Just A Kiss

Sirius/Remus fic by Am-Chau Yarkona, rated a soft R. Written for Victoria P.

 

 

It was just a kiss.

Remus tried to downgrade it: just a kiss, nothing more, the usual, what—twelve years ago—he regarded as normal.

But the twelve years ago stubbornly refused to go away; this was Sirius, again, Sirius whom he'd thought he'd never see again, let alone kiss. His heart was racing, his mouth didn't want to close… this was Grimwald Place, hardly a happy home, and…

"Sirius," he hissed, "what are you doing?"

Tipping his head to one side, tongue still sneaking out of his mouth, Sirius considered before replying, honestly, "Pulling you into a deserted room and kissing you."

"I know that," Remus replied, "but why?"

"Oh, Moony," Sirius said, "don't be silly. Why do you think?"

"I think Azkaban did drive you insane. The rest of the Order are downstairs! They're going to come looking for us soon!"

"All the more reason to speed things up," Sirius said, pulling him back in for another kiss.

Remus gave a half-hearted wriggle as if he was trying to get away, but then gave in. It might be a mere kiss, but it was very welcome.

* * *

"This is turning into a habit," Remus gasped, when Sirius released his mouth. "We're getting dusty."

"I think it's a good habit," Sirius told, "and who cares about a little dust?" He didn't let Remus get up, but leant over him and started sucking his lower lip.

Remus nearly protested—he was supposed to be working, someone would wonder where they were, this wasn't the right moment—but then Sirius found the little spot just at the corner of his mouth which always made him squirm, and he gave in.

"Umm… Sirius… " he managed, running his hands through Sirius' hair, down his back, rubbing up against him. "'s good…"

"'course it's good, it's me isn't it?" Sirius replied. Damn the arrogance of him, and double-damn the fact that he was right.

"Shut up," Remus said, took hold of a tangled handful of black hair, and pulled. "Kiss me."

Sirius obliged.

* * *

Propriety insisted that they be given separate rooms, but Sirius insisted that they be next door to each other. Remus could only hope that Molly and Moody and the rest don't understand, though he suspected their smiles of being knowing.

Two kisses: is that enough to constitute an invitation?

Remus can't remember such questions ever bothering him before. A decade-and-a-fifth ago, everything had seemed simple. He loved Sirius, Sirius loved him, they were sharing a flat; going to bed together was an extension of the tussling tumbles they'd been taking since they met.

Natural as breathing, he thought, and was self-aware enough to give himself a mental kick for using clichés. 

He snuffed out the last candle with his fingers—too much effort to use magic for something so mundane—and lay in the dark. The house, settling down for the night, groaned a little.

Remus listened. Upstairs was quiet; the children were asleep, he felt he could sense them, though he knew such things were usually illusion. Below, nobody stirred. Molly had thankfully finished sorting out the kitchen, or at the very least Arthur had convinced her that it could wait until tomorrow.

Searching for something to focus his attention on, he rolled over, and tried to hear Sirius.

Buckbeak scratched the floor, a noise that contrived to echo three floors down. Remus sighed, waited, then strained his ears again.

At least snore, you bastard, he said silently to Sirius. 

No sound.

Then, a breath. Deep, a rush of air into lung; Remus could almost feel it skimming his skin. He lifted his head from the pillow, leaning towards the sound as the breath flowed out again.

He stayed there, frozen, for three more breaths. The fourth, though, was different; a whisper of sound that could have formed a word, but somewhere downstairs a clock started to strike eleven, and distracted him.

When the soft peal was over, he tried to tune in again to Sirius' breathing, wondering as he did so how it was possible that the walls were thin enough to let him hear so well.

"Remus," Sirius hissed. "Are you awake?"

Close. Sirius sounded close, closer than was possible; there should be at least six inches of wall between them.

"Yes," he said, softly, staring about in the dark. "Sirius? Is that you?"

"It's me, Moony," Sirius replied. "Lumos."

And it was Sirius. Right there, four inches away, lying just on the other side of… a double bed.

Remus began to laugh. "Fake walls, Padfoot?"

"Only the one," Sirius told him, with a sly grin that made his tired face look eminently kissable.

"Of course—there's no one else like you," Remus agreed, and closed the gap between them.

 

Stories