To Lose Yourself Completely

When his teapot began to shrill, Sirius gave it a grim look and Summoned it with a halfhearted flick of his wrist. His mother’s silver kettle had interrupted an unpleasant memory, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful. He glanced at the clock; Remus would return from Order business at any time. Delicate ivory teacup cupped in one hand, Sirius stared across his table to the big, wooden kitchen door and returned to his memories.
Fifteen years earlier, Sirius had sat in similar grim silence in a very different environment. Instead of the dark, once elegant kitchen of his parents, he had sat in the cozy, shabby apartment kitchen left to him by his Uncle Alphard. The tea had been in a chipped teapot; the cup in his hand had been a heavy porcelain mug. His hand, back then, had not possessed the propensity to shake. Ah, then again, it did that particular night, when he heard the quiet shuffling outside the door.
Remus, much younger back then yet looking as tired as any thirty-year-old, limped wearily into the room, setting his keys on the counter. Glancing over at Sirius, he moved over to the counter to pour himself a cup of tea and drank it down as if it had not turned cold and bitter.
“You’re up late, Pads,” he murmured, as if Sirius hadn’t done this every night of every Order assignment Remus had been sent on. Biting back a retort, Sirius pushed the teacup away.
“Well?” he demanded, ignoring the weary tilt of Remus’s head, the pale curve of his hand as he poured another cup of tea, “Did he show his true colors? Attack you? Slip up?”
Sirius slid out of his seat, impatiently shoving the cream jar into Remus’s hand as he waited for answers. His companion sighed and added the cream before moving away to sit at the table.
“You mean, did Snape announce to me that he is, in fact, still a follower of Voldemort? No, Sirius, he must have forgot.”
Grimacing, Sirius tried to ignore the sarcasm and took his own seat at the table again. “Right, yes, but…” Sirius trailed off into frustration. Remus was unlikely to continue the subject on his own, so Sirius was surprised when he spoke.
“I trust him.” He said it simply, quite matter-of-fact, as if he were announcing an interesting new development on grindylow breeding. Sirius felt a flicker of anger. Of course Remus trusted him.
“Remus, we’ve always known he would be a Death Eater. And then he was. And now, suddenly, he’s not?” As if they hadn’t talked about this before. Remus didn’t even bother repeating his arguments; he sighed and rose to his feet, dumping the rest of his cold tea into the sink.
“Good night, Sirius.”
Sirius got up, knocking the chair back so it scraped over the floor, and Remus had the decency to look startled.
“It’s ridiculous, you trusting him. He’d kill you first chance he had.” Taking the small kitchen with barely two strides, he took hold of Remus by his arms.
“He knows what you are, remember? You think he’s just going to drop everything and rescue you when it’s time? That you’re worth it to him?”
Remus fixed him with a cool look and wrenched his arms free with a jerk. .
“Who is it you don’t trust, Sirius?” And with those parting words, Remus had left for his own bed, leaving Sirius alone with a burning fire in his stomach and, moments later, a shattered porcelain mug in his hands.
That had been one of the earliest, tamest arguments they’d had before Remus moved out altogether.
Now, these fifteen years later, the frustration returned, and Sirius could feel all the old anger and abandonment running through him. He knew - had known - that he’d just been frightened back then, but fear had turned into something uglier. Fifteen years and these feelings should have faded, but his fights with Remus had been some of the Dementors’ favorite memories. Therefore, the darkest episodes of his life remained: memories of hurling things at Remus’s head, memories of staring out the window into a thick mist that Remus or James might be dying in, guiltily worrying about one more than the other memories of whispering to a troubled Dumbledore that Remus was probably the traitor. He could remember those memories so well he sometimes thought he was there again. But something as simple as a Quidditch match? He could remember it, yes, but it was like being in someone else’s body. He could only rarely dredge up the happiness that went with such memories. And so it was that after his memory of that kitchen fight, his hand clenched the teacup, and he turned an unintentionally angry look towards present-day Remus as he came into the ancient kitchen.
Remus froze and glanced around the room before focusing again on Sirius, first confused then wary. Sirius wondered if Remus, too, remembered those nights, and with guilt he tried to erase the emotion from his face.
“Moony,” he croaked, and stopped, surprised at the raspy quality of his own voice. He pushed his thin, quivering hand into his hair and stared into his tea. A little desperate, he whispered, “Just couldn’t sleep.”
The floorboards creaked as Remus walked over to him and set a soothing hand on his shoulder. It stayed there, warm, for a minute, and Sirius imagined its heat burning through the thin cloth of his shirt, before Remus walked away.
“Take some of that potion,” the werewolf told him, and Sirius fought off a flinch. He didn’t want to drink anything Snape had prepared for him. He had to fight to remind himself that Remus was being practical, not cruel, and again he wished his anger and despair did not come so easily. He ought to be excited to be reunited with a friend. A lover.
Turning his head to watch Remus write a note for the Order, Sirius wondered yet again if he should just explain the whole phenomenon to Remus. The effects of the Dementors should be well out of the way, really. Perhaps something was wrong with him. But then again he’d spent a year on the run, already. Perhaps he was just now starting the healing process.
“I would stay up with you, but I’m absolutely exhausted,” Remus told him, his thin back still turned against him, and his head bent over the note as he signed it with a flourish. Sirius could almost imagine Remus continuing, his tone dry to hide the hidden promises “you should come to bed with me.”
But of course Remus said nothing more before shuffling out of the room. He had been thoroughly tactful – or dismissive – ever since their reunification. Perhaps Remus, too, had forgot how to love. Or perhaps, even likely, he could not be with someone whose capacity to love had been squeezed out of him like orange juice.
Turning his mug in a slow circle, Sirius continued to avoid drinking out of it as he listened to Remus climb the stairs to his room and begin the shuffling process of going to bed. Quiet as Remus was, there was still the odd clatter and bang. Suddenly, and with a start, Sirius felt himself warm all over with affection, and he grinned at the pleasant feel of it. He could imagine Remus folding his clothes into a dresser and solemnly pulling on threadbare pajamas. He’d always loved to watch the other man getting ready for bed. Yes, that’s right, he thought. He recognized this feeling, too.
Relaxed at last, Sirius started his tea, avoiding the more depressing thoughts about the late night missions of which he wasn’t part. After washing his cup, all sounds of teeth brushing and toilet using gone from upstairs, Sirius started up for bed. As he passed Remus’s door, however, he stopped short at the overwhelming quiet.
Remus, of all people, knew how to send out a silence that could be felt even as it couldn’t be heard. Sirius pressed a hand to the wall – felt the wallpaper dimple slightly – and his mouth turned dry. The little flicker of warmth, of emotions once stolen by dark presences in his mind, grew, spreading through his chest and he was transported again to a memory, one that his heart had forgot if his mind had not.
Hogsmeade weekend, and Sirius had escaped early with James, breathlessly plotting some daredevil attempt. Who could remember the details, really. (Or could they?) Over a mug of butterbeer, Sirius remembered a forgotten prank component and ran back. He was halfway into the room before he realised that silence was radiating out from Remus’s bed. He stopped short, frowning at the closed curtains; since when had Remus slept with closed curtains? In midday? What secrets did he have left to hide?
With determination that would have produced admirable marks if he could have applied it to his studies, Sirius strode to the bed and whipped open the curtains. He stared accusingly down at Remus as his eyes focused.
Remus was staring up at him with a look very similar to the one he gave when Sirius demanded that Remus let him copy his homework. The same tight mouth, accusatory eyes, and light flush. But his hands were on his pants, in the middle of tugging them up his thighs, and his shirt was gathered up beneath his shoulders.
“Oh,” Sirius thought stupidly, “He’s…”
Remus sat up as he finished pulling on his pants and buttoned them up. The red on his cheeks was spreading, Sirius noted, alluringly down his neck.
“Thought you were at Hogsmeade, Sirius,” he muttered. Sirius realised he was gaping and announced, quite intelligently, “You’re wanking. Not studying.”
Remus looked up at Sirius in disbelief, then said, as if he were talking to someone either quite deaf or quite stupid, “Yes. Yes, Sirius. Very observant. Please go away.”
Sirius thought that was probably the proper, friendly thing to do. He even started to turn away, to find the potion he’d come for, but he glanced back one last time. Remus had lain back, apparently in relief, and his legs were slightly spread, pants straining to be opened once Sirius left.
“This,” Sirius had thought to himself “is something I’m going to remember for the rest of my life.”
Obviously not, Sirius thought ruefully.
Knowing it was wrong, dreading the idea that Remus would come out of his room and find him lurking like some middle-aged pervert at the boy’s loo, Sirius leant against the wall and stayed to listen to the silence. But it was not so strong, now.
“No matter,” he muttered roughly, and then again, “No matter.”
One good memory, at last, he thought. He smiled widely, unaware of how frightening the smile would be to a passerby on the street. He felt like a seventeen-year-old boy, again. He had one good, good memory of Remus. Who he had loved. Who he loved, even now, he thought happily, and suddenly the memories flooded in like water breaking through a dam. Remus, with his cheeks stuffed full of muffin at breakfast, scribbling notes down for Sirius. Remus, a slight crinkle in his forehead from frowning, unsure of whether or not to tell his new friends his secret. Remus, pretending not to cry with emotion when he saw them transform for the first time.
Remus, he thought with a twist of his stomach, staring up at him with pale amber-brown eyes. Remus, not pulling away when he kissed him, even pressing lips awkwardly against his own. Yes, he thought, Remus had kissed him back, and how could he have forgot how his heart nearly exploded from his chest? Like it was doing now, and he pounded his fist against Remus’s door, unable to speak from the crazy rushing of remembered joy that was spiraling out of his body. He had to see him, had to, had to hold him in his arms when he was more than a symbol but was, in fact, his Remus, warm and alive and really his.
Unless it was too late? He stopped short, gasping for air in disbelief, and he staggered drunkenly away from Remus’s door, down to his own, with the full intention of locking himself inside. Which was a sign of insanity all its own, he considered with a rueful drop of his heart.
He was not halfway to his door before Remus’s slammed open and he heard barefoot footsteps coming after him. Not thinking about how it looked, Sirius hurried his steps, but Remus’s hand grabbed the back of his shirt and he froze.
“What is the matter with you tonight,” Remus growled, his voice coming out rough in the darkened hall, and Sirius couldn’t help a shiver as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Couldn’t sleep, like I said. Sorry, I… bumped against your door on accident.” He knew he deserved the disgusted look Remus sent towards him in return. Yet he was surprised to realise that his old friend was curling a hand around his upper arm and pulling him towards the stairs.
“Where are we going, Remus?” he asked politely.
“To have it out,” Remus muttered, “Since apparently you won’t let me sleep either.”
With that, the werewolf marched him down the stairs and back into the kitchen, where he gave him a stern look and sat him down in the chair Sirius had occupied most of that evening. Sirius stared up at him and realised this must be Remus’ professor face. He realised he should have been teasing Remus far more about his stint as a teacher. Because if one teased Remus enough that he snapped, one might be rewarded by any number of pleasantly sore body parts. Sirius grinned.
Lupin’s stern look was somewhat marred by the look of surprise that passed over his face. Sirius knew he hadn’t smiled like this for Remus in a very long time. Recently, his smiles had been sarcastic shadows of what they once were.
“Sirius,” Moony murmured, his expression softening. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m getting better,” Sirius told him honestly, wanting to pull him into his lap but holding himself in check.
“I don’t want to get into it, Moony, but I think tonight, for some reason, things are clearing out. I fixed the puzzle. I broke the dam. I put ointment on the rash. More like I took off the fucking bandage. I trimmed the wild vineyard.”
He grinned again at the look on Remus’s face.
“Basically, I’ve been suffering from emotional amnesia, my friend,” he announced with a proud lift of his chin. He had diagnosed this himself, after all, and now knew the solution. “But as I’ve said, I found the key, and I’m well on my way to a cure.”
“If you are referring to the effect the Dementors have on emotional memory,” Remus began in a sexy sort of patient, educational voice, “There are now remedies for such things, Sirius. You should have said something.”
Well, damn. Still. No matter. Sirius shrugged off this information and held out his hands to him. The werewolf hesitated, and a shadow crossed his guarded face.
“I should have noticed,” he murmured, and Sirius took hope in the softness of his voice. “I thought you were just upset about living here. And about…”
“I just didn’t have much else to go on,” Sirius interrupted him, shrugging it off. He did not really want to talk about blame, especially when they were both so stubborn. Further admissions burned at his own mouth, admissions that were full of questions to be asked and blame to assign. Such things were for gloomier evenings. He pulled Remus a little closer, instead. Remus looked so tired these days, especially now that he was staring at Sirius with such searching, forlorn eyes. Screw it, Sirius thought. The old ways are the best ways.
He dragged him down into his lap and kissed him. Remus stiffened and then spread Sirius’ mouth open with lips and tongue. The bruising force made Sirius smile again, but the smile disappeared into the kiss and would not have been recognizable to another man. After a long moment, Remus pulled back to fix a severe look at Sirius.
“You are an idiot. Emotional amnesia.” He got up and hit the side of Sirius’ head with a heavy hand, and Sirius winced as Remus marched away. His heart sank until Remus looked over his shoulder with a still-angry, relieved look.
“Well?” Remus demanded. “Follow me. I’m not having our first time since ’79 be in a wooden chair. We’re not as limber as we used to be.”
“Speak for yourself!” But Sirius jumped out of his chair, seeing no reason to really argue against this, and kept close as they mounted the stairs. Part of him thought it might have been less awkward to simply continue in the chair. But a bed might be nice, too, he thought.
And it was. Soft, as Remus pushed him down and bore down on him, possessing his mouth with a throaty, pleased sound. In retrospect, he considered, Remus must be reasonably peeved to be so insistent, aggressive even, so he would likely have ended up on the table or possibly the floor, anyway. So this was good. If fast. Indeed, he’d already lost most of his clothing without realising it.
“Moony,” he rasped, sitting up. Remus pulled back, giving him an alarmed look, and Sirius couldn’t help but laugh. His face had looked almost exactly like that the first time he’d sucked Sirius off. He’d been startled and a little pale, but then again also rather pleased, so perhaps not quite the same look.
“What?” Remus’s voice was breathless. Sirius weighed his own desperation with the skittish nature of his feelings and kissed the other with a more gentle pressure.
“Let me. Please.” Remus nodded, although Sirius didn’t miss a warning look. ‘No running off to sulk in the kitchen,’ it said. He tried to reassure the other with a smile and a kiss, exploring him this time. He’d enjoyed Remus’s bruising kisses, but he wanted to taste him, feel him. His lips were soft save for the left corner of the bottom lip, which had been cut a few days earlier. His mouth tasted like darkness, fading toothpaste, and Remus. Beneath the threadbare pajamas, his skin was smooth over prominent ribs, sometimes raised by scars. Each sensation awoke a snapshot of memory, and Sirius wanted to spend the next decades of his life relearning them, just like this.
“Sirius,” Remus whispered, “I know it’s hard for you. But please.”
And he was being cruel, he knew. Remus’s erection was stiff against his hip, and his eyes were black in the fire lit room. More than that, Remus was always a bit desperate right after working for the Order, and Sirius had to push back worries that he was being used. Instead, he rolled their bodies to press over Remus, feeling the perfect spread of warmth their combined hips created and the arch of his lover’s back as Remus moaned. For a moment, with his vision skipping into starry blackness, Sirius could only grind his hips and remember to breath. But as the sound of Remus’s skittering breath returned to him, he slid to his knees on the side of the bed and peeled away the thin cotton of his lover’s pajamas to slide his lips over an erection that brought a slideshow of memories, and he could almost feel the slick tiles of a Hogwarts bathroom or the splintery wood of the Shrieking Shack beneath the fabric of his trousers. Here, in this moment, he could feel only carpet on his bare knees, but it brought him to the present and delicious feel of smooth skin over heated steel; he hurriedly disposed of Remus’s striped pajama bottoms.
Remus sat up, then, and traced his long, warm fingers over Sirius’ cheeks, guiding him up to kiss him, and he drew Sirius into the warm enclosure of his legs. Sirius barely heard the whispered spell, but he felt the slickness come over his member, and he stifled a moan into the skin of Remus’s neck as the other pressed him into his body.
A long, tight moment passed as Sirius breathed, and Remus moved trembling fingers over the skin of his back. But then Remus’s hands slid down to his hips and with the sharp prick of nails, he encouraged Sirius to move, which he did. In, a flood of memories, out, he drew back to the present, reminding himself to see Remus’s flushed, changed face in the dim light. He reminded himself that new memories were good, too, and let Remus set the rhythm. He let the small, stinging sensation of his nails tell him when to thrust, and the loosening of his legs tell him when to draw back. They continued like this, slow at first, until Remus grew insistent, and Sirius closed his eyes, kissed his lover’s skin, and tasted salt as he came, too many memories quickening his blood.
Remus cradled him in his arms and whispered crude endearments in his ear. His tongue ran along its lobe, and Sirius moved a hand to finish him before sinking boneless to his side. A sadness came over him, although he could not define it. Perhaps the lingering misplacement of emotions caused by Dementors. Still, Remus’s hand carded through his hair, and Sirius sighed into the sweat of his skin.
“You can talk to me, you know,” Remus whispered. “I thought you were still mad at me for not trusting you.”
“I was,” Sirius mumbled. “But I’m not. Or rather, I don’t want to be. Like I said, I think it’s better, now.”
Remus said nothing to this honest answer, and Sirius was happy to let the matter slide. Although his melancholy had returned, he could feel the faint warmth beneath it and knew it could be fanned back to life, now that he had Remus. As he closed his eyes to sleep, he wrapped his fingers over Remus’s hand and squeezed it good night.