Team: Team MWPP
Rating: R, flirting with NC-17
Warnings: AU, like really AU (Remus never went to Hogwarts because of his condition). Boy sex, language, violence/gore, slash, het references, and alcohol consumption. Basically all that comes with teenage boy.
Summary: A story, in which Sirius Black falls in love, gets drunk, performs illegal spells and reads poetry.
Prompt: LIBRA-You may be waiting for something or someone. And the whole process has left you frustrated and anxious. But if you get a quarter of what you're hoping for, you'll be happy. And you will, soon get at least that.
Genre(s): Romance that morphed into AU
Credits: My two beta's, M and S (which will now be dubbed Mulder and Scully!) are truly wonderful human beings. Scully nursed me through writing it and Mulder convinced me that it was worthy. Thank you! Also, I don't own the poetry that is used in this piece. The title comes from another e.e. cummings poem.
Sirius stared at the ceiling. He had retreated to his bedroom an hour ago, mostly because Peter had to be home by midnight, but when he last checked the clock it read two o'clock in the morning.
Sleep was the last thing on his mind.
And Sirius was sure he wasn't alone. It was the full moon tonight; it glared through the window and lit up his room. He had always liked the moon, especially when it was full. It had calmed him when he had been locked up inside his mother's madhouse. But staying at the Potters', the moon took a different tone. The whole house hummed with it, and Sirius knew that James and Mr. Potter were tossing and turning in their beds as well.
Because Mrs. Potter was out, and had being going out during the full moon for the past thirty-five years. She was a Healer and spent her time when the moon was full caring for werewolves.
Sirius shivered at the thought and turned over, feeling slightly ashamed of himself. He had never understood why she left to care for the creatures, but he had a feeling it was an old duty. A duty she was glad to claim. Her eyes were always sad before she left and no matter what kind of mischief James and him were getting up to, it always startled him when she packed up her bags and kissed them all goodbye before disappearing into the late day sun.
Mr. Potter said she'd been caring for werewolves since before they met and because of her work, many of them had moved to the outer areas of Godric's Hollow just to be near her careful hand. She'd been caring for many of them for most of their lives. It was why she became an Animagus.
Sirius smiled into the dark. His mind was filled with images of Mrs. Potter, transforming into a huge grizzly bear to tend to whimpering werewolf cubs. He knew it wasn't exactly true to life, but it helped ease his mind during nights when the moon was full, when he knew she was out there risking her life. He wanted desperately to ask her who she transformed for every night, who she loved so much that thirty-five years ago she made a decision to devote a large part of herself to.
But Sirius never asked.
Tonight had been slightly different. He, Peter and James hadn't made it back before sundown and Mrs. Potter had already left. James and Mr. Potter had shared a brief look of worry before the three of them had disappeared into James' room. The old barn, where they usually stayed when working on mischievous (roughly translated: illegal) projects, was off limits during the full moon.
The idea had come to them with good ol' McGonagall, when she accused them of breaking into her office (which, surprisingly, they didn't do). Peter had said it was impossible. James promised they'd tried, but failed (appallingly true). And Sirius had claimed that the only way they could get into her coveted office was to crawl through the holes in the old castle walls like mice.
An idea was born.
If they could actually transform into animals, then they could considerably widen their reign of mayhem over the school (and any other city they moved to after seventh year). It had taken them years and several trips to the Restricted Section of the library to understand the magic and theory. Peter still barely had a grasp on what was going on, but Sirius could feel how close they were, could feel the magic hum through him every time they read over spells and tried to make their bodies morph and change into something more primal. They hadn't managed to change yet, but Sirius felt like the day wasn't too far in the future.
They had made decent progress. James had found a spell in his mother's library that made them realize the form of their Animagus by altering their Patronus. Sirius' Patronus had always been a raven, black and swooping, and he'd spent the most part of his years at Hogwarts hating it. The Blacks had always had bird Patronuses and he was no different in that respect. It made him ill to think he still had any connection, except for his name, to the Noble and Ancient House of Black. But his Patronus had changed tonight and, according to the book, if the magic really was flowing inside him, then the Patronus would keep its shape permanently.
Sirius turned again, trying to get comfortable in his sheets. The thought of his mother's face, if she knew that even his Patronus was betraying her, made a grin stretch across his face. He made a grab for his wand and quietly murmured, "Expecto Patronum". A bright, white light spilled from his wand and formed a huge, shaggy dog. The ears flopped as the dog bounded around the room on silent paws. Sirius watched the silver mutt for a while before it settled onto the floor, hooked its left paw over its nose and disappeared without a trace.
James had joked it was more of a grim than a family-friendly dog. But then again, James' Patronus had shifted into a stag, rack included, and Peter's took on the shape of a rat, tail included, and the jokes ran heavy for both forms. They also had a good laugh at the coincidence of Sirius' nickname and his predicted Animagus form.
Sirius smiled again in the moonlight.
Yes. His nickname began in third year. Sirius had just discovered puberty and the beauty of a wank. So, Sirius' love affair with his right hand had begun. Except, he was only a third year and silencing spells weren't his specialtyneither was subtly. And so he got caught many times and by a variety of people. But for some reason it only made his prick harden more. Sadly, he had wanked so often that he had developed what the Muggles called Carpal Tunnel. But that had not stopped him. He had simply switched hands; with much complaining and conferencing with lefties. And one day, Lily Evans had caught him red-handed, laughed hysterically for a full seven minutes and then squealed the famous words: "Didn't know you were a southpaw, Black!"
Sirius cock twitched at the memory and his mind (and nether regions) went to Remus from the book shop and the book in his bedside table. He desperately wanted to look at the book again, but he'd spent over two hours reading through the poetry since he'd been in his room. The old book was a miscellaneous collection of poetry, nothing predominantly special about the book or the poems. Except for the space between printed page and the worn yellow edge, those parts of the book were exceedingly special.
They were filled Remus' handwriting.
It was a neat scrawl, thin and elegant, written in Muggle pencil. They were tiny notes, sometimes not really significant to the poem at all, but Sirius had spent more time picking them apart then actually reading the poetry. His thoughts strayed to how beautiful they looked on the page, like they belonged there.
Sirius blinked and looked down at his hand, which had found its way into his trousers and was stroking the hard flesh there. He resigned himself a creepy, obsessed pervert and then shucked his pants, leaving them in a heap at the end of his bed. His left hand moved lightly along the length of his cock, while his right strayed from his chest, tripping patterns over his belly before making circles on his inner thighs. Sirius closed his eyes and imagined Remus' hands.
He moaned aloud at the thought.
Just the thought of the scarred hands had Sirius gasping for breath underneath his own ministrations. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Remus' mouth dragging across the plane of his stomach and shaping words against his inner thighs creating fucking symphonies around his cock. In his mind's eyes, Sirius imagined Remus' face set in deep concentration and his golden eyes, wide with lust, meeting his as he took him deep inside his mouth.
Sirius came with a strangled cry, his left hand frantically pumping his cock while his right hand dug crescent moon indentions into the flesh of his hips. He rode out his orgasm, thinking of what Remus' body would feel like beneath the pads of his fingertips and the solid, all consuming flame of those golden eyes.
With his climax came sleep and Sirius let the image of Remus and his book chase the excitement of the day and the worry of the moon away, to make room for colourful dreams of running though fields and the sound of barking laughter.
Sirius woke to chaos.
The entire house seemed to be screaming for the insanity of the world and Sirius shot out of bed and into a clean pair of shorts, completely ignoring his come-stained body as he raced down the stairs.
He never knew a body could bleed so much. It was as if the whole kitchen was red, the tile soaking in the blood seeping from the corner of the room. The white walls reflected the harsh colour and Sirius was dizzy at the sight. For a moment, blind panic ripped through him as he took in Mrs. Potter's crouching form. But as he stepped inside the kitchen, ready to rush to her aide, he noticed that she was leaning over a limp body.
"Sirius." He couldn't stop staring. The body was thin and covered with blood, curled into a tiny ball of trembling flesh. He had never felt more compassion for any person than he did the stranger bleeding on the floor. He was brought back from his thoughts by Mrs. Potter's stern voice.
"Pull yourself together, Sirius. I need you to help me." Mrs. Potter's voice was forced calm, desperation and urgency lying just below the surface. "Fetch your wand."
Sirius nodded and bounded back up the stairs. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. His mind just kept chanting: please don't die and there's a werewolf on the kitchen floor.
He grabbed his wand and took the stairs down three at a time, narrowly missing the urn at the bottom of the stairs as he rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen. Mrs. Potter had cleaned the blood up, but Sirius could swear he could feel it between his toes as he walked over to her and the bleeding figure. He could tell it was male and the skin not scarred and bloody was smooth, as if it belonged to a boy. A boy. He couldn't see his face since it was tucked almost completely into his body, only hair matted with blood and the surface of his back and legs were visible. Mrs. Potter had silent tears running down her face, yet her wand hand moved smoothly over the open wounds on the boy's (werewolf's) flesh. Most of the wounds were gaping and Sirius could see white bone underneath all the blood. Sirius stared, shock and horror outweighing the urge to vomit.
"Get a wet cloth and put some Muggle latex gloves on. They are underneath the sink." Mrs. Potter didn't look at him, only spoke in a low voice that seemed to settle his stomach and propel his legs to move. He pulled on the gloves, his hands shaking, and wet four flannels before returning to her side. She was moving her wand across a particularly large wound on the boy's hip and lower back. The marks there were undeniably made by teeth, as if he had been gnawed on, or had chewed on himself.
Mrs. Potter shook her head and continued to knit up the wounds. It was almost beautiful, the way her wand seemed to meld the flesh back together; leaving only silver scars and painful memories. "Wipe off the blood."
Sirius choked back a sob as he began to clean the boy's skin. It seemed like blood was everywhere, and if Sirius didn't get it off soon enough, it would dry there and never come out. His first wipe elicited a whimper from the body beneath him, and Sirius was gentler with the second. They worked silently on the boy until the expanse of flesh was clean and whole, except for the more extensive wounds that didn't want to heal and remained partly open. Those wounds Mrs. Potter wrapped in gauze, the red staining the white, then again in more gauze before strips of linen. Mrs. Potter shook her head when she was finished with the boy's mangled calf and shifted, scooting closer to the boy's head.
"I have to turn you, love." She pressed a hand to the back of his neck, her tears falling into his hair. "I know it hurts but I don't have a choice." Her hands went to the boys shoulders and Sirius took his legs; they slowly stretched his body out. The boy silently screamed, his voice too hoarse from use to actually produce sound. Sirius felt his own tears make salty tracks down his cheeks.
Sirius worked from the feet up. He wasn't ready to know, not yet. He had to rinse and rewet the flannels several times, but the boy's front side didn't seem nearly so bad until he reached the boy's thighs. One touch of the cloth and the body jerked in a spasm of pain. Mrs. Potter hissed at him. Sirius stared.
"It's his bite mark. It runs deeper than any of other scars, Sirius." He let out a sob and cleaned the area around the mark, it was gashed deeply too, except Sirius couldn't see bone just layers upon layers of scar tissue. Mrs. Potter and he traded places, but Sirius avoided looking at the boy's face, just worked methodically around the areas Mrs. Potter had already cleaned and bandaged.
Sirius took one of the boy's hands in his own. They were long and had a lattice of scars over them. The nails had been bitten down to the quick, but their beauty was undeniable. He wiped them clean of the blood that tainted them. Coloured evidence is what Sirius wiped away, of events unseen in the brightest nights of the year.
The boy appeared to be waking and, Sirius could feel eyelashes brush his bare belly as he leaned over the boy to clean up and down his sides. An occasional groan escaped the boy's mouth, but no words. Mrs. Potter finished her work, sat up and wiped tears from her face with the sleeve of her robe. Sirius took one look at her and forced himself to look at the boy's face. One glance gave Sirius the feeling that he knew him, but of course he did. Godric's Hollow was a small village. But Sirius couldn't place the identity with all the blood.
He took a fresh cloth and gently removed the blood from his cheeks and nose, finding freckles there. He uncovered a long gash, turned scar, by the boy's temple and several scars under his chin. Sirius pressed the cloth to the boy's mouth and he groaned aloud. The sound vibrated through Sirius' body and reminded him of his state of undress.
"He's almost awake. I'm going to get a pain potion." Mrs. Potter disappeared from Sirius' peripheral vision. He rubbed softly at the boy's forehead. There were fingerprints there, as if the blood was simply paint, but Sirius knew that the boy had probably splayed his hand against his face in pain. Sirius wiped at the fluttering eyelids and worked a cloth over the boy's hair.
Sirius' hands stilled. His mind was quickly catching up to the moment, the lithe, scarred body paired with breathtaking hands. Long eyelashes and freckles, plump lips and sharp cheek bones dissolved into an image altogether different and yet, continuously the same. Sirius' breath left his chest and a hand curled around the boys hand as the boy's eyes fluttered open to expose pools of gold.
Sirius gripped the shaking hand in his own trembling fingers. The eyes flashed pain, then confusion before shame and regret seeped into them. Sirius felt his insides rupture and turn, a myriad of emotions surged through him, yet he felt trapped, not by the slacking grip of the boy's hand around his own, but by the boy's eyes that were incapable of concealing truth or raw splendor.
He held the gaze, his body rebelling against his mind's frantic explosion of panic. Sirius did not look away before he pressed his lips against the boy's- against Remus' lips. It was chaste, but filled Sirius' body with warmth and confusion, he pulled away and Remus' eyes fluttered closed as his mind drifted into unconsciousness.
Sirius fled the kitchen out the back door; barely catching sight of Mrs. Potter's confused face as she leaned over the boy on the floor. As Mrs. Potter leaned over Remus, the werewolf, Sirius' ran, Elizabeth Browning screaming in his head:
Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Nature's lute
Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,
A strange wild music to the prisoner's ears
And Remus' scrawl beside it: We are all prisoners of our own war.
Funnily enough, Sirius didn't die, as he thought he would in the moments before fleeing the house.
He wasn't sure what he expected after he ran away, across the open land of the Potter estate, through the neighbouring woods and into the cemetery ground; shame, anger, desperation, maybe even hate. Sirius did not expect to change into a shaggy black dog and run the pain away.
But he did.
And Sirius ran, all four paws pounding the ground as if it were the moon or love or the ugly welt in the pit of his stomach; as if the ground was Remus.
He ran all the way up the high street in the early morning light. He jumped in puddles and barreled down rubbish bins before he reached the top of the street. The book shop just loomed there and Sirius stretched, bringing his paw to scratch behind his ear. It was strange being canine; all the emotions and thoughts of being human were there, like he just fantasized about it in his doggy mind, but all the confusion and painful emotion seemed easier to deal with in the simple mind of his new form.
Sirius curled up and slept on the front step of the book shop.
Hours later, he woke and slunk into the shadows as he thought about changing back. It took him a few moments of thinking, a couple of moments of sheer panic (what if I can't go back?) and then a few to calm him down before he just eased into human form. Sirius scratched behind his ear.
The book shop wasn't open, so Sirius just broke through the window to open the door. His wand was probably back at the house. He made his way through the store and hopped the counter. His fingers thumbed through the books on the shelf. He looked and found the ones with Remus' handwriting. He took as many as he could carry and left the store.
The walk back was more excruciating. The house was barely alive when he walked in. James was sitting sleepily in the kitchen and Mr. Potter was reading the paper. Both looked blissfully unaware and Sirius felt a small bit of resentment for each of them. He ignored James' sleepy 'hello' and Mr. Potter's raised brow.
It hurt and twisted uncomfortably inside him as he walked by the spare bedroom that held Remus, but he didn't die. No. If he was going to be honest with anyone, he didn't feel like he was dying at all. Sirius Black had never felt more alive in his life.
Mrs. Potter was asleep in the chair beside Remus, and Sirius slipped into the room. Remus was asleep, pain and fatigue were not far from his features. But despite Sirius knowing exactly what Remus was, he still wanted to know who he was. He surprised even himself. He looked down at the books in his arms and set them down at the foot of the bed. Sirius prodded Mrs. Potter awake and walked her back to her room, she was too sleepy to argue and Sirius kissed her forehead with promises before he returned to the spare room.
The chair looked uncomfortable and Sirius felt warmth rush through him at the thought of a bed. Remus looked peaceful, despite the bandages Sirius knew lurked under the cool press of Mrs. Potter's sheets. He could have walked down for his wand, but Sirius didn't. His hands ran over the blankets covering Remus' legs. It was strange, how someone so beautiful could be such a beast. Sirius smiled at the thought of his own life.
It was a tight fit but Sirius managed to climb into bed with the boy, molding his body as closely as he could, careful not to poke or put pressure on any of the wounds. Sirius thought of the open wounds, blood pooling and spreading, and looked at Remus' face. Sirius traced his thumb over Remus' lips, a small smile appearing beneath his finger. Remus slept on.
Sirius felt his heart tug him towards something more canine, but he pressed himself into the pillow and let sleep overtake him.
William Blake, Thomas Hardy and Oscar Wilde got Sirius through the next day. Remus slept most of the day and in the lull of awkward conversation, Sirius read aloud the printed verse, but kept the margin comments to himself. He learned a little bit about the book shop clerk, and only spoke a few words to him when Sirius spooned him some soup. He rarely moved from his perch curled around Remus.
Swinburne, Emerson and Coleridge bored him to sleep on the second day. There weren't enough 'Remus comments' to keep him awake and he learned that Remus didn't really like the three poets all that much anyway. But when Remus read Swinburne's 'Love and Sleep' aloud, Sirius pressed a kiss to the boy's clothed shoulder and fell back asleep. They talked about their families over dinner in bed, and Sirius wrote Lily a letter to amend the strange wooing ways of James. James had announced, just as Remus was falling asleep, that he had sent Lily her favourite jam in proclamation of her bearing his children. Remus chuckled into Sirius' arm and brought a bit of jiggery back to Sirius' organs.
Sirius learned on day three that Wordsworth was true to his name, but that Remus still liked him. Sirius fell asleep while Remus was explaining Wordsworth's devotion to his sister (hinting towards incest and it made Sirius think of his family), but listened carefully to his explanations of Yeats and Kipling. Thackeray made Remus laugh and Sirius read it to him while he was eating just to see the smile on his face when Remus tried not to show his teeth in his smile.
Sirius also learned about werewolves on the third day, and Sirius shared his new trick with his new friend. James walked in on Sirius as he was shifting back into human form and Mrs. Potter had to make him tea laced with booze because she was worried he had started seeing puppies. Sirius laughed into the soft skin of Remus' neck and inhaled honey and hazelnut.
Day four dawned and Remus walked around the room a couple of times, limping on his right leg. Sirius bit his lip and marveled at all the scars that marred the boy's back. It took all of James' piteously heterosexual comments to wilt his erection, but only one poem from e.e. cummings to have it come raging back. Sirius tried not to press against Remus' thigh, but it was there and warm and Remus was looking at him and he caved. It might have been the way he said, "but mr can you maybe listen" but it was definitely "(can you give a) listen to who may you be any how? down to smoking found butts" that made him come all over his pants and Remus' pyjama clad thigh.
"We've only kissed once," Remus said and Sirius laughed himself to sleep.
They moved out of the sanctuary of the spare room and invaded the porch swing. Sirius wanted to climb into Remus' lap, but stopped himself (and his crazy, dancing organs) from getting too excited and settled into the crook of the wood. Remus sipped his tea and Sirius couldn't stop telling him everything about himself. Remus looked at him like he already knew him, and Sirius kissed him again, just as the sun was beginning to heat the air around them and just as James was coming out of the house. He fell down four steps and stubbed his toe. Sirius laughed against Remus' soft lips and James retaliated by telling Remus the story of how exactly Sirius got his nickname.
"Oh yes. I can imagine that being very true." Remus laughed, it sounded like rain and the turning of pages, and then caught Sirius' eyes. All Sirius could see was bottomless pools of gold and trust and bloody twinkling. He barely resisted shagging him.
They talked about the Canons before they moved back to the spare room for dinner. The sun was sliding down the sky when Remus tried to read to him again from a worn copy of e.e. cummings. Sirius paid more attention with each verse.
"why did you go
you forgot to shut
your big eyes." Sirius licked Remus' hands, suckled on fingertips and nibbled on wrists.
"where did you go?
like little kittens
are all the leaves
which open in the rain." He laved at Remus' belly button, just unwrapped from stiff old bandages, and dipped to lick at the golden-eyed boy's cock. Remus moaned when he said rain and Sirius moaned too.
"little kittens who
are called spring,
is what we stroke
maybe asleep?" Sirius swallowed Remus' cock and Remus tangled fingers in his hair, moaning "Sirius" instead of 'asleep'.
"do you know?or maybe did
something go away
ever so quietly
when we weren't looking." Remus came hard. Sirius barely heard him finish the poem before he was coming, untouched, in his pants. They exchanged lazy kisses and Sirius swore there was nothing better in the world.
The morning didn't get to break through the window panes before Sirius had already flipped open to a page that said; "I've been waiting for you" in Remus' scrawl, licked Remus' bite wound and whispered filthy bits of poetry into Remus' neck.
"i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing." Remus did an incredible thing with his tongue and suddenly Sirius had to finish the poem.
"Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does," Sirius moaned the last sentence and twisted because fuck, but Remus knew exactly what he was doing.
"i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling" Sirius stopped and flailed. Remus was smiling and moving his mouth along Sirius' thighs along with the poem.
"-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you," Remus disappeared between Sirius legs and Sirius' world exploded. Remus was kissing that part of him and Sirius thought he might come from the look of those scars against his skin; of just Remus against his skin.
"i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs," Sirius was pretty sure he said "fuck" at 'flesh' because Remus had a tongue and three fingers up his arse and his mind, organs and cock were doing a bloody Irish jig because of a werewolf.
"and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new" Sirius gasped and clutched at Remus' face as he entered him. Sirius wrapped his legs around thin, piston heavy hips and sucked hard on Remus' neck (hazelnut, parchment, sweat). It was smooth and raw and igniting. And Sirius thought that maybe this was what he was made for. Made to watch Remus' sore body sweat and move into him, to need Remus to look at him and kiss him at the same time is exactly what he had been waiting for. Remus shifted and Sirius' world was 'cummings' and scars and gold.
Sirius watched Remus come, warmth spindling inside of him as Remus tilted his head back, exposing a column of smooth neck blotched with marks of Sirius' lips, and he watched with suddenly seeing eyes as Remus' hips flew, curling into him like they were waiting for him. Sirius gave a throaty moan before he blacked out no pun intended.
Sirius woke up tangled in Remus.
"Been waintn' por mef?" He snuggled into the soft, world-hiding armpit of Remus and twisted his fingers into Remus' sides
"Yes. Waiting for you."
James ruined their moment of possible morning sex (and obvious declarations of love) when he burst into the room as a fucking stag.
Mrs. Potter brought breakfast, said she should buy a shotgun because the deer in the area were just out of control and left a collar by the jam.
It had 'Southpaw' engraved on one side the other said; 'if found return to owner: Moony'.