Reflections

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The floorboards creak as Sirius steps over them, a wicked determination flashing in his eyes. He looks at Remus as he moves, stepping closer to James, kissing the other Gryffindor languidly, with eyes open. Remus doesn’t know what to do, but then, he never does; He just lets the two of them lead, it’s better that way.

James hisses something under his breath as their lips part and Sirius snickers. Remus has never tried to understand what secrets they share in these looks, and whispers. He is just here, because they want him here, not for who he is but for what he does for them.

Remus feels like glue. Like he’s the glue holding them together. If he wasn’t there, they’d still be together, lying neatly on top of each other like two pieces of parchment. He only draws them closer.

He’s often wondered what he thinks about that, about being there but not really there. Sometimes, with his eyes shut tightly and muscles clenching, he can imagine that they want him there, that it is about him and not them, that he is a part of them, and not just a fleeting way to fill the space.

James fucks him hard and good and whispers promises against the back of his neck but he knows they’re never meant for him. He moves like Remus is a part of him, but only so that he can fuck Sirius, fuck him through Remus’ gangly limbs. James moves for both of them; Remus is just a tool.

When James presses up against Sirius’ body, through Remus, the other Gryffindor is trapped. The dripping plaster snakes out behind Sirius’ back in warped twisting patterns of cracks and lines – disintegration spiraling out behind Sirius’ dark hair. James thrusts into Remus hard, forcing him into Sirius. It is just a cycle, just a means to an end, and when Sirius cries out for James, Remus wills his ears not to listen. They move in tandem, Sirius and James, pressing against Remus as though they believe they can press through him and reach each other. They are fucking each other; Remus is nothing but space between.

Remus can feel Sirius’ thighs pressing hot and tight around him, as he thrusts into the other Gryffindor, watching his face twist and contort into ecstasy and feeling that he feels certain he is causing. It is his cock that is moving in and out of Sirius’ arse; but when Sirius looks at him, for only a second, it’s as though the boy doesn’t even see him.

It’s funny when Remus looks at Sirius he can see James reflected in Sirius’ eyes. A series of light refractions, the lenses of James’ glasses glinting off those grey irises. It’s always James in there. Remus never sees his own honey brown staring back at him.

And each time Sirius presses so close to him, Remus hopes that he will feel lips over his own, but then that beautiful neck cranes to the side and he hears a smacking sound out of his left ear as James and Sirius kiss, hard and recklessly and desperately. He’s sure they know he’s listening; how could they not, and he’s sure they tongue more loudly than usual, just for him.

Remus feels like his chest is compressing, getting infinitely smaller with each ragged thrust. He gets short of breath, and is sure he’s moaning out profanities, and probably confessing half a dozen secrets. But James and Sirius don’t seem to notice; they’re too fixated on each other, licking each other’s lips and gasping and smirking and groaning for each other. Never for Remus.

Sirius clings desperately to Remus’ shoulders, the rocking motions growing faster and more insistent.

“Fuck,” Sirius gasps hard as he comes. And for the first time that night, he’s looking directly into Remus’ eyes. And Remus sees himself reflect in them, for just a second.

Remus follows, coming silently into Sirius; something about that stare takes his voice from him. He can’t speak. He can only pant heavily and try to steady himself. They are still rocking together, pressed into the moulding of the wall by James.

James is always last.

“Look at me,” he moans out in command. He never asks anything of Remus. Remus is just skin and back and he is anonymous when James is fucking him. But Sirius, oh, James can see when Sirius’ gaze falters. And he hates that.

“Look at me,” he repeats, thrusting so hard into Remus that Remus swears he will break in two.

Sirius breaks the stare and looks back at James, his breath still coming out hastily and his body shuddering against Remus’ chest.

Now James comes, gasping out his best friend’s name like a hard stream of air into Remus’ ear. But that name was already on Remus’ lips, unutterable. James says it for him. It is James’ to say, afterall.

And then they are spent, pressing against each other in an effort to stay standing, all three exhaling into the stale air.

Once it is over, none of them speak. James and Sirius exchange looks, and Remus is pushed out from between them again. Any illusion of belongingness dissipates the moment their bodies disconnect, that thwap jolting Remus from his fantasy and back into reality.

Each time, they Obliviate him. James does it almost as a lark, but Sirius does it because he loves that half-surprised look that flickers in Remus’ brown eyes every time they suggest they do this, everytime it starts. He wants to see it each time, wants to see Remus look at him like that. That expression is so open, and there’s something in Remus’ eyes that is never there with James. It’s the reason Sirius keeps asking James to bring Remus back with them. He wants to see that look; it’s a look so drowning it could make him come on command.

He doesn’t know that it’s love he’s seeing.

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