about her flaming ginger hair, but there was something about Sirius’ compliments that made Marlene feel giddy, and awkward. Though oblivious to it, Marlene’s reaction had been one of self-defence. Often girls at Hogwarts had gushed over how Sirius had complimented them with phrases akin to Byron or Wilde, and Marlene had had to endure such idle, high-pitched gossip at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and, sometimes, during lessons. The self-satisfied smirk on Sirius’ lips whenever he would hear those comments in passing, in the halls, had made Marlene think even less of him, before she’d come to realise that she, in fact, thought the world of Sirius Black. Much like the clumsiness with which they held hands, like a fawn finding its feet, Marlene would have to grow used to taking Sirius’ compliments for honesty, as opposed to a cunning little method of diving in between her sheets. She’d once been warned by Alice, once, in their fifth year, about that. He’s a Slytherin at heart, Marls! Alice had hissed across the table, exasperated when she’d caught Marlene staring in Sirius’ direction in the Potions classroom, lost in a moment of admiration. Now, Marlene wanted to keep that warning at bay, muffled in the depths of her mind. Sirius was as much of a lion as the rest of them. He’d proven it; Marlene loved him for it.  “Shut up,” she said, shaking her head as the last leaf fluttered down from her curls. “That Polaroid is not for public use.” Despite herself, she smirked, the kind of smirk that painted her lips just before each and every time she’d known Sirius would give in, and spend the night tangled up with her. It was a reminder of the... Less family-friendly pictures they’d taken. Marlene had hers stowed away in her favourite book. 

Sirius’ jest earned him a thump on the chest, Marlene’s spare hand flying up to rap her knuckles against his front, though the warning glance she retorts to his quirked brow lacks any real threat. Rather than responding with anything else, though, Marlene listened. She and Sirius had shared things, of course. Private things. Secrets and hopes. But always in the dark. Always half-asleep, so that it never felt real. They only shared their time in private in a dream; now that it was slowly seeping into their waking reality, Marlene wanted to treasure each and every second of it. She chuckled, then, when he turned back to her, just as they exited the threshold of the woods and stepped into the public eye. Marlene tried to ignore the way her heart seized up. Nobody’s going to care. You’re just two people, walking hand in hand. This is your moment; nobody else’s. 

“Oh, I see,” Marlene began, flashing Sirius with one of her brightest smiles- one, of course, that she usually reserved for him. “So your type is someone who can take you down a peg, when you need it– which... Is all the time, isn’t it, Black?” Her gaze drifted- albeit reluctantly -from Sirius’, and floated over the various stalls that they passed. Her smile faded into a comfortable grin, though it threatened to quirk up again as a thought occurred to her. “I don’t think your family would be all too happy with you taking a Gryffindor home.” She snorted again, though, this time, the derision was not toward herself, but to those who thought in such narrow-minded ways. 

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

It’s that boyish softness that wore itself on him so well, the silent understanding that Remus is always capable of (an uncanny talent of his) that causes his heart to swell; warmth branching outwards from there. Sirius does feel something deeper than friendship for Remus, he knows. But is it as strong as how frequently his gaze searches for Marlene? Is it worth putting his best friend on the line like that?

That’s what love is to him, after all: one Big Risk.

“Better than Orion, I mean. It’s awfully pretentious.” He adjusts his jacket with a sigh that sends strands of hair flying, feigning annoyance. It’s better to pretend to hate your father than admit fear, he thinks. His face is softer, gaze a little lighter, as he offers Remus a tired smile. “Thanks mate, for even considering it in the first place.” It was still going to happen after all. It was mostly a matter of how long Sirius could resist his blinding temper, how long he could resist the tempting whispers of violence and justice. 

The moonlight pouring in signals that they’ve reached the courtyard; they’re not far from the exit of this place, this conversation. So Sirius chooses to end it with Honesty, the kind nobody likes to deliver. Even if he’s vague about it. “What I meant.. about Regulus is,” he starts slowly, lacking his usual brazenness and bite as he eyes the moon. “I feel like if I wasn’t so distant from him, he’d be here. Alive. Well. Not a deceased Death Eater. That’s why I’m so –” He shakes his head at the ground as he strings his words together. “Anxious about being a passive bystander again.” Anxious, it’s not a word often said, only because his ego has him choking on it first.

I’m not just mad at Peter. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of letting him get near any of you.

Remus’ hands shot up in a gesture of innocence.  “Your words, mate, not mine,” he said, though, of course, he agreed. Orion. Part of him had to admit that it suited Sirius. He was always ablaze like the stars, and belonged among them, twinkling mischievously, an eternal light that could guide weary travellers home, or to their peril. Remus liked that about Sirius. Though loyal to his friends (something he often teased him about, particularly because of his Animagus form), there was something unpredictable about Sirius that would often be the cause of the Marauders’ adventures- or misadventures, as Lily had occasionally called them while scolding them (well, scolding James, but that meant they were all involved). 

Remus lowered his hands, shifting them back into his pockets, where the worn cotton and polyester within scratched at his scabbed and scarred knuckles. He shrugged away Sirius’ thanks, knowing that it was as unnecessary as him pointing out just how little Sirius needed to show his gratitude. They would always be brothers in arms, no matter what. Regardless of what life threw at them, it would always come back to that. Brotherhood. Which was why, Remus suspected, neither he nor Sirius had tried to further their relationship. It was why Remus had stepped back, upon seeing the way his friend’s gaze melted when it met Marlene’s. It made his own harden, but that was for his own eyes to see, reflected in the bathroom mirror at night, where he would sometimes face his troubling thoughts, as he brushed his teeth, shaved, or washed his face. 

As soon as the moonlight pooled onto Remus’ skin, he bristled. He couldn’t help his reaction. Its eery glow had condemned him to a life of vicious animalism, pain and isolation; he could never bask in it, as he’d sometimes seen the rest of the gang do. His shoulders would always stiffen and rise, hunching protectively around his neck. His skin would feel heavy, like a suffocating blanket he just had to kick off, to set the wolf free. Even his scars felt more alive, as though the markings would fill with the moon’s macabre magic, poking and prodding at the beast within, provoking it in time for the cycle to come to its end, and for Remus to lose himself, just for a night. But it always felt like an eternity. 

He tried to focus his attention on Sirius. Unbeknownst to Black, Remus often sought him for comfort. Merely the sight of him could calm his nerves. Sirius had enough energy for the both of them, and it always coaxed the calmer side of Remus out. It was probably why he stuck so closely to him; why James had noted that there had been a shift in Remus’ attitude towards Sirius Black, but said nothing of it. 

At Sirius’ confession, Remus closed the distance between them with a bump of his shoulder against his friend’s. He reached out, giving Sirius’ arm a squeeze. He was almost tempted to slide his fingers down, down, down... Until they could entwine with Sirius’. But this wasn’t about Remus, or his feelings. It never was. It was about Sirius; if anything, Remus wanted to be there for him. He wanted it to be him, when nobody else could.  “Other people’s mistakes aren’t your fault.”

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

Sirius always could be compared to a forest fire, albeit not in a romantically poetic manner. No, he was crass, unthinking; refractory most of all. Burning recklessly for it was simply not in his nature to be soft, to nurture. But he did not feel so destructive tonight. Instead of burning, he was glowing with what he thought was love.

Besides the warm gleam radiating from the market, nothing surrounded them but shadows and an array of mischievous stars winking at them from above. Unknown. The unknown surrounded them, and Sirius couldn’t believe that it took him so long to realize that this was not a terrifying thing. Sirius should’ve known that what he thought was simple attraction, was actually him savouring each and every one of her rare, blinding smiles; him looking forward to her teasing him in front of their friends, as if she knew things nobody else did. Him remembering each and every one of her 3AM observations, even if she was hazed over with sleep.

He should’ve known that he wanted to be hers all this time.

Sirius’ hand fits neatly against her waist, his other hand cradling the back of her neck as their kiss deepened. And he knows that this time he cannot call this a mistake, a decision made in the heat of the moment. No, his heart pounds so loudly that he cannot hear the distant hum of Christmas music. All he can feel, hear, see is Marlene and he chose this. He chose her. Them. His lips part from hers ever so slightly, a smile tugging at the corners as he murmurs, “Nah, rub it in. Remind me that if we came here first, this kiss wouldn’t be so damn delayed.” Arms wrapping around her waist, he holds her close for a moment; his face buried in her hair as he sighs an internal ‘Finally’, as if this was the epilogue of their story. (Oh, it was only the beginning) 

“Let’s go get your favourite Christmas treats before it closes, yeah? I know I’m a treat, but I’m available at all times, so.” He meets her gaze to flash a roguish smile, mischief scrunching up his nose. Albeit his expression soon softens, eyes a molten grey with admiration as he mused, head canted, “Along the way you should tell me what Christmas was like for you, growing up.” He wanted to hear all of Marlene’s stories. The past, present, future; it didn’t matter. All Sirius knew was that tonight was hers, and he wanted it to be. 

Marlene chuckled, but shook her head, their noses rubbing together as she did. Although it was more than tempting to sneak in a quip in their moment of intimacy, she didn’t want to break the spell that had enchanted them both into unadulterated tenderness. It was something she’d craved for so long, that even the smallest hint of regression back to their secret little touches and whispers was a threat in her eyes. Exciting as it was to have finally opened this door, Marlene wasn’t sure what was waiting for them on the other side, and so she waited on the threshold. Despite herself, and how much it wasn’t like her to do so, she held back, waiting for Sirius to take the lead. To reach out, entwine their fingers, and tug her along on their next adventure. Together. Only, she’d woken up enough mornings to an empty bed to suspect that, when the sun glinted over the horizon, she would find the pillow beside hers marked only by the ghost of his presence, yet again. 

“Christmas at the McKinnons,” she began, a small grunt escaping her as the two lifted themselves from the ground. Leaves and small blades of grass were tangled in the thickness of her hair; Marlene plucked as many as she could from the strands, watching how they fluttered and fell to the ground. “Depends on where we went. Sometimes we spent it at my pa’s parents, other times, my ma’s.” She shrugged, daring to reach out for Sirius’ hand. Even though they were still hidden in the shadows, her heartbeat was erratic. They were about to embrace the public eye, together- and obviously so. Marlene couldn’t help but wonder if they’d bump into anybody they knew. Perhaps even see one of Sirius’ old conquests. The thought had her stomach dropping into her muddy boots. Whispers would follow, surely. There goes Sirius Black, looks like he’s found another heart to break...

“So...” Marlene forced herself to continue, distracting her anxious mind with memories of jolly, mulled wine-fuelled times. “Pa has a habit of cracking out the firewhisky when Auntie Pol gets a bit too rowdy. She’s never liked Pa, but only because she fancied him when Ma first met him. Anyway, yeah... Firewhisky, he’d always sneak me some, even when I was only eight. Probably got him to thank for being able to drink you under the table.” She nudged his shoulder with hers, playfully.

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

They’ve known each other for years. So Sirius knew, expected, that Remus would follow along for the sake of watching over him. Though he appreciated the gesture, he secretly hoped that he would be doing so for himself. Surely, suppressing all that anger would only result in an explosion in the end? Surely, he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t want to enact vengeance on Peter? ( Except Remus could, and that’s what set them apart. His friend was far better at containing himself )

“If you’re doing it for me then just don’t, mate!” Sirius protested hotly. However he shut himself up, lips forming into a hard line, the minute Remus pressed his head against the cold concrete walls. Concern knitted his brows together as he laid a hand on Remus’ shoulder. Guilt ebbed and flowed through each and every inch of him as he realized that he triggered his friend’s temper. He wasn’t sure why he always reacted so quickly when it came to Remus. Were they more on the same wavelength than the others? Did he truly feel so strongly towards him after all?

“I shouldn’t have even brought that Peter shit up. Let’s just –.. let’s just drop it. Don’t worry about it.” Cue an affectionate squeeze of his shoulder, before he leaned his back against the wall; shoulder to shoulder, his head turned Remus’ way. So close, that Sirius wondered if he could hear his heart thumping against his chest. At his inquiry, he shook his head, a faint albeit reassuring smile to match. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s not important now.” He didn’t want to go back to the topic of never doing enough. That would simply lead them right back to Peter again. “I was being dramatic,” he attempted to joke.

But being vulnerable is never a dramatic thing. Sirius had yet to know this.

Despite expecting the outburst, there was something in Sirius’ tone that nearly made Remus flinch. His eyes hardened, and his jaw clenched, teeth grinding together so that the bones clicked in an echo-y beat against the walls of his skull. A feral instinct within him was egging Remus on, almost begging him to lash out, to retaliate. Remus couldn’t let his instincts get the better of him, though. Not when, in his mind, they weren’t really his. He’d spent years convincing himself that the wolf within him was not a part of him, but a separate entity with which he had to share his body. The last thing that he intended to do was give himself into it. Embrace it. Share. 

He was about to attempt to douse the fire in Sirius’ gaze when his friend did it for him; the touch to his shoulder made Remus’ gaze shoot up from his mud-caked trainers, hints of boyish softness breaking through the wall he’d quickly erected there. A saddened smile curled the corners of his lips upwards, and he nodded. He understood- or so he thought. A small (well, large) part of him still hoped that there would be more. More than just a friendly, or even brotherly squeeze to the arm, or the shoulder. He wanted deeper touches. Stronger ones. A bond verging on animalistic. But he couldn’t have that. Not with Sirius.

“Dramatic should be your middle name, then.” A jest. It always ended in a jest, to wipe the slate clean for the next pile of messiness to land on. This was their routine, a never-ending cycle doomed for suppression. 

“I’ll... I’ll help you with Peter. If... If that’s what you want to do.”

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

The guilt that had sunk into him all disappeared, confusion replacing it instead as laughter bubbled out of Marlene. Sirius rolled onto his side to face her and her smile – that goddamn blinding smile that seemed to take up her entire face, if even for just a second. To his surprise, his own features mirrored it, lips curving into a half-smile as he scoffed a laugh. “Another day, another Slytherin wasting our time.” So she wasn’t mad at him, then. So his apology wasn’t all that necessary. (Except Sirius wouldn’t have taken it back. That’s how it was ever since he knew that he was infatuated with her – hyper wary of making too many mistakes, and wanting to correct himself for once)

A sigh mingled with tired laughter, as his fingers trailed along the blue and purple colouring her jaw. Sirius shook his head, eyes trained on bruised skin. “Man, we really should’ve gone to that Christmas Market instead, huh?” he murmured, grey hues crinkled at the corner with mirth, though his smile spoke apologies. 

He noticed it. The way her gaze soared past every little fairy light, before meeting his eyes. Her own a little more alive than before, as if the cogs were working behind that clever brain of hers, realizing that he had specifically remembered where she wanted to go. Surely, she knows. Surely, she knows how I feel. Nervous energy paired with warmth, a tangible tenderness, raised up his spine the very second before his lips parted to say, “Of course I remembered.” But it wasn’t the cocky type of statement, bragging that he didn’t forget the Christmas Market. No, the tone Sirius carried sounded more like: I’ll never forget a word you say. And if that wasn’t clear enough, Sirius’ actions already began speaking for his words, his lips gingerly brushing against bruised skin before finally meeting her lips. He’s certain he won’t regret it this time.

Marlene laughed with a mixture of relief and elation, body rocking until she was on her back, the bark of her happy outburst darting up into the night sky. “I’d hate to rub it in– actually, nah. Yes, Sirius, we should have come here straight away,” she sniggered. Her breath fogged up before her, coiling and twisting until it dissolved into the cold, reminding Marlene of when she and Sirius had shared cigarettes at the Quidditch match. It felt like such a long time ago. Everything good always felt far away. Sometimes, even Sirius was out of reach. 

But not now. 

Now, Marlene could feel his fingertips brushing over her throbbing bruise, which seemed to pulse longingly under his touch, much like her heart did whenever their eyes met. Her gaze danced towards his now, and she sank in it, the warmth, the tiny glints of reckless mischief, hidden amidst a whirlwind of fear, fury and... 

Love. 

Love for his friends- his family: for Remus, James, Lily... In the stillness of the surrounding woods, Marlene dared herself to hope that there was some love there for her, too. And then Sirius was leaning in, and Marlene, desperate for her hope to feel real, to be something other than a pipe dream, swiftly moved forwards, too. Her spare hand flew up to the back of Sirius’ head, fingers tangling in his inky strands, catching on a stubborn knot that, with the softest of touches, she untangled. Marlene’s eyes didn’t close until Sirius was claiming her mouth. As his lips had glided over her bruise, she’d stared up at the dark sky. There was no light in the woods, no barrier of pollution to keep the twinkling stars at bay. They stared back down at her, the occasional wink reminiscent of the way Sirius’ grey hues would glint whenever he would smirk her way, cheeky, but tender altogether. Then, the stars vanished, and Marlene gave up one sense to focus on another. Touch. 

She gripped onto Sirius’ hand tightly, her own trembling as her other digits shakily drifted through his sea of tresses, riding the inky waves. He was so warm. Hard lines met soft curves and Marlene tilted her head to deepen their kiss. She could feel her heart practically throttling her ribcage, blow after blow a punch that threatened to break her emotions out of the cell she’d locked them into. There was nothing more to want than for their freedom. Now, this kiss... It felt like a step towards that happy ending. 

[theragingwar]

ofpvdfoots:

There was very little separating a hero and a villain, for both had the audacity - the boldness - to make decisions that forwards the story, be it for worse or better. We should just leave for a week. To scare mum and dad. Maybe they won’t treat us like shite then, Sirius once told his younger brother, all bravado and bared teeth ( out of malice or encouragement? You never know with a wild dog ). The way Remus’ head snapped up, flustered eyes boring into his reminded him of this: that he had a tendency to drag people through his own self-made fire.

Hero or villain? Villain or hero?

Shaking his head slightly, he arched a brow; his gaze half curtained by dark hair. “But what? We’re doing the whole world a favour by putting him behind bars.” Questions of morality were never easy, and it was all too clear here. Vengeance is never pure; it’s always been associated with red. But Sirius figured that it was just as bad to let a murderer walk free, to simply sit there whilst James and Lily grieved. He would kill for his friends. The Sorting Hat once noticed this, its lips almost having parted to form Slytherin. It was the memory of him shaking in his boots, cowering at the possibility of being a Bad Person, that halted him for just a moment. 

Sirius sucked in a breath, his jaw tense and gaze drifting off to the side as he blanched, “Though if you’re uncomfortable, I get it. I’ll do it regardless. On my own. I just can’t stand it, is all – awful things happening because I haven’t done enough.” The conviction, the natural strength to his voice dwindled as his eyes hazed over. (He’s always hated being vulnerable. Like a magician without its tricks) 

“….Regulus’ death was preventable, you know?” Remus was the first person Sirius had ever admitted that to.

Remus was already shaking his head before Sirius even mentioned carrying out the task on his own. He knew that his best friend would react that way, and he, too, knew how one thing would lead to another. Remus would commit, simply to keep Sirius safe, unable to stand idle with the knowledge that Sirius was out there, risking his life. Then, resentment would follow, for having set them down such a life-risking path. Remus wished he could see things as clearly as Sirius, as divided as black and white, but he couldn’t. Everything was a murky grey area, to be carefully waded through like a creature sliding through quicksand, each movement either one that would save it, or lead to certain death. 

“Fine. Fine,” he repeated the word with more force, a dribble of ire seeping from his mouth as though blood trickling from an open wound. “I’ll come along, just to make sure you don’t do something absolutely beyond your natural ability for stupidity.” Remus turned away, stomping down the cold, dripping corridor, his Doc Martens clunking loudly. The moon’s closing phase wasn’t helping his temper. He could feel the wolf within, growling and snarling viciously, clawing at its cage. It knew. It could feel its budding power roaring through Remus’ veins. He halted by a turn, resting his head and shoulder against the freezing concrete, forehead digging into its hard, rough surface slightly. Sometimes the pain helped. Sirius knew that, too. Not only from his own recklessness, but from the few occasions Remus had found himself too weak, too raw to take care of the self-inflicted injuries littering his torso and arms, and had had to turn to Sirius for help. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Sirius’ confession. Remus’ eyes snapped open, and he lifted his head to look over at his friend, thick brows slanting inwards. “What?”