Chapter Text
Regulus sleeps fitfully. A sleep disrupted by fever that sizzles underneath his skin and chills exhausting him to his bones. His cheeks stick to the mattress, wet with spit and sweat. His head pounds like the expectation of a non-existent drum. He’s miserable come the first streams of lightening sky and realizes the night has come and gone around him, only to lose track of the morning when it dulls again, blue light turning gray and followed by the tell-tale little taps of rain on his window that harmonize with his headache and spell a storm.
Just the suggestion of falling tears makes the room feel damp.
Dank.
Like a cellar.
And when he finally falls into a sleep deep enough to dream, time thins.
His comforts fall away, including the clothes on his back. It leaves him naked, exposed.
He can almost feel the infection growing below his shoulders, fizzy and squirming in his open wounds like bugs.
But even the smallest of creatures scurry away from what goes on down here, so he knows it’s not. Knows it’s his imagination playing tricks on him in the dark.
Dirty, dirty tricks like his conscience, like his soul, like his ghost found his body and reanimated it, made it dig itself up from the ground all moss and mold-covered decay just to torture his mother.
That’s why she does this - because his presence tortures her, no matter how hard he tries to waste away between the four walls of his room. Maybe, because of how hard he tries.
The sharp crack of something tinny makes him flinch - lightning on a rooftop, switch against his back. Makes him kiss the ground, practically breaking his nose to hide his face, curling in on himself. Holding his stomach, which turns sickly around very little and then cramps like the muscles are disappointed to not find enough to push up his throat.
He groans, and it echoes - his head feels too heavy to hold up, but he knows if he did he’d find himself alone.
Alone in an echoing room, in life, in the escalating rain. The drizzle becomes a storm complete with winds that howl and thunder that competes with his headache, waking him from the insistent gloom of the past and thrusting him into his suffering body - which, after he sits up and stretches, chugging the water beside him and scrubbing at his face, is not nearly so miserable as his night of half-sleep had made him think.
All the same, though, bright spots dance in his vision and there’s no way he can drive. Mary texts him back almost immediately, threatens his person for suggesting he get a ride in to still make-up the online orders for the week, and then wishes him well. He sends her an emoji of a skull and then tosses his phone, loses it in the covers and immediately falls back asleep, this time into a deep one without dreams.
He wakes again sometime later to the sky cracking open along with his door, and through sleepy slits in his eyelids he sees his brother poke his head in. “Reggie? You’re still here?”
“Mm. Sick,” he grumbles, turning his face into his pillow. The hall light makes him feel like he’s spinning. “Shut the door.”
“How bad?” Sirius asks, voice gentled but sharp with something- worry, maybe?
His lack of reply is met with a cool hand pushing his hair away from his face, the back of it turning against his forehead. He blinks open his eyes to find Sirius looking grim, face pinched.
“You’re sick,” he says.
“I said so,” Regulus grumbles back. “Go away.”
At first he thinks his brother listens when he hears the door open again, and relief floods him. He’s used to making a nest of his bed and suffering in silence through any illness that comes on, however Victorian that approach may be - not out of a lack of care, but.. Possibly, a general unwillingness to prevent his own suffering - and doing so in a house full of very tactile men - Remus included, whether he’ll admit it or not - had him worried that he’d be subjected to some kind of madness wherein he wouldn’t be allowed to just wait it out - especially when it took ample begging to get James to actually leave him alone the night before.
Sirius doesn’t listen, though - because honestly, when does he ever. He comes back into the room and promptly reaches around Regulus, stuffing tablets past his lips with only a meagre, “Swallow.”
Regulus does, albeit dryly and coughing after. “Go, now-” he frames it like a question, a statement and a run-off sentence had one very confused baby, which they named plea to be original but Regulus hates the name and would never call it that.
Sirius makes a nasally sound and doesn’t answer, or leave, instead choosing to nudge him over and ignoring his protests to shuffle his way into bed, socked feet getting caught in the covers and jewellery making Regulus hiss where they brush chilly against his back.
“What are you doing?” He whines, clutching the pillow into his face.
“What- oh, sorry, sorry…” Sirius rips off his necklaces and rings, loudly dropping them onto the floor beside the bed in what must be a messy, tangled heap.
Regulus tries weakly to argue as Sirius curls up around him. “f*ck off, go to work.”
“Nah, they can do without me for the day.”
“So can I, it’s just a headache-” he’s interrupted by a round of shivers, “go.”
“You’re burning up,” Sirius noses behind his ear, voice all thin and distant even though his body is unbearably close. His fingers drift heavily over his side and Regulus cringes into the mattress, the touch a grate on his nerves… until the skimming becomes heavy palming, squeezing, fingers pushing into his muscles deliberately, and especially where that hand falls to flatten over the expanse of scar tissue and worried skin on his back.
Then, they don’t feel so bad at all. Touch hurts, yes, but something about the strong care of his brother’s unleaded hand pushing him further onto his stomach to leave no part untouched - alone - feels almost sort of soothing after the nightmare of cold and isolation he’d been having. In a roundabout way where, if he could put the fiery sensation and the constant throb of pain at the back of his neck out of his mind, he might be lulled by it.
“And it’s raining,” Sirius adds, like a fever and clouds tearing open and dousing them in great, loud floods is all the reason he needs to ignore all of his other responsibilities in order to curl up around Regulus and treat his parabolic deathbed like a lifeboat.
Or maybe he’s supposed to be the lifeboat. Turned over all bottom-up with just this little pocket of warm air between the wall and the pillows for Regulus to survive on while he drifts. And eventually that’s what he does. Because the medicine he was forcibly made to swallow kicks in, and he lets it put him to sleep for a little while.
Somehow the day spent in bed is even stranger than the bending of time and reality as he drifted all night. Usually, he would just wallow until he felt better, stagnant in solitude, but now his misery has company.
Loud, fussy, annoying company.
His brother wakes him up regularly to take his temperature with his palm, giving a silent glower each time it comes away hot. To make him sit up, eat something small and drink whatever and take medicine, all four-hourly. But in between and at some point after the second nap, Sirius gets antsy.
He pulls Regulus’s head into his lap and rubs his neck. He drapes a cool cloth over his forehead, wetting it again before it can even reach room temperature. He even puts some sort of menthol cream on his back.
And all the while he mutters - to himself mostly. Regulus doesn’t catch half of what he says, but what he does hear sounds like nervous babbling.
It’s baffling is what it is, and it isn’t stopping, which is honestly not helping his headache - even though that’s sort’ve going away now anyway, despite the one-sided chatter.
“Have you gone barmy?” he croaks from his hiding spot underneath his brother’s chin.
He feels Sirius’s words catch in his throat, bobbing against his cheek when they’re swallowed. It’s sort’ve sweet when Sirius reigns himself in like that.
“I- what? Why?” Sirius asks instead of whatever he was going to say. He coaxes Regulus’s chin up with his hand, face pinched.
“You’re talking to yourself.”
Sirius blinks rapidly - clearing away an infestation of brain worms, probably. “I was reading out this article about the restorative properties of soup,” his brother holds up his phone, an arm’s length away for Regulus to see without being assaulted by the brightness - dimmed as it is.
“The restorative properties of soup,” Regulus repeats the title blandly. His brother was reading about soup. “Why?”
“It’ll be time for dinner soon. I can’t exactly… slow-cook anything now, but I’m sure all the vitamins and stuff would still be there even if I just rapid-boil the sh*t out of some vegetables. Just needed to know… what vegetables. Or, I guess.. how to make soup.”
“Soup.”
Sirius shrugs, staring at him importantly. Too importantly to digest in this state where he feels like he’s been dragged across the city by a bus. He tries to squirm away but only manages to fall onto his side as Sirius raises his hip, nudging a knee between Regulus’s legs and leaving them face to face.
“You don’t like soup? I could make something else. Roast veggies? A.. smoothie, maybe? Fruit’s good too.”
“You don’t need to make me anything,” Regulus exhales, chest tightening.
Sirius just looks at him like he’s silly. Talks like it too, all while cupping the side of his neck, thumb planted against his lips to hush him. Sirius presses his own against Regulus’s clammy forehead for longer than necessary to take his temperature again before humming, “You’re sick, Reggie, baby…”
“I’m not dying.” It’s almost sort of funny, except neither of them are laughing and Sirius is pulling back and leaning in again, chin dipped down. His eyes are fluttering between Regulus’s, like he’s weighing which is bluer. Against his brother’s mouth when it lands there he says, “Stop it, germs—”
“Give them here.”
His voice is uncaring and as light as air, a stark contrast to the way his arm tightens around Regulus’s waist and his mouth becomes an insistent pressure. Regulus melts against him, letting him lick open his lips with slow, sweet intimacy, the point of his tongue tied to only dip as far as Regulus’s teeth.
They kiss for a while, lazy and lying against his pillows. Sirius’s arm stretches up eventually, hand following the column of his spine up into his hair to hold the back of his head. Regulus fists his brothers top between their chests, eyes closed and head starting to float in the way where, as pain from a headache dims, you’re only left with waves of pressure.
Eventually, they pull away for air, having started to drown in that syrupy humidity between them.
“So… soup?” Sirius asks, sounding adorably breathless as well. Regulus rolls his eyes at him, biting off an amused smile before it can split his face and his heart right open. But Sirius sees it, and presses another quick little kiss to it. Peckish and warm and, because it’s him, a little stubborn. “Let me take care of you, petite étoile,” he begs, and Regulus wants to say no just to be comfortably difficult.
But the thing is, it’s been sort’ve nice having Sirius take care of him. He doesn’t exactly want it to stop… so he neglects to say that he’s feeling a little better. Enough to leave his room and make himself some food. Or any better at all, really. Instead he just sighs, and turns to bury his face against his brother’s bicep as he mumbles, “Sure, Sirius. Soup.”
☽◯☾
Remus doesn’t rush home from work, because he isn’t nervous.
He isn’t edgy the last half of the day, and not just because he’s too busy to notice if he is.
If anyone saw him trip out the door when heading to his car… it was the skirting board coming up, which he cursed with a lopsided frown and then threw a vague reminder back to no one listening about getting maintenance on that.
He's perfectly calm and collected and he abides by the speed limit as he drives home, two hands on the wheel because it’s just a Monday night and it’s just a little necessary errand he’s going to run with his partner, and then it’s just a date with James, just the two of them all evening…
It’s no big deal, and he isn’t nervous, and he didn’t rush home. But he does pull into his parking space five minutes early, according to the time above the radio. He turns the car off and scrubs his face with his hands before aiming a chuckle at his lap, and stifling it with his palms.
They smell like antibacterial hand soap and the powder off of the single-use rubber gloves and he wonders suddenly if he has time for a shower. Just a quick once over with the soap and a scrub, get rid of the medical smell. Dry off, put on some lotion - wants to be soft for James. Cologne, too, maybe Dior. Something nice. Something warm to go along with the colour of the shirt James wants him to wear - this perylene maroon that he’s worn a bunch of times because Remus’s clothes are all much the same things but in different colours, except that when he pulled it out of his closet this morning it might as well have been a brand new shirt because James thought of it, and wants to see him in it, wants him to wear it while they go out together. On a date.
His hand is shaking when he tries to swipe his elevator card, he has to do it twice and then he stands there waiting for it, looking at his hand like he’s never seen it before - like it’s a new appendage grown to tremble and taunt him and maybe, maybe it has dastardly plans to betray his lack of confidence in all things revolving around James Potter by acting out against him, spilling a drink or breaking something or fumbling the gear shift and crashing the car on their way out and okay, maybe he’s over thinking it, and maybe.. maybe he’s a little nervous.
And when he lets himself into the flat, he finds that maybe he’s not the only one who’s spent the day suspended in anxiety, because he finds Sirius bouncing on his feet in the kitchen, resembling the boiling pot he’s got on the stove as he moves between the bench top and the fridge, with handfuls of vegetables and looking absorbed in his task.
The sight stops him dead at the entrance for a moment - and then Remus shuffles closer to the island, worrying over who’s died because his boyfriend doesn’t really.. cook, and especially not anything that involves chopping. Even Bambi looks concerned about it; the pretty feline perches on a bench seat, head crooked and eyes wides like she’s spotting Sirius - or waiting for him to drop something green she can steal. Just the heavy weight of the knife in his hand has Remus reaching for it, stressing over the safety of his fingertips.
“Darling.”
Sirius glances up as Remus pulls the knife out of his hand, settling it down beside the cutting board, as if he’s only noticed his company in this moment.
“Moony!” he brightens instantly, and then he’s pushing off and rounding the counter. Remus turns to him, and Sirius slips two fingers into his belt loops, tugging him into a smack of a kiss by his hips.
Remus laughs into it, smile breaking open on his face as he catches the back of Sirius’s neck and tugs him off, resting their foreheads together.
“Hé,” Sirius breathes loosely, and Remus returns the sentiment with a fond kiss.
“Hi,” he says, “you’re cooking?”
“Soup!” Sirius releases his trousers and steps back, radiating energy like he’s been cooped up inside all day. “It’s an excellent source of fiber, vitamins, minerals and flavor… according to the website I found the recipe on.” He counts the benefits on his fingers.
Resting his elbows on the counter, Remus bends forward and rests his mouth against two steepled fingers. “Uh-huh…”
“Plus it’s light on the stomach, and easy to swallow,” Sirius continues, making his way back around to where he was preparing carrots.
Remus cringes as he begins chopping - he’s slow and careful, but the slices come away uneven and sloppy. Better the carrots than his digits, though.
“And, um, the canned stuff is always mushy. And high in salt.. Salt isn’t good for headaches, apparently. Plus, you know what they say about homemade cooking, made with love, that kind’ve thing. Like a grandma’s cookies or whatever.”
“Have you ever had a grandmother make you cookies?” Remus asks, a bit at a loss.
Sirius’s face twists. “Well.. no. I’ve had Effie’s though, and they’re magic. Like actual, proper magic, you can’t help but feel better when you’ve had one. Maybe I should call Effie and ask her to…”
“Sirius, sweetheart,” Remus interrupts, albeit patiently.
Sirius shakes his head at his own idea. “You’re right, I wouldn’t ask her to drive here on a whim like that, and I wouldn’t want to leave Reg for that long to go get them… he could come, maybe?”
“An impromptu weekday road trip to the Potter’s for Effie’s magic cookies?” Remus chuckles, fully rubbing his lips now, staring incredulously. He’s forgot all about his ticking clock, his early bird catches the worm type of anxiety. He is the worm, waiting for Sirius to dig the point of his knife out of the dirt he tosses up with wild ideas.
“He’s sick,” Sirius finally says, shoulders slumping. “Reg, he’s, um… he’s sick.”
There it is, the look of helplessness on his face has a place in his history books, like he’s opened to the page in a cook-book.
“I haven’t seen him sick since he was a kid,” Sirius explains, settling the knife down.
“That must be hard,” Remus nods.
“I think I… maybe I over-did it un peu, huh,” Sirius looks around himself, looking startled. Seeming to really see the mess he’s made of the kitchen for the first time since he started cooking. Remus looks, too. Sees the odd assortment of cold medicine, tea towels and vapo-rub off to the side. Huffs a breath, amused and adoring of the soft place in Sirius’s heart for his little brother. Once so dark and heavy to carry, poor guy doesn’t know what to do with all of the care and affection he’s kept inside of himself for so long now that Regulus has waltzed back into his life and shined a light on it. Wrapped his arms around his waist and disbanded some of the burden. In fairness, that’s a little bit how Remus feels about James.
“I think that driving to the Potter’s for a batch of Euphemia’s cookies would be overdoing it,” Remus teases gently.
“What about my mum’s cookies?” James’s voice comes from behind him because, speak of the devil and all.
“They’re magic,” Sirius answers easily, which is good, because Remus was going to say the same thing, but his words caught in his throat when he looked over his shoulder.
James is leaning against the dining room table, ankles crossed as he buttons and rolls the cuff of his pressed white shirt, exposing a loose, dusty gold chain around his wrist. His shirt is tucked neatly into dark blue slacks, slim and pleated to hug the fit of his legs. His shoes shine… same as his skin which is dewy, clearly fresh from a shower. His hair, too, hangs in damp ringlets around his eyes, and on his nose he wears his glasses.
These dark-framed things, round and thin. James usually - always - opts for his contacts these days; a shame, if anyone asked Remus, not that he thinks he’s ever said that. But there they are on his face, making him look so smart.
Stealing Remus’s breath, and words, and attention. Coveting them, these easily attainable treasures.
James snorts at Sirius, looking up to shoot him a smile before his eyes slide over to Remus, the same relaxed expression on his face. Their eyes meet, magic happens. James glows like the sun - warm on his face, frying his brain.
“I was thinking of going and getting some for Reg, maybe,” Sirius sort of laughs at himself. It makes James laugh, too, breaking eye contact to shake his head.
“He’s just got a headache, Pads. That’s a tad dramatic.”
“Non, he’s proper sick, I’m making him soup.”
“You’re being a major mother hen. Worse than Rem, even.”
Remus straightens up at his mention, clearing his throat and finally tearing his eyes away from James - from the look of him, Jesus Christ - to turn and aim a gentle endorsem*nt to Sirius for his efforts. It’s sweet, really. How he’s over-reacting, how he cares. “I think he’ll appreciate the soup, mon cœur,” he says earnestly, “I’m going to go shower quickly.”
“For your date,” Sirius smiles broadly, and Remus rolls his eyes, willing his cheeks not to turn so bright pink as they feel. Sunburnt and obvious.
“I’ll be quick,” he says to the room, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes as he excuses himself.
He stops at Regulus’s room on his way down the hall - slips inside, sits on the end of the bed. He really does look a little worse for wear, quite pale and pouty, practically hiding underneath the covers.
“I look like sh*t, go away,” he whines, but Remus only laughs and rubs his hand over the lump that he assumes is his back.
“How’re you feeling, angel?”
“Sick,” he answers shortly - sounds a little dishonest, and rephrases, “my, uhm.. My head hurts.”
“Mm,” Remus hums, “your brother taking good care of you?”
After a moment of silence, Regulus sighs almost dreamily. Like he can’t quite believe it, like he likes it, like it is a dream. He grumpily pulls the covers down from his chin, lips pursed, and gives an embarrassed sounding, “Ouais, he.. Yes.”
“Good,” he winks, and a pretty spread of colour blooms around Regulus’s nose. His blue eyes shift between Remus and the door, slightly glassy, mostly tired, soft despite the gloom of his ‘headache’.
“Don’t you have a date to get ready for?”
“I do. I just wanted to see how you are first.. Took a lot out of you yesterday, did I?”
“You’re procrastinating,” Regulus deadpans knowingly. “Get out of here.”
“Little minx,” Remus laughs, but he gets up. Not the time for taking him over his knee when he’s not feeling well, and Remus does have places to be. He thinks about it, though, because maybe Regulus is right, and he is procrastinating a little.
Regulus calls for him when he’s at the door, and Remus turns around immediately - too quickly, honestly, too eager to be further delayed.
“Have fun,” is all he says, though, leaving Remus no reason to linger.
☾. ⋅ ⁀➴
“So,” James hedges from the passenger seat, rubbing his hands up and down over his thighs. “What did you need help with, Moons?”
Remus is just pulling out of the lot, and it’s the perfect time for James to ask. “Well, first I was hoping you could point me in the direction of whatever jewellry store you got Regulus’s adorable little flower bracelet from.”
James turns in his seat to look at him, eyebrows wrinkling as he gives a startled little laugh. “Oh, are we jewellry shopping?”
“Mhm,” Remus shoots him a smile, pulling up to an exit. “Left or right?”
“Right. The shop’s on the street near that little art supply store Sirius likes.”
“Perfect,” Remus turns right, merging easily with traffic. “That’s perfect.”
“Are we window shopping?” James guesses. “Or, do you know what you want?”
Remus licks his lips, tasting chapstick wax and toothpaste. Tonguing the flavour behind his teeth like he’s storing it for when he needs the distraction, because the words that come up are too thick, too much, and he has to say them and ruin his concentration. Safely away from other cars, he turns his head and meets James’s eyes.
The twinkle atop pretty blooms of a mayflower colour on the peaks of his cheeks, clearly caught staring.
“I know what I want,” Remus says chiefly. “But I could still use your help, love.”
“Sure, ‘course,” James shifts in his seat, and to lessen the intensity of the drive, Remus turns on the radio.
The shop is white-walled and thankfully still open. It’s got an elegant, purple sign in cursive script beside a cartoon picture of a diamond ring. When James leads him inside, with Remus holding the door open and slinging an arm around James after, the clerk behind the crystalline glass counters greets him like he knows him, friendly and warm.
At the counter, James speaks first to Remus, gesturing to the cages of bracelets in neat rows. “Are you going to tell me what you’re looking for now?” He’s playfully exasperated, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow.
Remus hums and lets his arm fall from James’s shoulders to dig inside of his pocket for the loose little heirloom he stuffed down there after his shower, gently folded in paper mache. At the same time, the clerk walks over to greet them. “Evening, is there anything I can help you gentlemen find this evening?” He’s shorter than the both of them, all pleasant in demeanour like he hasn’t spent all day in the shop. His name badge reads Manager and Remus squeezes his fist around the treasure.
“Yes, actually. Does your shop do ring replication?” He hears James’s breath catch, even feels him stiffen for a moment before he forces himself to relax.
“We do. The process does generally take a couple of months,” the man starts to list the intricacies of doing such a thing, the costs involved, the options available while he pulls out a case of display metals, and all the while the only thing that Remus can really focus on is the way that James leans closer, and closer still, hardly breathing.
“Is it a wedding band?” the man asks, and Remus finally holds up the thin band.
“Is it happening?” he whispers, and Remus shushes him gently - the irony of James listening isn’t lost on him.
“It is. Nothing too extravagant.. Just a braided Celtic knot, I’m sure you have options just like it, but.. This one has an inscription on the inside I would also like copied.”
“Of course, completely doable. One copy, sir?”
“Two, actually.”
“Two?” James’s head whips around, eyes widening.
Sheepishly, Remus shrugs one shoulder. “What sort of metal do you think Regulus would prefer?”
His boyfriend shuffles on his feet, mumbling, “He’s got your silver earrings. My white gold bracelet…”
“One in white gold, then,” Remus hands over the ring to the man behind the counter before turning fully to James. Holding his hand out to the case before them, all kinds of precious jewellery inside that the jeweller brought out of it’s glass, he asks, “And for you?”
“I- for me?”
“For your ring. Which metal? Something gold, maybe?” Remus avoids meeting his eye, staring down at the options. One jumps out at him immediately, but he waits. Wants to hear what James wants. Also… wants to hear the fawn in his voice for a little longer.
“My ring… I’m getting a ring?”
“Will you wear it?”
“Why are you giving one to me?”
Remus presses his smile thin, and with a little laugh finally reaches for him.
“I’ll leave you two to have a think on it while I start to ring up the ring replications for this one,” the jeweller nods and buggers off quickly to the other side of the store, leaving Remus free to pull James in with a hand circling his wrist.
“James? Would you wear it if I put a ring on your finger?” This is possibly the part of his errand he’d been nervous for. Things with James are so confusing, old and new and fresh and everlasting all at once. Like something young they’re nurturing and also something permanent.. Family, but the kind that sticks.
“Like a promise ring?”
“More significant than that, but sure.”
James’s chest rises and falls - the kind of flailing Remus sees him do when he’s enamoured and it’s aimed at him, bright and invigorating. “I.. yes, you.. You must know I would.”
“I do now,” Remus says softly between them - because it’s been spoken, he doesn’t add, but just like everything that is upside down and different with James, he realizes suddenly that he did need the words. That the confirmation is what Remus needed to hear, not his preference in metal.. That, Remus already has his heart set on, sitting flush in a black velvet display case.
“Whose ring is that? The original?” James glances over to the register, eyes on the precious silver ring.
Remus brings him closer still, this conversation one for pillow tops and dark corners, but necessary under the bright white lighting of the jewellry store. He could’ve said sooner, but.. He wanted to see James’s face when he realizes. Wanted it to be a surprise. So he didn’t do it in bed, or in the car, or under the cover of the falling sky before they walked into the shop. He’s doing it where he can see.
“It was my mother’s. Her name was Hope… I never really got the chance to know her.” James’s fingers brush up his wrists, having cupped both his hands to have this serious conversation. Remus’s muscles twitch underneath the gentle stroking. “But I see her all the time now, in the little things,” he says, much lighter. “Thanks to each of you.”
“Your mother?” James’s head tips preciously.
“Hope,” Remus corrects, and feels James’s fingers tighten around his arms for a moment. He smiles feebly, feeling overly saccharine, and steps back, plucking up a rose-gold ring from the display. “So, if you’ll wear one.. I’d like each of you to have something to symbolise that.”
James makes a sound at the back of his throat, like for once James Potter is out of words, and Remus revels in the pride that feeling blooms in his chest as he turns, and takes the second metal option up to the jeweller to confirm it.
James follows after him and is mostly quiet as they finish up. But his hand takes Remus’s - the one he doesn’t need to sign his name on the forms - and it doesn’t leave it. Remus squeezes it here or there, glances over and shoots him loving looks.
Leans in at one point when the jeweller disappears into the back to press praise to his ear. “You’re being so patient for me, love. Good boy.” Which earns him a shove, making him laugh, and James laughs too.
“That may work on our boys, Remus Lupin,” he warns, catching his waist and pressing their chests together. Remus freezes as his lips skim his jaw, all but his free hand, which slides up James’s spine. Into his ear, James whispers huskily, “But not me.”
“You don’t want the praise?” Remus leans in to steal a kiss - an indecent one for a shop front, but there’s only the passersby outside to view it.
“I want to strong-arm you into the alley after this.” James’s eyebrows jump, his smile taking on a crooked quality.
“sh*t,” Remus half-barks a breathy laugh. He’s tempted, so f*cking tempted to let him. To mix their strengths between the brick walls and see which crumbles first. His co*ck even gives a kick in his pants at the idea of it - of ripping a couple of buttons off of James’s pressed shirt, testing to see if it goes see-through with sweat. But.. “No, no, we can’t do that.”
“Why not?” James presses closer - teeth skim Remus’s ear before Remus loses a modicum of his composure, reaching up to rip James back by his curls before he gives in.
That’s how little strength he has. The first fracture would be Remus agreeing, and then it’d be him on his knees and, “I’d have to take you home before our date even started.”
“Heh..” It’s more of a rumble than a laugh, amused and sweetly falling from James’s lips as he turns his chin to get out of Remus’s hold. “Fine. Fine… I’ll be good a little while longer,” he teases.
They break apart quickly when the jeweller comes back to finish up - but not far, and one more signature and a card swipe later, they’re leaving the shop.
Over the ding of the bell above the door, James asks, “Are you going to propose to him with it?”
“That’s the plan.” However queasy and nervous it makes him feel… Sirius told him to, and it’s time for them. He licks around for that remaining toothpaste taste, unable to gauge how that might make James feel.
But James only cracks another smile - and it does touch his eyes, so Remus doesn’t worry. He’s even joking when his follow up question is whispered and secretive, “So… it’s kind of like you’re asking us too, right? With the rings meant for us?” When Remus only narrows his eyes at him, playfully and suggestive, James rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell Regulus. He might have an aneurysm… or it might take you, like, several tries to get the blasted thing on his finger, and honestly Moony, it’s not fair if you figuratively marry him before I even get a yes.”
Like his yes is a foregone conclusion.
Remus catches up to him with large steps when James energetically bounds ahead of him, slinging his arms over his shoulders and pulling him back against his chest. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Not an alley to snog like teenagers apparently.”
“Don’t pout, sunshine,” Remus smacks a kiss against his cheek, following where James’s eyes linger at a brightly lit bar with the picture of pinball machines on its window. “We’ve got tickets for a show at eight.”
“That’s.. An hour and a half from now. What was your plan for in between?”
Remus hangs his chin on his shoulder, nuzzling him gently, hugging him from behind. Relaxed, he identifies the feeling of his bones settling, his heartbeat calming, excitement easy and bubbling in his stomach, like when Sirius first started letting him take him out. He’s thirsty, too, could go for a beer. Something cheap and silly like you really buy on a first date with someone, because if it goes bad you don’t want to have wasted big money on drinks.
“I didn’t have one,” he answers honestly. “I just knew something fun would catch your eye. Want to get your arse beat at pinball, James?”
“Loser buys chips?”
Remus chuckles and pushes him forward, landing a light tap on his arse after, “Yeah alright. Hope you brought your wallet.”
James turns to walk backwards, winking playfully. “I didn’t,” he jeers, tapping his pocket obviously.
Playing pinball and then drinking a beer over chips with James - the very cheeky winner of their best of out of three matches - is surprisingly easy. Not that Remus thought it would be hard, but not having one of their boys - namely, Sirius - to buffer some of their differences was an honest worry. They could get on in their home, but could they date?
Could they be romantic and affectionate and hold conversation that wasn’t stilted when the context was you are mine for the night and vice versa? These are things Remus didn’t know for sure, along with the small things he learns as they ask questions back and forth. Some stuff about James he knew, and some stuff James knew about him, but the real fun is in the questions they’ve never asked each other before.
Remus can’t believe he hasn’t, he just.. Assumed he knew a lot of these things. It turns out that he didn’t know that James brought his own lunches to school, or that he had his first kiss in year seven, or even what he went to university for, only that he’d gone.
And James apparently didn’t know that the records on their wall were mostly Remus’s collection, not Sirius’s. He didn’t know that Remus hates rolly pollies with a passion, or that he’s allergic to a lot of antibiotics.
James knows a lot about love languages… spells them all out for Remus while he dips his chips into sauce. Tomato - while Remus is staunchly a garlic aioli man. Remus asks him what he thinks his love language is and James just smirks like, isn’t it obvious?
But it isn’t, not to him. He finds it confusing overall - how he’s supposed to understand which ‘language’ he values most in a relationship when they all seem so important to him. Quality time like they’re spending together right now, acts of service obviously, gifts, he’s covered that tonight, too.. Physical touch - that one has Remus moving in to press his lips to James’s cheek.. His chin… his throat. He hopes James can feel how important they are, despite how soft and short. The I love you’s on his lips when he can’t say them.
“Is this how you won Regulus over?” Remus retreats and bites down on a chip, just to have something to do with his mouth that isn’t devouring James where he’s bitter with cologne. “Catered to his love language?”
“That was perseverance.. His love language is sharp.” James makes a face like he’s similarly pained and smitten. The same kind like when he came home proclaiming this man he’d fallen head over heels for hated him and it brings another of many, many of the night's smiles to his face.
“You hungry for more than chips, love?” Remus wonders. Just wants to get him alone in a quiet little spot, and, “I could use a break from all the lights before the show.”
They’ve not got very long, maybe only half an hour, but they find a small joint a couple places down with elevator music on really low and window booths, romantic and quiet and empty. A little slice of privacy between budding nightlife. James scans the menu and then orders for them, and Remus lets him because he isn’t even really that hungry.
Not that kind of hungry, anyway. It’s a treat to watch the way James’s body moves underneath his clothing as he orders at the counter. Makes his mouth water.
When James sits down across from him, their knees knock underneath the table, and James makes it worse by stretching out, making a home for his feet directly below where Remus’s shoulders rest over the table edge.
“Have I told you how bloody well you clean up?” His voice is wrecked, even to his own ears. James pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, clearly a little flustered by the sudden compliment. But his eyes are dark, expanded from the middle out and heavily lidded when they run down the length of Remus’s collar like a touch, which is open several buttons too many because Sirius caught him after his shower and unstraightened everything he’d done to get ready. Messed up his hair, rolled his sleeves, kissed him on the cheek and told him to go get laid.
“You shouldn’t,” James says ominously, just as a boy behind the counter calls their number. He puts the receipt on the table in front of Remus, leaning over it as he stands. “Or else we’ll never make it to that show, Moons.”
That feels less important to him than it sounds to James now.. But he sits and he wants and he waits, all the same. The things Remus wants to do to him would require more than a flimsy bathroom stall, anyway.
They eat quietly, and when they’re nearly finished with their food, a little old woman approaches their table. She’s got a milkshake in hand, pink and overflowing with whipped cream and topped with a maraschino cherry. Her hair is wild and her motive incomprehensible as she asks in a croaky voice, “Neither of you lovebirds is allergic to strawberries, are ya?”
She’s got an American accent, and knowledge in her eyes. Looks a little like Pandora.. Sounds a little like her, too. It’s odd.
“No ma’am?” Remus poses it like a question while James eyes the offering, mouth gone tight.
“For the two of you to share, then,” she smiles and that, at least, is as kind as the gesture. She sets the milkshake down between them on the table, a straw pointed towards them each before disappearing into the back again. Even the young man at the register backs up, seems to give them privacy.
Like the world falls away around them.
Like fate is telling them to lean in, like, “A redo,” James breathes out, doesn’t take another in until he lifts his eyes to meet Remus’s.
He looks amused, almost… hopeful.
Remus recalls the very last time they shared a shake together - how precarious that entire weekend was. The catalyst for a great shift. They both lean in, slow as a watched pot when you’re waiting for it to boil, with nothing but their heartbeats and soft tunes which, in this moment, feel dedicated to new beginnings.
Their mouths touch their straws in tandem, throats working to bring up a flower of fruit flavoured redemption.
Sickeningly sweet strawberry cream bursts on his tongue as it spills from the straw, the cold a shocking contrast to the warm honey in James’s eyes - a new understanding.
Earth, Regulus calls James, because he’s solid ground, though they’ve discovered he has a natural propensity to shake, and keep shaking once the tremors start.
Sunshine, he earned the title for being bright, until he’s one with the rain dripping from his tear ducts, creating a pool of it at his feet.
Sometimes, he buzzes, and something inside of him syphons that syrupy amber clarity from his eyes like his body is a hive, cavernous and capable of great swarms of feeling which he tempers so that no one is scared by the violence ready to burst from him.
He is as much a thrashing storm as he is a heatwave - swinging between extremes on a breeze.
And he is beautiful. Almost painfully so. Remus’s chest aches from the revelation that he’s not a celestial body, but a season. A God of a season trapped inside of the shape of men. A spring awakening.
An equinox, a rarity where day and night are almost equal.
Swallowing another mouthful of milkshake feels like growth, pollinated by James’s birdsong hum of enjoyment. Sharing it feels like planting seeds - and Remus feels so damn optimistic about what might grow from this love.
Ripped open, bleeding to reveal space that has always been there, engorged with fluid to make up for the emptiness of it otherwise, so that he couldn’t feel the need and burn a tree from its roots with indulgence all bright and fiery and obvious.
He’ll drink from those roots instead. Slots his foot between James’s, meets his eyes while they sip. While they grow. This silence is more filled up with knowing then their conversations. More bare. Indefinitely more honest. All of the answers and none of the words. And harder, too.
To see and be seen.
Remus doesn’t necessarily always make eye contact when he’s supposed to, but he does it when it counts. That’s important to him. This is important to him. James is important to him. And his eyes are open now.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?” James wipes at his mouth, a charm to his sheepishness.
“Like what?” Remus wonders what his face is doing while his stomach flutters with butterflies. He sounds like he’s puffed from chasing that feeling.
With a huff, James’s eyes narrow on his face, and after an indelicate inspection of his features, he goes all smooth. Sits back, tugging on the top button of his collar. Looks around - there’s been no one but them this whole time, but still he checks. And then he tips his head, and that charm magnifies, until those butterflies in Remus’s stomach are burning under the intensity of it.
Simmering between his suddenly clenched thighs.
Sharpening his senses.
“Like this,” James purrs, sultry and impish, “like you want to eat me.”
“Am I the big, bad wolf, Jamie?”
Vicious and hungry. Except… Remus wants to take him apart kindly. Wants to destroy him with the intention to rebuild - in the shape of a home.
James smirks, toothy and predatory and alluring - Remus can’t help but lean forward when James does, bringing their faces as close as they can over the table between them, hovering above their half-finished strawberry milkshake.
Can’t help but want to get bit.
“I don’t know, baby,” his eyes drop, and Remus’s heart gives a firm little kick in his chest. With a pleased croon, James warns, “You’re the one in red.”
After letting out a staggering breath, Remus sits back, knocking his knuckles on the edge of the table before rubbing the back of his flaming neck. “Too right,” he allows, and James beams.
They’re incorrigibly flirty for the rest of the night. Handsy, even, James shoves his hand deep into Remus’s pocket when they’re standing in line for drinks at the show, pulls out his keys and says, “I’ll drive us home, you get another beer.”
Remus catches James by the hips as he’s trying to press by to take his seat on the other side of him, tugging him firmly into his lap. Spreads his legs even, heavy palms around his thighs, fingers dipping low. “Careful,” he chuckles, as if James was being clumsy, and mouths behind his ear where he’s flushed.
A line-up of comedians come on, one after another; some are good, and they laugh. Some are terrible and they laugh even harder. James’s arm finds its way around Remus’s shoulders - they play footsie like teenagers, sat together in stiff seats in the dark.
James ruins the innocent air of it when, during the intermission, he leans into Remus’s neck and breathes in deeply. “God, you smell good.” It’s as if he’s tortured by it - Remus wants to torture him more, but the lights dim and the intermission ends as the seats fill back up around them.
“That,” James is laughing breathlessly as they exit the little theatre, “was brilliant. So good. I had my doubts when you said the theme was dad jokes, but-”
“My options were limited for a Monday night!” Remus shoves James off of his shoulder, defensive and laughing.
James comes right back in, turning to swat at his chest and practically walking backwards again as he grins at Remus. “Well, whose bright idea was it to ask me out on a Monday night, huh?”
“Shut up,” Remus grizzles playfully, catching James’s arms when he stumbles.
“I would tell you to make me but it’s past your curfew, isn’t it, old man?” James kisses him like it’s easy. Like it’s good, and plain, and they’re just two men happy and in love with no cares, coming off of a jovial high together. Like they just are.
“I’m hardly any older than you.” He spins James around, pushing him along down the street.
James turns to grin over his shoulder. “Really? Seems like you’ve got years…”
Remus rolls his eyes, but the smile never leaves his face. They round the corner to the side street where Remus has parked, his car shining directly under the street light in front of them. “You know when my birthday is. It’s just all the experience.”
James comes to a sudden halt in front of him, hard and rigid as Remus smacks directly into him. With a huff, his arm encircles James’s waist on instinct to keep him from tumbling forward.
Shifting so that his shoulder nudges Remus’s, he wonders darkly, “You gonna f*ck me with all that experience, Remus?”
“Oh,” Remus chuckles, “you’re asking for it.”
James bats his lashes, clearly more serious than Remus had realized, because his voice drops. “Yeah, I am.”
“Hmm…” Remus tugs him closer to bury his nose in James’s hair for a moment before he takes the permission with pride and forces James forward with his knees, until they’re close enough to his car to bend him over the hood of it.
He isn’t exactly gentle, but then… when has James ever asked him to be?
After settling his feet on either side of James’s and securing him on his belly with a strong hand at the base of his spine, Remus adds his weight to his arm, bending over him to murmur against the shell of his ear, “Are you going to be quiet for me?”
James tries to arch his back, test his strength, but Remus doesn’t let him go anywhere. Seemingly satisfied that he’s trapped for the moment, James rests his cheek against the hood, his glasses pinching his nose and laying askew, and asks curiously, “Do you want me to be?”
“Ha-” Remus’s hand slides slowly up his spine. “No… which is why I’m not going to take you apart over the hood of my car. But I want you to know that I’m tempted, and that I could.”
“How would you do it?” James whispers, raising up on his toes to press his arse more firmly against Remus’s thighs.
Remus nips at his ear, sure that James can feel the smirk on his face. Where his hand stops between his shoulder blades, Remus adds pressure to the heel of his hand. His other, still firmly locked around his waist, he drops to cup him as he growls, “Roughly. I would push my hand inside of your pants and make just enough room to be sure you still choke on my name when I enter you. I’d only pull your pants down so far as the curve of your swell arse, James, and I wouldn’t even unbuckle my belt. I’d just pull down my fly, and rock this car with my hips until you were making engine sounds…”
James shudders underneath him, hips rolling into Remus’s hold like he can’t help it. He feels good in his hand, already hard and a little bit desperate in that adorable way that has James’s eyes rounding out before they close; faux display as soft prey to lure you in so that he can consume you.
“And I have no doubt that the second I’m weak in the knees, you’d want in my shoes. That there’d be some kind of struggle, and no one would come to save either of us because of the groaning, wet sounds, all the kissing…”
“f*ck,” James strangles a startled laugh, ties it off with the sound of a moan forming deep in his throat.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d f*ck you so good. Untuck your shirt, probably stain your fancy slacks… make an absolute mess of this dapper, tight little outfit you put on for me. Have I told you yet how f*cking wildly attractive you are, James? But when you dress up like this? f*ck… God help me, I don’t want to ruin it and I do.”
“Ruin it. f*ck, do it, Moony. You want to, come on…”
“Just as desperate for it as I am,” Remus hums, awestricken and weak. Not that weak, though. Not yet. “But, no. I’m going to be a proper gentlemen and get you to the door before I get my lips on you again, because I won’t stop when I do. We’re going to finish out this date like it’s a first, like we’re not both raging for a shag. I’m gonna do this one thing right.” James makes a sound like it hurts when Remus squeezes his co*ck in his hand. “You got that, huh? If I let you up, am I gonna have to wrestle you back down again because you just can’t help yourself?”
The grit of teeth and a sound that’s neither agreement or refusal is all that he gets, but the acknowledgement is all he wanted from James anyway. Not his obedience. He can be okay with James being other - and he tugs him up, giving him another good squeeze before letting him go with a flourish and pushing him towards the driver’s side.
“Take me home, lovebird,” he orders teasingly.
James’s shoulders go tight - his whole body, in fact, and for one fleeting moment Remus’s heart stops, thinking maybe he has ruined it.
But then James is spinning around and fisting the front of Remus’s shirt, tugging him in and getting right in his face to all but whines, “Kiss me. Kiss me, please.”
“What did I just say?” Remus stills him by his arms, looking between his eyes which have been blown wide. Gone wild. “I’m not going to kiss you again until-”
“Just once,” James sounds almost frantic, moving impossibly closer. Remus’s hand moves to cup the back of his head, startled and confused by the sudden insistence. The obvious, visceral need. “Just one, please, kiss me.”
“sh*t,” Remus laughs. He doesn’t really understand what’s just happened, whatever switch has flipped in James, but there’s no fighting that look in his eyes. It isn’t testing or warring, it’s just want - and Remus is made helpless by it, so he starts to lean in, give in. “Fine, fine. Just one.”
It’s a long one, locking lips practically in the middle of the street - and it’s an even longer drive home after they finally part from it, both of them panting.
The tension between them in the elevator is thick enough to be cut with a knife - to be bitten through with sharp teeth - to be swallowed dry like pills. Remus and James stand side by side, their fingertips brushing, and it is somehow miles more crude than even him ordering Regulus to strip inside of the little glass cage, the way they wait like animals leashed only by Remus’s resolve.
It certainly isn’t James’s restraint they adhere to - they would have combusted on the side of the street had he had his way, had he worked his hands inside of Remus’s shirt and the two of them would have been done for right then. Damned to public displays of indecency.
“Home sweet home…” Remus unlocks their front door from behind James, who’s pressed his back up against it. His lean opens it up, and Remus walks him backwards to open it the rest of the way, until James is trapped against the door, trapped against the wall.
The apartment is quiet and dark beyond them.
“I had a good time tonight,” James says, almost softly. Sweet edge - he’s playing, a little, but the honesty is there.
Remus raises his chin with a crooked knuckle, “So did I…”
“Are you going to kiss me now?” His lips are already parted, open, peonies in bloom.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Remus confirms, and the first is soft. Petal soft. One of his.
Floral and light - love infused. James looks high off of it, and then the second kiss is a hit. The smack of lips, hands clenching, feet scraping against the floor as the second becomes a third, a fourth, they start stripping off their clothing right there in the foyer, trading backs to walls.
James walks him backwards, shuts the door with a blind kick and pins Remus with his hands running up his shirt. “Can I?” He asks between kisses, already fingering the buttons. Remus groans a yes against his mouth, proud his voice doesn’t break when the first button does - free. Pops right off - department store cheap - and slides across the floor as James tears his shirt open, tears his heart open, dropping his mouth to claim him directly over it.
“I really liked this shirt,” James is mournful as he pushes the ruined placket apart below his mouth, but it doesn’t stop him from destroying it, and more buttons go flying down to an unmarked grave on the floor.
Fingertips skim his ribs, he feels his own muscles jump underneath the searching touch and quickly tugs James back up to his lips, needing his mouth like he needs air. “I’ll buy another one,” he exhales, and pulls him in.
Kisses him hard - is far more meticulous with James’s button up, spinning them around and thumbing the buttons through their holes and pinning each of his wrists to undo the cufflinks with his teeth. Once it’s loose, he’s free to tug it from his pants, and there’s something all consuming about the way it falls to the ground, quickly followed by the rest of their clothing.
James pushes against his navel and Remus bounces on each heel to tear off his shoes while he orders, asks, begs James to, “Take off your f*cking trousers.”
He’s unable to wait any longer. James toes off his shoes while he rips his fly open in record time, and they race to strip down to their pants, coming back together in explosive groans as their hands run all over each other. Remus doesn’t know which of them guides their frenzy over to the couch, but he’s shoved into the seat and getting a lap full all the same.
James spreads his knees and sinks against Remus’s thighs, sitting tall before a backdrop of twinkling terrace lights, but only until Remus drags him in, kissing him, kissing him.
Hardly stops kissing him. James is the first to dip his hand into Remus’s underwear and touch him, more questions of permission on his tongue, and Remus follows, gets James in his hand and thrills as they push their heads together, swapping what already leaks from their hard co*cks.
Remus feels like he’s been hard all night and knows he’s going to come embarrassingly quick and he wouldn’t normally let himself, is the thing. He sort’ve feels like they should savour this. But James has his hand flying determinedly between them, and it feels so good that all Remus can do is hang his forehead against James’s chest and hug his body closer. Feel the heat of him, come undone with a long groan and a flustered, “f*ck, James, f*ck, your hand-”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you baby, come on, come for me.” James has his head turned in, guides Remus’s mouth up again and Remus goes, malleable and open-mouthed into a kiss while his pleasure crests.
When James’s spend covered hand falters too soon, Remus wraps his fingers around it and guides him to continue, using James’s hand to work himself through his org*sm until there’s no chance of him going soft. Wants to stay hard, wants to ache for him, and realizes once he’s there how his hand on James has stilled, because James is carefully working his hips, grinding into the clutch with patient desire.
“Mmf,” Remus groans humidly, sensitivity making him clench both hands.
James gasps, this shaky noise of entertained angst. “You feeling good, Remus? Where’s my thank you, huh? Not like you to forget your manners.”
And of course, he’s right.
So Remus grabs his hips in both his hands - one of them sticky, slipping - and with a grunt he hoists James up, throwing him down onto the couch beside him. James lands with a squawk of surprise, fists ripped off of Remus in the process.
Kneeling down between his spread ankles, Remus curls over him, unable to resist getting the stiff length of him into his mouth after taking one look at James, curls and glasses astray and body laid out and stomach dripping his come.
James’s hands fly up into his hair, his mouth parting on a gasp. “Remus, oh-”
Remus hums around the head of him, his tongue a flat pressure against his veins. No teasing involved, he sinks, taking James’s co*ck to the root with nothing more than the soft constriction of his unprepared throat.
His co*ck feels so good in his mouth. Even better when it jumps on his tongue. Little kick - testing his hollow cheeks. James must find them sufficiently tight, because his back bows and his hips press up while Remus’s nose presses down.
“sh*t,” James tugs on his hair, and he comes back up swallowing a mouthful of spit around his shaft, “I’m going to come so fast if you keep that up.”
Remus doesn’t meet his eyes - doesn’t need to, because James pushes him back down and he knows what he wants. Knows how to give it to him. He’s efficient, if not a little sloppy, taking his time tasting his own release mixing with the excited surges of James’s, letting it drip from his lips only to chase it down with his tongue, and beat it to the base of him.
Gets mouthfuls of it. More than his share. Wants to share - like the milkshakes. He pulls off with an audible pop, letting James’s co*ck bounce against his messy stomach while he noses up underneath his balls, dipping his taste buds between his cheeks just to wet it, at first, but then to taste there, too.
People would pay good f*cking money to put any part - all of - James Potter in their mouth.
Remus would pay.
But Remus doesn’t have to - and he knows he’s so f*cking lucky. But he thinks James is a little lucky too.. Because Remus knows how to use his fingers. How to tease his hole just right - has spent many nights cupping his ass cheeks and dipping his fingers between them, fondling to work James up to a blow that shakes him to his core.
James is panting his pleases voicelessly by the times Remus stretches out over him. He gets his free hand back on James’s co*ck and pulls, makes him mewl right into his mouth. James’s hips come up off the couch when the pads of his fingers press.. Press inside.
“Thank you,” Remus huffs, sliding inside of him with one carefully crooked finger.
James laughs, nearly delirious, jerking his face down and causing their foreheads to smart, but it doesn’t matter. He’s so close that Remus can taste it. Him. His breath heats his face and his body strains with a release just a pump or two away - further still, he tightens right up, clenches down on Remus’s finger when he squeezes the org*sm off where it was growing, by his balls.
“N-no, no, f*ck-” James stresses, out of his whits.
“What did I say at the car, Jamie?” He coos, loves the way James shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it.
“What?” His hips move, but it earns him nothing.
Nothing, not until Remus resumes stroking him. “At the car, sweetheart, darling - f*ck, you’re so hot - what did I say, huh?”
“That-” he cuts himself off with a moan, “huh- that you wanted to ruin my clothes?”
“Close,” Remus growls, leaning down to dig his teeth into the soft spot at the base of his neck. “So f*cking close Jamie. Try again. What did I say?”
“f*ck - Remus, please. Please…” He’s right back to trembling on the edge, right where Remus wants him when he curls his finger up.
James makes this noise, f*ck, this beautiful, god forsaken noise that comes all the way up with his body when he digs his heel into the couch cushion and pushes, like he could fight the arm of the couch to be saved from the shock of bliss inside of him.
“That’s it,” Remus moves his mouth back to James’s jaw, finding his lips amongst the wreckage of sounds, using them as a guide because his eyes are blind to anything but how remarkable the shape of his mouth hung open like this is. “That’s it, that’s what I want to hear. Sing for me, lovebird.”
James comes in a hot gush over Remus’s hastened hand, filling up Remus’s lungs with a long lasting groan. Planting his pleasure deep, spreading some of that buzz, grinding himself down into Remus’s hands through it, like it’s mind blowing and he never wants it to stop.
Remus doesn’t either, and takes the long route to clean up, choosing to first release James’s co*ck to press his own against the softening shaft and glide through the spill, sowing pleasure for as long as it lasts before they’re both holding onto each other, trembling from oversensitivity.
James is smiling stupidly when he opens his eyes - a smile Remus can assume by the look of it that he’s matching.
“I think you should take people on Monday night dates more often.”
Remus snorts a laugh that shakes his shoulders. “People?”
“Me. You should take me on more Monday night dates…” James cards his fingers through Remus’s hair.
“Might’ve just found the world’s solution to dreading Mondays,” Remus laughs plainly, feeling light.. But also feeling sticky, now. He gets up to go get a tea towel, meanwhile James lounges, looking wrecked. It’s a good look for him - even from the kitchen.
Over the running tap James sighs loudly, “Nah, the world doesn’t get this, Moons.”
“No, they don’t,” Remus agrees, and then wrings out the warm towel and saunters back over, wiping James clean first. Pressing his hand over his heart as he does, feeling it beat against his palm. The world doesn’t get this. Just him right now. James murmurs a pleasant thank you, gets a look which means good boy in return and even though Remus doesn’t say it, only thinks it, James throws his head back with childish chagrin anyway, until Remus kisses away the pout before standing and cleaning himself.
“What’s the time?” Remus wonders aloud, and James turns onto his side, answering with a cheeky wink.
“Why, want another round?”
“Some of us need to sleep.” He can’t help that he’d go for one if James pushed it, though, and he thinks - no, he knows - they both know it.
“Old man. You don’t want a nightcap first?”
That he’ll definitely go for. They pour drinks, two fingers worth of good sh*t, light and easy to swallow, though they both do so slowly, sitting side by side. All that’s missing is the fire, which neither of them get up to light, but it’s still romantic without it.
It’s still the two of them in the dark, relaxed and slowly getting drowsy.
“I’m just going to wash up,” Remus says eventually, when his glass has been sitting empty on his knee for a while. It’s time, whether he’s ready or not. “Are you coming?”
“Soon, need a fresh pair of boxers.” James gives him an unworried smile, takes the kiss when Remus plants one on his lips.
Remus leaves him there on the couch, heading to his own room for a change as well. But first he stops just outside of Regulus’s door, peeking in. He finds the brothers in bed, Sirius curled up around Regulus, who’s only visible by his slim ankles. The room is still, and their breathing even, so content that their loud antics in the lounge didn’t disturb them, Remus shuts the door all of the way.
He isn’t in his room for long - just long enough to dawn sleep pants and brush his hands through his hair a few times before messing it up the way Sirius likes - before he’s popping one of Sirius’s stray mints in his mouth and padding his way back down the dark hall, emboldened by the sharp sweet.
His way is lit only by James’s light, streaming out through his half-open door.
His way is lit only by James.
At his door, Remus leans against it, folding his arms over his chest as he watches James wrestle his underwear down to his ankles. He turns as he pulls up a new pair, face untwisting and smile growing automatically - the fresh, organic kind.
“Hey, sorry, I’ll come to bed in a-” he tapers off as Remus steps into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Take your time, I’m enjoying the view,” Remus shrugs, willing himself to sound confident and unbothered. He doesn’t want to look uncomfortable, even if he is, a little. Which is silly, he used to sleep in Sirius’s bed all the time when he stayed the night at their flat. Still, this… he pulls back James’s covers, surprised that it’s made honestly, and climbs into the bed, pushing his long limbs out and making himself comfortable on his side.
With a yawn, and because James is standing there staring at him like he doesn’t know quite what to do, or say, stuck with his drawers half up his thighs and his jaw down so far it might touch the waistband of them, he adds, “Turn the light off when you do, yeah?”
“You… We’re gonna sleep in here?”
Remus props his head up on his hand, eyebrow raised. “There something wrong with your bed?”
“No,” he answers hurriedly, tugging his pants up the rest of the way. “No, no, it’s a great bed. Comfy. Enough room for.. Yeah, no, that’s—”
“James,” Remus can’t help but tease. “Did you pull your knickers too far up your arse or something? Come to bed with me, darling.”
“Right, yeah,” James startles out of his… startle, and once the light is off he makes his way over to the bed.
He lays down on his back at first, and f*ck why is this so awkward? Remus wraps him up in his arms and turns him onto his side to face him, this position at least familiar. It’s sort’ve their position - the one they either start in for pleasure or turn into for comfort in their sleep.
Tonight is as good as any to start in it for comfort, Remus decides, and tangles their legs together with the aid of James, who takes the hint and scoots indefinitely closer. Limbs locked and lips close, James asks, “Did you check on-” at the same time as Remus starts, “The boys are-” and the two of them giggle. Giggle, like kids.
“Yeah,” Remus says when they settle, eyes already heavy and closing. “Yeah, they’re asleep in Reg’s room.”
“Good. That’s good.” James breathes, but he doesn’t quite relax. Very much so still awake, Remus can feel it in the stiff lines of his body.
Several minutes later he sighs, “Something on your mind, James?”
Shyly, his boyfriend shrugs. He’s clearly got a bug under his skin… one Remus knows how to take care of. Wants to take care of - this bit of normalcy under the covers, due after the night of new things to replace the old.
“Turn around for me, darling?”
“Sure, I’m sorry,” James whispers back, already shuffling around to give him his back, even making room between them.
With a hand around his thigh, Remus drags him backwards until his hips are flush around James’s backside. With his fingers already pushing into the thin pouch around his soft co*ck, Remus noses a gentle reproach just below his ears. “No apologies… I just want to touch you.” He frames it selfishly, and James is mollified by the desire. His legs spread, and he shivers.
“Again?” James breathes out, head falling back on a soft, sensitive moan. His voice is smaller in the dark.
“Again,” Remus massages his shaft into hardness in his palm, “and again, and again… for however long you’ll let me.”
“Forever.”
“Sure, Jamie, darling-”
“Lovebird.”
Remus’s chest rumbles with a fond chuckle that he doesn’t let loose from his ribcage - tied to the beat of his heart. “Sure, lovebird. Forever… or, just until you fall asleep for me, hm?”
