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It was over.
That should have been obvious. Sirius could see it in the faces of the rest of the team, he could hear it in the cheers of the Ravenclaws. Gryffindor was up 50-30 in the final match of Sirius’s fifth year, and if they won by 50 points, they would win the Cup.
The Gryffindor team had spent months preparing for this, and everyone had been certain they would win. Their team was the best it had been in years. He and James had spent the last week preparing an absolutely brilliant post-match celebration, and James was hoping Lily would get drunk on happiness and kiss him. Not that that was going to happen, but James was an idiot, and Sirius wasn’t going to dash his fantasies.
And now none of that was going to happen, because the Snitch had been spotted and Gryffindor’s Seeker, a seventh year named Lisa Lopez, was not going to catch it.
It wasn’t lack of skill at all, contrary to what the Ravenclaws would probably laugh about later. Their Seeker, Eric Johnson, had simply been lucky. When the slim sixth-year had darted off towards a glimmer of gold hovering near the goal-posts, Lisa had been at the other side of the pitch, scanning the field carefully.
Now Johnson was 50 meters from the Snitch and gaining, and Lisa was another 100 meters behind. But it might as well have been miles--there simply wasn’t enough time for her to catch the other Seeker.
That is, unless Sirius could do something about it.
There was a Bludger flying towards the dark-haired Gryffindor, and he might as well try. Even if it was an impossibly long shot, because the Seekers were all the way across the pitch and flying at break-neck speed. Sirius was very, very good, but he knew he wasn’t actually a miracle worker, contrary to what he might tell his fans. But Sirius Black was stubborn and more than slightly overconfident and he definitely wasn't about to pass up an opportunity just because there was a 0.02% chance of it working.
Putting on a burst of speed, he yanked his broom around to reach the Bludger before it soared right past him. He twisted precariously on his broom and pulled the bat back, glanced at Johnson to judge the angle, and swung with all the strength he could muster. The force almost had him tumbling right off his broom, but he managed to wrap a hand around the wood and just roll over in the air before righting himself and turning to watch the Seekers. Johnson had lifted one hand off the broom and was only a few short meters from the Snitch--he put on a final burst of speed--and then made a hairpin swerve, eyes wide, as the Bludger Sirius had hit rocketed towards his head.
Sirius froze. He heard a gasp below him--James, who was still clutching the Quaffle to his chest and had abandoned all attempts to score as he hovered, lost in the excitement. Sirius wasn’t sure if it would be enough, though, because Lisa was still so far behind--but no, wait, Johnson had slid sideways off his broom, overcome by the unexpected force of the turn. He was grasping the wood with only his hands, feet swinging wildly as he attempted to get back in control in time to win the match.
And Lisa was centimeters away now, hand outstretched...she made a grab for it, missed, then took her other hand off the broomstick, reaching desperately. Sirius’s eyes widened, and then--
She wheeled around, fist raised in triumph. They had done it. They had won the match.
Sirius let out a cheer as fireworks exploded in his chest and he lifted both hands off his broom in victory. He’d done it. The ground was only a few meters below, so he tumbled off his broom, hit the ground rolling, and then leaped to his feet, still yelling, even before the world had stopped spinning. He was soaring, high on victory, adrenaline and excitement making him feel lightheaded.
And then he saw Remus sprinting across the pitch towards him, just like always. Never to James, never to Lisa, like most of the other Gryffindors. Always right to him, every time, like in the post-match excitement Sirius was the only person left in the world.
“Siri!” Remus yelled, breathless, and then his arms were around Sirius and his beautiful golden curls filled the Beater’s vision and he was dropping his bat and melting into the other boy, pressing in as close as was physically possible. Remus laughed and why was the sound so perfect and then he looked down into Sirius’s eyes, and Sirius was so, so far gone because he knew he’d never see anything as beautiful as Remus’s honey-gold eyes and his scarred face.
All of the layers of control he had carefully sculpted over the years just fell away like they were nothing, and Sirius pushed up onto his toes and leaned in and then they were kissing, Sirius’s lips against Remus’s, and he had a vague feeling that he would regret this later, but he really, really didn’t care. Because Remus had pulled him close and his hand was in Sirius’s hair.
All around them silence was falling, but he didn’t care. And now Remus’s lips had parted gently, and Sirius followed. Remus tasted like chocolate, of course he did, but Sirius hadn’t known before because he hadn’t done this before. Well, he was going to make sure that this happened again and again and again, because he was finally kissing Remus Lupin after so many years and he never wanted to stop.
Sirius reached up to cup the werewolf’s cheek, running his thumb gently over the scar that he had pressed his lips against so many times, but all those gentle kisses had been nothing, nothing compared to this feeling. He leaned in closer, if that was even possible, and carded his fingers through the silky-soft hairs at the base of Remus’s neck and why, why had he never done this before?
And then he remembered why.
He remembered all those years of pulling the other boy close, but not close enough that they shattered. All the mornings when he’d wrap his arm around Remus after coming down to breakfast and maybe kiss him on the cheek, but nothing more. The days of sitting close enough in classes to brush the werewolf’s thigh, but never pushing it. The many evenings where Remus would pull Sirius almost onto his lap and Sirius would maybe play with his hair, maybe kiss his golden curls or the skin where Remus’s jaw met his neck. And then the dark-haired Gryffindor would fall asleep, sometimes on the couch next to Remus, sometimes on Remus’s shoulder, occasionally with his head in the werewolf’s lap as he studied late in the night, the common room empty around them.
But Sirius had never gone too far. He couldn’t risk losing the friendship he had built with the other boy. He didn’t know if he could survive that. So he’d stepped gently, walking on glass, careful not to push Remus too far and send them both flying into the abyss. Careful to make sure Remus was still smiling at Sirius with warm golden eyes before he kissed the corner of his mouth or climbed into the hospital wing’s bed to hold the boy close and chase away the monsters.
So he carefully pulled away. Remus followed him with his mouth for a split second, then broke off gently. “Siri…” he murmured, hesitantly, breath warming Sirius’s neck.
Sirius looked down, avoiding the boy’s gaze. He could feel a blush creeping over his cheeks and he hoped Remus wouldn’t notice. After a few long moments, he looked up to see a similar flush on the werewolf’s cheeks and a shell-shocked James, staring at the two of them with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. Sirius glanced down again, slowly stepping back as Remus let his arms fall away. They were standing just a few centimeters apart now, close enough that Sirius could have rocked forward onto his toes and closed the gap between their bodies. Still, it felt like a chasm--he wanted nothing more than to pull Remus in again and hold on forever.
Instead, he took in a breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--I didn’t mean--” Sirius broke off, desperately searching for words that would fix the great mess he’d made and glue the world back together. He found nothing, but continued anyway: “Moony--”
“Stop.” Remus lifted a finger and carefully laid it on Sirius’s lips. Sirius froze, a shiver winding its way down his spine as the feeling of Remus’s mouth against his flooded the Beater’s memory. His hands were rigid, held stiff against his robes, but they ached to make their way back to Remus’s skin. “It--it wasn’t just you. That was my fault, too. I...I wanted it.”
Sirius glanced up at those last words, and he found Remus’s gaze locked onto his, eyes steady. “You...what?” he whispered against Remus’s skin. He’d been so, so sure, for so many years, that Remus couldn’t possibly like him as anything more than a friend. After all, Sirius would surely know if Remus wasn’t straight. (No matter that Sirius had never told anyone that he was gay. If he had, someone would have undoubtedly made the connection to how much extra affection he gave Remus.) It had torn him apart, every second of every day, but Sirius had done his best to not let himself consider the alternative. Because that would undoubtedly lead to a foolhardy confession at some point, either when Sirius was hopelessly drunk or feeling especially optimistic and brave, which would undoubtedly result in rejection and a knife forever driven into their relationship.
Instead, Sirius had taken advantage of their friendship to hold Remus close, stealing kisses that weren’t quite kisses, and doing just enough to keep him satisfied. Not that he’d never felt guilty about that--there was a constant undercurrent of shame in every interaction they’d had, because Sirius was in love with Remus and Remus obviously thought he was just being friendly. But Sirius had been able to shove that to the side over the years. He had to, really, or he would have gone crazy.
But now it looked like maybe he had been wrong. But only maybe, Sirius, don’t get your hopes up too high before they get crushed.
He had to know. Even if it ruined everything. Because it was too late now, anyway, and Remus had planted a thread of hope. “I..I wanted it.” What did that mean?
Sirius took a breath, and he let his hands come to rest on Remus’s waist, because there was no going back now, and he honestly just wanted to, and now might be his last chance. He continued, softer, cautiously. “What did you want, Remus?” He really, really wanted to know.
Remus sighed, his breath warm on Sirius’s skin. “The same thing I’ve wanted forever, I guess.”
Remus slid his finger lightly across Sirius’s lips, then dropped his hand to rest against the curve of the Beater’s jaw. His fingers were cool in the warm air, and Sirius closed his eyes lightly at the touch. He wasn’t sure exactly what Remus was going to say, but at least it didn’t seem like he was going to shove the smaller boy away anytime soon.
“You.”
And Sirius’s eyes fluttered open in pure, blinding hope and Remus was looking down at him with blazing golden eyes, a small, bold smile on his lips--Gryffindor through and through--and so Sirius pulled the taller boy close, one arm still around his waist, holding him steady, one climbing higher towards his neck. Then Remus’s lips were on his again, and he was never letting him go, not ever, because this time Sirius knew it was okay.
Because Remus wanted it, too.
Sirius tilted his head, shifting slightly so their lips slotted together properly. After a moment’s hesitation, he opened his mouth slightly and when Remus did the same, he ran his tongue gently, tentatively, along the other boy’s lower lip. Remus’s hand clenched tighter on the cloth at Sirius’s waist, then his arm slid carefully beneath the beater’s Quidditch robes, fingers climbing up his back, and Sirius felt his whole body shudder--
“OI.”
They both ignored the voice as Remus ran his thumb in a gentle circle along the skin on the small of Sirius’s back.
“Oh, come on, you two, you can’t honestly be snogging on the Quidditch pitch...”
And then Sirius felt a hand grab the back of his collar and pull him backwards, away from Remus, but didn’t James know that it didn’t matter that they were in full view of the entire school, that nothing mattered, because he was never letting go? He pulled back, gently, and took in a quick breath, turning to glare at James. But then Remus laughed, looking up hazily, and untangled himself from Sirius. “You know, he might be right, we can surely find a better place...”
Sirius huffed out a breath, consenting, but he slipped his hand into Remus’s, lacing their fingers together, and pressed his side, from his hips to his shoulders, into the other boy as James led the two of them away. James was walking stiffly, and Sirius then noticed that the field was quite a bit quieter than it should be, considering they’d just won the Cup.
But Remus was gently stroking his thumb along Sirius’s wrist, and so he decided to worry about that later.
When they’d reached the castle, the door safely closed behind the three of them, James rounded on them. “Bloody fucking hell, you two. What the fuck?” James’s face was set, and Sirius couldn’t get a read on him. Was he going to slap them, perhaps, or burst into hysterical laughter?
Sirius decided he honestly didn’t care. (As long as James didn’t slap Remus, at least.)
Instead, he leaned over and kissed Remus on the cheek, feeling a shock of joy when the werewolf went brilliantly pink. “Just two idiots snogging on the Quidditch pitch, obviously.” He smirked.
James was going for the latter, it seemed. He burst into laughter, shaking his head incredulously. “After all these years... and this is how you two decide to realize you’re obviously bent for each other. Bloody hell.”