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Historians will call them anything but.
“Moony?”
Remus felt the rising pain in his chest, constricting muscles pressing needles into palms, hairs standing with its sharp tingling, reflexes choking his vigilant gaze. His eyes flickered, shifting from processes, ears twitching when sounds emitted presence by his hearing. There was speed when his head snapped up, arms wrapping tightly around his knees, shins tucked against his upper body, and the whimpering touch in his gaze struck sensitive chords in Sirius’ composition.
A need to dress him into his physical environment, the suffocating air of his mental state escalating in its accelerated material, amplified control reigning his thoughts, and Sirius felt the subtle twitch in his fingers as he dragged his hand through the air as if viscous liquid tugged him back. With careful speed, he lifted his knee, the bed dipping gently from where he placed his weight, Remus shivering slightly from the shift of movement. His breathing was returning to average paces, heaving settled under the soft huffs of breaths, Sirius’ eyes staring into his.
Crashing contraptions of emotion displayed in his eyes, gems rare in minerals as he managed to graze his finger against the sharp edge of Remus’ cheekbone, a slight flinch in reaction. “Moony,” he whispered, a deal of heavy toll articulated in his tongue, the swirl of knots in the werewolf’s eyes crumpling into particles of tangled strings. “My Moony,” he continued, and the tight contraction of tied lumps in the blocked irises undid itself, strands of his hair being the only lines in front of his eyes. Sirius gingerly pressed his palm against Remus’ cheek, wrist lightly touching where his chin dipped. Remus swayed gently, his cold skin undoing into warmth as it rested into the lent nest of traced fingers, his head leaning carefully into the touch.
Sirius reached with his left hand, the delicate surface of Remus’ hands coiled around his shins unravelling, intertwining tightly with lifeline as it intended with Sirius’. “Moony.”
The wavering twitches in Remus’ eyes stilled, guided in its reflection tied loosely around Sirius, focused purely on the scarring features of his face, facial identity etching like needles and threads to the empty canvas of his mind. Its white page filled, small pixeled crevices of his life puzzling into matching rings. The blaring red appearance of golden painted banners in the room crept into the corners of his eyesight, themed with the lavish smell of strong leather books to the side of him.
There was a press against his forehead, Sirius holding his gaze on Remus, the pressure of skin against skin released when his lips were caught. Their noses touched, the calculated contact blazing heat in their heads, mouths like clasps as they groped the other with them. Remus’ knees dropped, falling on to the bed as it dropped into a cross-legged position, his hand unhooking from Sirius’ as it reached to touch his face, thumb holding the curve of his jaw.
Sirius lifted his own hand to hold Remus’ neck, the impression of his fingers pressed against his skin sinning an image of memory. “You’re back,” he pressed as their lips retracted for air, smiling as he leaned in.
A finger positioned itself on his mouth, millimetres away from its destination, covering a muffle as Remus whispered, “I’m back.” The wall tore down, a hushed chuckle in the movement as the creased physical touches blocked away in memory, Sirius collapsing on the bed as Remus’ back touched the mattress. Blankets were still messy, the curtains enveloping them as the pureblood managed to bring both his feet on to the bed, chest pressed on top of Remus’. His tongue dragged along the exposed skin bridging his neck and his shoulder, teeth biting into the presented flesh of the folded over collar. His hands had travelled, now tucked under the furry texture of the fabric stitching his cardigan, a shiver of cold crawling over Remus’ stomach.
The window howled as wind pushed through, the swollen moon consumed by the shrouding darkness, stars sprinkling its joy above in its fire blazed form. Its bright white shade turned over, grey like the colour of a wolf’s coat.
But history hates lovers.