Work Text:
second agreement
The tacit, or rather barely-worded agreement upon breakfast of not sleeping in the same room (bed) while Harry and the other children were in Grimmauld Place was replaced by a tacit, this time proper no-words-needed-at-all agreement upon by Remus's doorframe, when the last lock had clicked into place and the last candle had burnt out and Sirius's hand had slipped into his like water would seep through the cracks in stone and Remus had shrugged, thinking okay, okay, now if only he could remember how to smile, and Sirius closed the door behind them and drew a long long breath as if he were a man stuck underwater for days, as if Remus, to him, were both lung-capacity and the moment you break the sea's surface and taste sunlight.
Sirius is a light sleeper but he also falls asleep very easily. Remus and his thoughts keep awake for a while afterwards, running in circles in his mind, Remus fidgety without motion. Both Sirius and his breath are hot and sticky on the back of his neck, there's something overwhelming about it, like when they were at school and Sirius was always just a bit bigger-than-life for his comfort. In his sleep Sirius puts his hand on Remus's chest and Remus can feel how thin his fingers are.
Footsteps in the hallway -light and clumsy and brave, hushed voices, Remus thinks Harry and Hermione and Ron with fondness-, they pass by but Sirius is already awake. Sirius is a light sleeper and that is an Azkaban souvenir every bit as much as his scars are, those Remus never looks at or rather he looks at them for too long.
`Mmmm?´ Sirius mutters, as if that's the most eloquent thing anyone has ever said.
Remus flashes him an amused look, like saying just kids, don't worry. He knows they are being careless, risking discovery like this, but maybe the carelessness is actually intended. They both sit up now, listening closely, not touching now, some space between them but the bed feels accusatorily warm from their bodies.
More footsteps. One of the paintings downstairs – Ethelbert, was that his name? Sirius thinks, judging by the tone, his great-great-great-great-uncle – barks at the intruders and Sirius and Remus suppress their laughter.
`We should have one of those paintings in here,´ Sirius declares, brushing his foot against Remus under the sheets and covers.`I'd love to have anyone in my family see what we do in here.´
He makes a crude gesture, waving his hand between Remus and himself. Remus frowns.
`Oh, Sirius, that's so romantic, even now. I always knew you were with me to piss off your folks,´ He mocks.
Sirius sticks his tongue and grins, Remus thinking too old for that but Sirius is not, he will never be too old, he realizes, watching some traces of the 15-year-old-boy around his mouth, hidden but there, exposed for Remus to see them if he wants (most of the time he doesn't).
`Of course,´ he says, putting his hands on Remus's shoulder and pushing, pinning him down to the mattress with all his weight, soft weight. `I needed a werewolf in my list. You are just another notch in my bedpost.´
Sirius kisses him. Remus taps the tip of his fingers against the curve of Sirius's neck.
`I know, I know,´ he murmurs, song-happy and light, and kisses Sirius back.