Work Text:
A Secret Santa gift for the lovely Ash. Happy holidays!
The thing about Sirius Black is that he is inescapable. In fact, one could liken him to a tumour: aggressive and persistent. Once you met Sirius, befriended him as Remus had, he would make a home in your insides and your bones and never leave. You could try to get rid of it, but he is everywhere, and you would never see the end of it. Perhaps Remus was being melodramatic, as he was wont to do. But another, bigger, exponentially bigger, thing about Sirius was that Remus was entirely too fond of him. Remus thought of the word love as a word reserved for poets and gods. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt love for anyone before. It seemed so vast and all-consuming, and it felt dangerous. Like sliding a rabbit hole and emerging into Wonderland only to realise there is no way out. But when Remus thought of Sirius, he saw his brilliant smile, his scared knuckles. The face of an angel, but the hands of a demon. Sirius was born into what was practically royalty, but he’d emerged from the womb with his hands curled into fists, ready to take the first swing. Sirius was more than just a black sheep, everything about him—save for his looks—contradicted his family’s values. If not a rebel, he would have become a madman.
Maybe Remus was a poet, after all. He’d always been a bit romantic, a bit too much of a dreamer, a little too self-pitying. But he still wouldn’t dare say that he was in love with Sirius, much less tell him about his feelings. His mind was a traitorous thing, always giving him ideas at the most inconvenient moments.
“What do you want for Yule, Moony?” asked Sirius, leaning back in his chair, the second window to the left that stubbornly refused to close sweeping a chill into the room. It was getting closer and closer to Christmas—Remus had always celebrated Christmas with his mum—and Remus still hadn’t got Sirius an adequate present.
“The cure for lycanthropy would be great,” he cracked, a smile tugging at his scarred lips as he placed his finger at the edge of the page and closed his history textbook.
Sirius gave him a look. “Well, perhaps something a bit more achievable would do?” he said.
“Chocolate,” said Remus simply. He had never been big on gift giving, he wasn’t like Sirius who had grown up wealthy. He was used to little things, things that other people considered to be boring and minimal.
“But you can always get chocolate,” argued Sirius. “The whole point of Yule is that it’s once a year.”
“I don’t know, Pads,” said Remus with a sigh. “You know I don’t really care about that stuff.”
“Yeah, I know. I just—you never let yourself get nice things, you know? It’s like you think you don’t deserve it or something.”
Remus hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t know, I’ve just noticed,” mumbled Sirius, cheeks going pink. “Like, you never ever really let yourself be spoiled for even a moment. And I don’t think it’s just because you don’t have as much money as the rest of us.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sirius could always sniff out a challenge from a mile away. “I dare you to buy a self-inking quill.”
“I don’t need a self-inking quill,” said Remus. “Why would I pay for something I could easily do myself?”
“Because it’d make your life easier? Save you time and effort? You always get ink all over your hands.”
“It’s just impractical,” Remus said stubbornly.
“No, it’s not,” said Sirius. “Listen, I’m not telling you to go out and buy yourself a gold cauldron, I’m just saying that sometimes you deserve to have nice things.”
“Maybe I don’t deserve nice things. I’m not that good, anyway.”
Sirius leaned forward, hands coming together underneath his chin. “You’re probably the most good person I’ve ever met, Moony.”
“Better than James?”
“Maybe, yeah.”
“You do realise that I’m sort of a monster?” asked Remus. “I’m classified as a dangerous beast by the ministry.”
“Sod the ministry,” said Sirius. “I’m sick of you constantly being hard on yourself because of something you can’t control.”
“Whatever.”
“I mean it,” Sirius stood up. “You’re brilliant, Moony, honestly, I—the Marauders would be nothing without you.”
Remus swallowed, looking down and reopening his book. “Thanks, Padfoot.”
“You still haven’t told me what you want,” said Sirius, still standing above him. Remus could feel his face burning.
“I told you, I don’t care.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“What?”
“Tell me what you want.”
Remus couldn’t stand to look at Sirius’s face anymore, let alone make eye contact. “Some things just aren’t realistic,” he said, then immediately hated himself for it.
“And what’s that?” Sirius looked even more invested now, more eager to work the answer out of Remus.
Remus had to swallow again, his throat feeling dry, palms sweating and heart pounding. “You,” he said, so quietly he briefly wondered if Sirius had even heard him.
But Sirius had, because he said, “Me?” in just as soft a tone, and Remus tried to still his trembling fingers.
“Yes,” Remus replied. He still didn’t know why he was doing this, he felt as though his brain was on autopilot, acting on its own.
“You know, I did pass under some mistletoe earlier,” said Sirius, lowering himself down to Remus’s level. “It would probably be bad luck not to make good on it.”
“Yeah,” said Remus. “Probably.”
Sirius smiled. “Then kiss me.”
“It’s my gift. You kiss me,” said Remus, hands pushing the textbook off his lap.
Sirius’s smile grew, and he slowly eased himself into Remus’s lap. He fit as if he were made for it, moulded specifically to perfectly compliment Remus.
Remus forgot how to breathe, but then it didn’t really matter because Sirius kissed him. It was gentle and hesitant, light yet it knocked all the breath out of Remus’s lungs—not that there was much to begin with.
“Was that alright?” said Sirius, without a trace of his usual confident self, suddenly vulnerable and small.
“I don’t know,” said Remus. “Maybe we’d better do it again just to be sure.”
“Good idea,” said Sirius, and this time, Remus kissed him first.
He’d kissed before, but not like this, with someone he liked as much as Sirius, not with all the care and tenderness that he was using now. Because it wasn’t just a kiss, it wasn’t just anyone; it was Sirius.
Sirius leaned into it, his hands drifting up into Remus’s curls and taking hold of them.
“For what it’s worth,” said Sirius, as they moved apart, “you were on my list, too.”