Lazarus

Remus rose an hour earlier than everyone else, as he always did. He scrubbed his face and teeth, and he dressed himself. He went down to the kitchen, put on a pot of tea and another of coffee, then opened a window to allow in the owl that brought the Prophet every morning. He would have made himself breakfast, but when Molly was in the house, she told him that he didn’t eat enough and made his meals for him. She got fussy if he tried to do anything for himself. So he waited for her to wake, pouring himself a cup of tea and settling at the old table.

This was his routine, altered only for the sake of Molly Weasley’s nagging, and it hadn’t changed in years, with or without Sirius. Regardless, the Order had never noticed his habits until they began to watch him for signs of grief, and they considered it moping, or maybe still mourning. Remus only chalked it up to being a creature of habit – especially amidst such chaos, where routine gave him a sense of normality – and went about his life as he always had.

When the paper arrived, he fed the owl a few crumbs of bread, then set to reading what the fools at the Ministry had gotten into most recently.

He was surprised, then, when Kingsley came in, up much earlier than Remus had ever witnessed. “Mind if I join you?” Kingsley asked, in his slow, rich voice.

Startled, it took Remus a moment to realize he was being rude. “Not at all,” he finally said, smiling. “There’s tea and coffee if you want any.”

Kingsley poured himself a cup of coffee, the liquid only a shade blacker than his darkly lustrous skin. Against his will, he remembered the boy from Hogwarts – a third year during Remus’ seventh. While the wizarding world, and certainly Hogwarts, had never quite caved to the influence of that sort of bigotry, Kingsley had still been a rare sight in those times, and Remus had been oddly fascinated, had thought him exotic and elegant.

He was pulled from these memories when Kingsley said, “You look lost, Remus.” Remus blinked, focusing on the present again, and he smiled once more.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted.”

“No kidding,” said Kingsley. “That’s what I was talking about. You’ve looked lost for some time now.”

Remus forced a small laugh at this, picking up his empty teacup to go rinse in the sink. He suddenly wanted to be gone from the kitchen. Kingsley made him uneasy. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to excuse myself. I need a shower.”

When Kingsley gave no reply, he took that as assent, and he made his leave of the kitchen. A few steps from the stairs, and he heard Kingsley say, “Wait.” He turned, cursing Kingsley a hundred ways in his mind, though his expression, if a little tight, was mostly patient. “You’re avoidant,” he said when he got closer. “You sit around the house looking distant, most of the time, like your mind is somewhere else and that’s where you’d like to be, and it’s worrying everyone sick. And when somebody mentions it, you just make excuses.”

Remus sighed, then moved down the hallway instead of up the stairs; if he had to do this, he wasn’t letting everyone else in the house see, too, and he knew they would be up soon. “I’ve just been caught up in my work for the Order,” he said.

“That’s an excuse.” Kingsley sounded exasperated, and he grabbed hold of Remus’ wrist. Remus turned, surprised, and he tugged, but Kingsley’s grip was solid. “Stop running,” he said, more quietly now, and Remus blinked, wide-eyed. “Have I got your attention now?”

“Yes,” Remus almost whispered, nodding.

Kingsley nodded back as if he had expected Remus would be this easy to subdue, and then he asked, softly, “So what do we have to do to bring you back to life?” Remus had no answer for him, just stared up, and Kingsley kept their gazes locked, as if making sure Remus was focusing, hadn’t let his memories or imagination overwhelm him again. After too much silence, Remus began to drift, began to look at that dark skin, how smooth it was, the way it reflected light. “Remus,” Kingsley hissed, and Remus tilted his head up, pressing his mouth to Kingsley’s. The other man tensed, his lips moving a hairsbreadth away. “This is me, right? You’re not just imagining someone else?”

“No,” Remus said. “You want me to accept reality, and I don’t know anything more real than this.”

And Kingsley seemed to accept that response, because the next thing Remus knew, he was pushed against the wall, and Kingsley’s mouth was on his again, big soft lips against his own, moving softly. For the first time in months, Remus felt the blood in his veins, heard the dull drum of it in his ears. Kingsley’s hand reached for his hip, the other sliding into his hair, and Remus opened his mouth and let his tongue slide over lush lips, warm tongue, hard teeth.

They both heard a heavy thud, then, and the rush of feet over the floorboards, coming toward the stairs. There was laughter, and they could hear Hermione shouting, “I’ll get the both of you!”

Remus pulled away at the sound of it, and Kingsley looked down at him. With the rest of the house awake, they could hardly continue. But then Kingsley smiled his electric smile again, looking ten years younger for it, and pulled Remus toward him. “Come here,” he said, and guided them both to the linen closet. Kingsley dragged him inside, shut the door and muttered a quick, “Silencio!” It was dark, but there was enough light trickling in that he could see the contours, if not the expression, of Kingsley’s face. “You still want this?” he asked.

“Yes,” Remus said, then pulled Kingsley closer, noses bumping while he sought out those lips again. Kingsley’s hands were at his trousers, fumbling with the button for a moment, before he reached inside, hand grasping at Remus’ cock. Remus grunted into that mouth, then pulled away. “We’ve got to be quick about this,” he said, almost regretfully, his hand clutching at that wrist to pause its maddening movement. “They’ll be expecting us soon.”

Kingsley just laughed, then turned him around, one hand still stroking his cock while the other shoved his trousers and pants down to his knees. He pushed Remus’ legs apart, then thick fingers traced roughly along his crack. “You do like it rough, don’t you, Remus?”

Remus pushed back against him, his hands gripping at one of the shelves, face pressed against them. “Y-yes,” he said, and it was true, because he wanted to be bruised, wanted reminders to show him it was real.

“Had you pegged,” Kingsley laughed, then growled a lubrication charm and slipped the tip of his wand right inside Remus’ body. Remus tensed, then calmed, pushing back against it. Kingsley’s wand moved slowly inside him, and Remus had to be annoyed that he had made it clear he liked it rough, only to be denied.

It was maddening, teasing and not even really stretching any more, and Remus growled low in his throat. Then the wand slipped free, and it was replaced by one of those lovely, blunt fingers, then two. They twisted, stretching him just enough, and then those fingers were replaced by Kingsley’s cock, pushing slowly inside him.

Remus braced himself against the shelves, gasping as Kingsley eased his way in, as Remus’ body opened to him. Then Kingsley began to thrust in quick, shallow thrusts. They grew deeper, harder, as Remus’ body accepted him further, until the two of them had built up an almost-rhythm, Remus shoving back against him and Kingsley slamming roughly, meeting each other in the middle. The closet was filled with the smell of sex, the sound of sweaty skin meeting, the sound of Remus’ harsh breaths and Kingsley’s wet mouth against the back and sides of his neck.

Kingsley’s hand pulled sloppily at his cock, tight and squeezing and pumping, and finally Remus came with a cry, hips working of their own accord while Kingsley milked his cock for all it was worth. Kingsley thrust a few more times, and then Remus felt the pulse and hot rush of Kingsley’s orgasm, before they finally collapsed together against one of the shelves.

Remus could feel his pulse racing, could feel his chest heaving, and he smiled, though there was a bitter twist to it. Yes, this was his reality. He was alive, and Kingsley had made sure he could see that. Whatever else happened, whoever else he lost, Remus couldn’t forget that he was alive.