l o v e r s . a l o n e . w e a r . s u n l i g h t

lovers alone wear sunlight
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Sirius loves Remus, but he doesn't love Remus. Or does he?

Notes: Written as a second request for Belinda Postlethwaite for the Reversathon challenge. Her request was: AU where Remus didn't forget to take his bloody potion in PoA; Peter was caught and Sirius was declared innocent publicly by the Ministry. Now Sirius has the chance to live like any other wizard and he starts to see Remus in a new light. I'd prefer it if there hadn't been a pre-existing relationship other than friendship between them up until that point (however, it'd be OK if, like, Remus already had unrequited feelings for Sirius). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thanks so much to Sociofemme, Mousapelli and Luzdeestrellas for betaing. And thanks to e.e. cummings for the title.

Finished: June 12, 2005
Posted: June 29, 2005

Sirius likes to lie in the sun of an afternoon, to stretch out in the sweet-smelling grass and let the warm air and soft breeze waft over him. Sometimes, he changes into Padfoot, but then all the neighborhood kids end up coming round to play, and he doesn't get to just lie there like a lazy sod.

That's what Remus always calls him when he comes home from work. "Get up, you lazy sod. It's time for dinner," he'll say, nudging Sirius with his foot.

It's unusual for a Hogwarts professor to live away from the castle, but the parents and the Board of Governors have been willing to let Remus stay on as the Defense professor, even after Snape let slip his secret a few years ago, as long as he doesn't actually live at the school and continues to take the Wolfsbane potion.

Sirius is glad, because otherwise he'd have to find somewhere else to live, and he can't be arsed.

Sometimes, Remus will ask him if he's looked at any flats lately, or if he's planning on refurbishing one of the old Black family houses scattered across Britain, but Sirius finds himself oddly reluctant to leave the small cottage in which he's lived with Remus these past few years. He likes living in Hogsmeade, and though the cottage is small, there's room enough for him and Remus and Harry, who up until recently lived with them, as well. Now that he's left Hogwarts, he and Ron and Hermione share a flat in London, and Sirius can't blame them, really. Neither he nor Remus is much for the nightlife anymore.

When he'd first been exonerated, after that thrilling and unbelievable night at the Shrieking Shack, he'd spent months celebrating, drinking and dancing and going home for the night with whichever pretty witch or wizard caught his fancy, hungry for the taste and feel of life after so long in Azkaban. Now he visits Rosmerta on the sly (it's been weeks; he should really do something about that) and is always home at a reasonable hour so he can sit and play chess with Remus, or listen to the wireless and read.

It's a good life, and he has Harry to thank for it, Harry and Remus, who believed in him when even he'd begun to doubt himself.

He dozes in the grass until he feels the customary prod of Remus's toe against his side.

"Get up, you lazy dog," Remus says, but his voice is warm and his smile wide. "And put some clothes on. You'll scare the children."

Sirius shields his eyes against the late afternoon sun, which makes Remus's hair more gold than grey, and says, "Ah, the children are used to me."

He doesn't like wearing clothes unless it's absolutely necessary. The problem is, his idea of absolutely necessary and everyone else's don't always match. It amuses Sirius that his penchant for nudity is nearly as nerve-wracking to the citizens of Hogsmeade as Remus's condition.

Remus raises a skeptical eyebrow but only says, "Molly and Arthur are coming for dinner at eight."

At that, Sirius jumps up like a happy puppy. "Molly's cooking?"

"Why? Isn't my cooking good enough?" Remus crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look hurt, but his lips twitch.

"Remus, my friend," he says, rising and slinging an arm around Remus's shoulders, which shake from suppressed laughter, "your cooking consists of burnt cheese toasties followed by ordering in from the Three Broomsticks. Not that that isn't lovely, but after five days of it, a bloke wants a home-cooked meal."

"You could cook yourself," Remus points out.

"I could indeed, but at the least, the kitchen would be wrecked. At the worst, the world might end. Best not to chance it."

"Indeed," Remus says, and for a moment, it feels like he's leaning into Sirius's touch, but then he's moving away, walking back into the house.

Sirius stares after him, mesmerized for a moment by the casual grace with which he moves. Even after five years, he's still not quite used to this adult version of Remus, his lanky frame grown into a lithe elegance that pleases the eye. The snug fit of his Muggle jeans -- they both wear Muggle clothes more often than not these days (when Sirius can be arsed to wear clothes at all) -- doesn't hurt either.

Sirius feels heat flood his body, which startles him, and he thinks again that he really needs to see Rosmerta soon. Because one oughtn't be getting a stiffie from watching one's best mate walk away.

Remus turns back at the door, eyebrows raised in question, so Sirius shrugs off his odd reaction and follows him into the house to get dressed.

Sirius and Arthur are deep in a discussion of Muggle mechanics when he hears Molly say, "That nice Devon Magillis was asking about you the other day, Remus. I told him I'd invite you to join us the next time he comes to dinner."

"Devon Magillis? The keeper for the Montrose Magpies?" Sirius asks, cutting short Arthur's remarks on the importance of the carburetor to a healthy engine.

Molly nods. "He was at school with Bill, and he still drops in for dinner sometimes."

"We'll see, Molly," Remus says, and it may just be the wine, but he looks a little flushed. "We've the spring planting to see to and--"

"Oh, tosh," Molly interrupts. "You've a lovely garden, but that's no excuse. You need to get out more, socialize. You spend all your time with children, and believe me, no one knows better than I how lacking they are in interesting conversation."

Sirius snorts and turns it into a choking noise when Remus kicks him under the table, because he can just imagine what Molly considers interesting conversation.

"And I don't like to see you living here all alone, with nothing but your garden to tend to," Molly continues, valiantly ignoring Sirius.

Sirius always gets the impression that Molly doesn't quite approve of him, but since he's worked most of his life to get that reaction (especially from adults, and he's never quite got the hang of thinking of himself and Remus in that category), he doesn't really care.

This is too much for him, though. "Oi! And what am I, Molly? Remus isn't alone. I live here, too."

She sniffs disdainfully. "Yes, for now. But I'm sure you'll be off soon enough, marrying and producing the next generation of Blacks--"

Sirius chokes for real this time, on a mouthful of Merlot. "What?" he manages after Arthur pounds him on the back. "I have no intention of saddling myself with a wife and passel of brats -- no offense, Arthur, Molly."

"You say that now, but you'll change your mind, I'm sure. I was speaking with Andromeda the other day and--"

"Andromeda needs to keep her nose out of my business."

"Nevertheless, as head of the family, you'll find you'll wish to have children to inherit--"

"Tonks can have it all, and what she doesn't get will go to Harry," he says, raising his chin and his voice.

Arthur sends Molly a look that closely resembles the one Remus is shooting in Sirius's direction, the one that says, Please shut up now before you say something we'll all regret.

"Anyhow," Molly says, "Devon is quite interested in seeing you again, Remus, so please say you'll join us?"

Before Remus can respond, Sirius says, "We'd love to," and bares his teeth in a ferocious smile.

"Oh," Molly falters. "Of course, you're invited too, Sirius."

Remus bites his lip, looking as if he's going to burst into laughter, and watching him, Sirius feels a sudden tightness in his chest, as if it's too small to hold his heart.

"Devon is quite fit," Remus says, laughter in his voice. "You'll like him, Sirius. And I'm sure he'll like you."

Sirius hasn't quite grasped some of the undercurrents in this conversation, but he knows he doesn't like hearing Remus comment approvingly about some other bloke's attractiveness.

Molly gives Arthur an indecipherable look and Arthur pats her hand. "We'll have the whole family over," he says. "And Andromeda and Ted as well. And maybe that nice Hestia Jones. I know it means more work for you, my dear, but--"

"No, that's a wonderful idea," she says, smiling tightly.

"Dinner was delicious," Remus says, changing the subject as he rises to clear the table. "Thank you so much for cooking. Otherwise, you'd have been subjected to -- what was it, Sirius? Burnt cheese toasties and takeaway."

"Oh, it's no trouble. I miss cooking for a big crowd," she replies, softening slightly, and the awkwardness is smoothed over.

Later, as Arthur and Molly are stepping into the Floo, Remus presses a kiss to her cheek and she says, "So we'll arrange a dinner party, then?"

"Sounds brilliant, Molly."

Once they're gone, he moves to the sink, begins washing up. Remus has always washed up by hand -- he says it reminds him of his mother, who was Muggle-born and never did get the hang of housekeeping charms. Sirius remembers Mrs. Lupin as a sweet, sad witch with the same caramel gold hair and eyes as her only son.

Sometimes he wishes he had even one fond memory of his own mother, but they were all replaced by bad ones long ago, and the short time he spent in his childhood home when it functioned as Order headquarters has left him with only the sour taste of regret when it comes to his family.

Sirius moves next to Remus at the sink, dishcloth in hand. They work quietly, in sync, in the way of two people who know each other's every move and mood, and it occurs to Sirius that he has never been quite as content as he is right now.

"So, have you been looking for a flat?" Remus asks after a long silence, and the fact that he doesn't look at Sirius as he hands him another dish to dry punctures Sirius's good mood.

"No," he answers, being honest for the first time instead of offering excuses. "I don't see why I should."

"You can't live here forever."

That tight feeling is back and it's spread from his chest to his skin, which now feels too small for his body, as if his bones might burst through if he moves too quickly or says the wrong thing.

"Do you want me to leave?" His voice is low and strange.

Remus looks up at him, startled, and drops the dish he's washing. They both reach for it at the same time -- Remus grabbing the dish and Sirius grabbing Remus's hand. Remus's fingers are warm and slick with soapy water, and the unexpected contact sends a frisson of heat through Sirius. He pulls away quickly.

"No," Remus says, eyes wide and surprised. "No. I just thought you'd want your own place, especially now that Harry's gone. You wouldn't have to slink off to see Rosmerta if you did. Of course, you don't have to slink off now. You're perfectly capable of casting a silencing charm--"

"And you could have that fit Devon Magillis over? Is that what you want? Am I limiting your opportunities to pull?" Even he is a little shocked at how angry he sounds, but the idea of Remus bringing men here -- bringing men into their home -- makes him want to snarl and bare his teeth, the way he did with Molly earlier. "And just who does Molly think she is, anyway? As if I'd leave you alone again."

Whatever Remus had been going to say, that stops him. He stares at Sirius for a long moment, then, "It wasn't your fault, Sirius. We all made mistakes. If I had trusted you--" He reaches out to squeeze Sirius's hand and shakes his head.

Sirius is all too aware of the warmth of Remus's skin against his own and the way that warmth is seeping into him, spreading through his body.

"You can stay as long as you like," Remus finally says. "But not because you feel obligated."

He swallows hard and nods. "Okay. Okay."

They finish the dishes in silence, and Sirius can't help but feel something has changed. He just wishes he knew what it was.

A few days after their dinner with the Weasleys, Sirius makes his way to the Three Broomsticks for a late lunch. He slides into a booth and waits for Rosmerta, wondering why he isn't more excited about their tryst.

He's into his second bottle of butterbeer when Remus walks in, followed by Kingsley, whose red Auror's robes are imposing even in the dimness of the pub.

They settle at a table and the waiter brings their food quickly, as if this is a regular occurrence. They don't speak much, but there is heat in Kingsley's eyes when he looks at Remus. It makes Sirius's hackles rise; razor-sharp claws of anger and betrayal tear at his insides.

Rosmerta slides into the booth across from him and nods in their direction. "An attractive couple."

"They're not a couple," Sirius growls, one hand tightening dangerously on his bottle of butterbeer, the other instinctively going for his wand to hex Kingsley into next week for even thinking of touching Remus.

"No," she agrees easily. "Remus seems willing to be content in his solitude and Kingsley would never push him."

Sirius bangs the bottle down on the table. "Remus is not alone. He has me. Why do people keep ignoring that?"

Rosmerta leans her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her interlaced fingers. "You live in his house. It's not the same thing, and you know it."

"Our house. It's our house."

"Is it?"

Regardless of whose name is actually on the deed, Sirius certainly thinks it is, even if no one else does. He remembers the conversation he and Remus had over the dishes and thinks, Oh God, even Remus doesn't.

"He has me," he says again. "I don't see why he needs to have lunch with Kingsley."

"Why do you have lunch with me?"

Sirius stares at her in shock. He's never thought much about Remus's sex life, but now he sees maybe he ought to have, because Remus is making some really questionable choices. Not that Kingsley isn't a good bloke, because he is. But not good enough for Remus.

"Remus and Kingsley?" He glances over to see Remus drinking tea and reading the paper, light glinting off his glasses, while Kingsley eats a sandwich with one hand and scribbles in a notebook with the other. They look awfully comfortable. "They're not, are they?" His voice is a rough, pleading whisper and he's not sure he actually wants an answer.

She shrugs one shoulder. "Not that I know of." And Rosmerta knows everything that happens in Hogsmeade.

There's something she isn't saying, though, so he asks, "What?"

She pats his hand gently. "Sirius, dear, you may be a brilliant wizard, but sometimes you are damned thick."

"I don't--" He shakes his head in confusion.

"He'll take whatever you're willing to give him, but it's really not fair of you to take advantage of that just because you don't want to live alone, is it? He deserves a chance at happiness as much as anyone--"

"More. He deserves it more."

She inclines her head. "Perhaps. But you have to let him go so he can find it."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why can't we be happy together?" He loves their life, quiet and cozy thing that it is, and doesn't want to give it up for some stupid notion of Rosmerta's. Especially if it means Remus is going to start shagging Kingsley. Or anyone else, for that matter. The idea upsets him, and that tight feeling has returned to his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.

She laughs and shakes her head. "You daft man. Do I have to draw you a picture?"

"Yes," he says, because she can't mean what he thinks she means.

She huffs in exasperation. "You can continue to come here, and go upstairs with me, or you can go home to your little cottage, and be with Remus." The emphasis she puts on those last words leaves no doubt as to her meaning.

Sirius shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat of the booth. He loves Remus, but he doesn't love Remus. Does he? His brain conjures up images of Remus lying flushed and desperate beneath him, the long, taut lines of his body an exclamation of desire, his red, kiss-swollen lips gasping for air, more, Sirius.

"Fuck."

Rosmerta smiles like a cat. "Exactly."

Sirius spends the next few days watching Remus closely. He thought he'd known Remus as well as he knows himself, but now he wonders about the things he doesn't know, like what Remus's neck smells like in the middle of the night, what his mouth tastes like when he wakes up. The look on his face when he comes.

He also notices Remus's hands, strong and gentle, long-fingered hands stained with ink when he comes home from school, or dirt from working in the garden -- writer's hands. He tries to imagine those hands against his skin, on his belly, his thighs, lingering touches instead of quick, inadvertent ones on his shoulder or arm. He thinks about sucking those fingers into his mouth, or feeling them wrapped around his prick.

During this time, Sirius is more frustrated than he's been since he was a teenager and Christine Frumple refused to put out until he'd nearly bought her weight in chocolate, at which point he was no longer really interested in taking what she had to give.

Remus catches him staring, but beyond a puzzled furrow between his brows, and a faint flush on his cheeks, gives no reaction. Sirius starts to fear Rosmerta was wrong, but he's too far gone now to pull back.

They're sitting in the living room after dinner, listening to the Harpies trounce the Cannons, when Sirius says, "I saw you with Kingsley the other day." He winces at how it sounds like an accusation. "Have lunch with him often?"

"Every few weeks," Remus says. "What's an eight letter word for volcanic glass?"

"Obsidian," Sirius answers automatically. "I thought you hated it when I help you with the crossword."

Remus looks up. "No, you hate it when I help you."

"Oh. Yeah. I get confused sometimes."

"Obviously." Remus's tone is scathing.

"We're not talking about the crossword, right?"

Remus puts the paper down. "I understand that for you, lunch is often a code word for assignation, but for the rest of us--"

"First of all, I'd never use the word assignation," he interrupts, "and second, I broke that off."

But Remus keeps going. "Lunch is simply lunch. Kingsley is a good friend, and we eat lunch together sometimes."

Sirius knows that lunch is not a euphemism for sex, but still, he doesn't like it. He wants Remus to have lunch -- in both the official and the euphemistic sense - with him. Not with Kingsley Shacklebolt or Devon Magillis, or any other bloke who might pop up at any given moment.

He finally says it, if only to himself. I'm in love with Remus.

The words are enough to make him giddy; the sensation reminds him of smoking billywig stings, or staying up all night to play a prank and watching the sunrise with his best mates. Only better.

He must have felt it before, he thinks, but he can't quite remember. And anyway, before doesn't matter. Now does.

He just has to figure out how to tell Remus. That night, he flops down on his bed to contemplate strategies, and falls asleep.

Sirius wakes to the sound of Remus thrashing about in the other room. He's pretty sure Remus has always had nightmares, but back when they were in school, Sirius had never been woken by them. He'd slept like the dead, then, deep and heavy and dreamless.

Azkaban changed that. Sirius doesn't sleep much at night, and when he does, he wakes at the slightest sound -- wind in the trees, rain on the roof, Remus moaning like a banshee in the next room.

Without thinking, Sirius slips into dog form and jumps into bed next to him; Padfoot had always been a source of comfort to everyone else, even before he'd become the means by which Sirius had saved his own sanity.

Remus gasps and sits up, eyes open. "No," he says, and again, "no."

Sirius transforms and says, "It's all right, Moony. Just a bad dream."

Remus clutches at him for reassurance. "I remembered the Wolfsbane."

"Of course you did. As if you'd ever forget anything as important as that."

"It seemed so real -- the moon, the dementors, Peter's escape--" Remus shivers, and Sirius hugs him close.

"Peter didn't escape," Sirius says, ignoring the chill of fear skittering down his spine. "We caught him. Had to share the Order of Merlin with Snivelly, but we caught him."

"And you're not living on rats."

"Not for years, though your cooking does leave something to be desired." He gives into temptation, buries his face in Remus's neck and inhales.

Remus stiffens, and his voice sounds strained when he says, "I'll have you know I make the best cheese toasties in three counties."

Sirius laughs against his throat, a shiver of anticipation running through him. "They're certainly well done," he says. Remus hmphs and squirms, but Sirius just holds on tighter. "Relax. It was just a nightmare."

"How am I suppose to relax with you naked in my bed?"

Sirius skates a hand down Remus's side, grinning at the way his muscles jump and his breath hitches at the touch. He pushes at the waistband of Remus's boxers, almost giddy from the feel of so much bare Moonyskin under his fingers. "You should be naked too." Remus freezes again, so Sirius he says, "Most men would take that as an invitation."

"Most men haven't been living with your naked self for five years." He holds himself very still, and Sirius can see it now, see what he'd somehow missed for all those years -- it's in the set of Remus's shoulders, the arch of his brow and bow of his mouth, lower lip caught between even white teeth. And most of all, it's in his eyes as he looks at Sirius, warm and wary and wanting all at the same time. Sirius can't believe he missed it for so long. Now, it sets heat firing in his veins and pooling low in his belly.

He gives up on words -- there aren't any that suit his purpose at the moment, and they've always been Remus's best defense, anyway. He's generally more of a fan of letting his actions do his speaking. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Remus's lips, close-mouthed, soft, non-threatening. He pulls back to see the warmth in Remus's eyes has kindled into something hotter, more intense, but the wariness is still there.

"Sirius?"

"I'm an idiot," Sirius says.

"I'm not arguing," Remus replies, but a smile curls itself across his face. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. For a while now. You?"

"Long time, now. Always, maybe."

He says it casually, but there's a wealth of pain and openness in it that makes Sirius's heart hurt.

"I'm an idiot," he repeats, because it's the closest he can come to an apology that actually means something.

"I know," Remus replies, leaning forward to kiss him, hot and openmouthed. Sirius breathes him in and sighs, letting his tongue tease Remus's, velvet-rough and wet and right. He pushes Remus back into the pillows, and he knows this is where he belongs -- this house, this bed, this man.

Sirius likes to lie naked in the warm grass of an afternoon, soaking up the sun and letting the soft breeze waft over his skin.

These days, he's not alone. When Remus is done gardening, he strips off his jeans and t-shirt to lie beside him.

Sometimes, they put up walls of privacy spells and shag in the grass, hot and hungry and joyful, but mostly they just lie there, spotting shapes in the clouds. Remus curls his fingers around Sirius's wrist and Sirius teaches Remus how to be a lazy sod.

end

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