All Hallows’ Eve

~400 words :: Harry Potter :: Sirius/Remus :: 10/31/05
It’s the same dream he always has. He’s in bed and Sirius is there with him like he never left. Like he hasn’t abandoned Remus yet again.


It’s the same dream he always has. He’s in bed and Sirius is there with him like he never left. Like he hasn’t abandoned Remus yet again.

Remus’s eyes are closed. Closed because if he opens them, he’ll wake up. But he doesn’t need to see; he can feel Sirius under his fingers, under his lips. And it’s always the same. Just the same as the last time, and when he wakes, Remus always wishes he could dream something else for once, but it’s always that last night over and over, and he always thinks to himself, I should have said

But wait, now, this is different. This isn’t how Sirius kissed him before, like he’s drowning and Remus is air. His fingers hadn’t dug into Remus’s arms like this, like Remus knows will leave bruises the next day. He’ll have bruises from teeth, too, and that’s not how it’s supposed to go, either, and surely Sirius didn’t say his name like that, over and over like a prayer.

“Moony, Moony, Moony…” Each word is punctuated by a kiss as Sirius moves down, and then he’s settled between Remus’s thighs and he can’t speak anymore with Remus’s cock down his throat.

And then Remus opens his eyes and it’s his flat, not Grimmauld Place. Even in the dark, he can tell. It’s his flat, and this is now, not then, and part of him begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t a dream at all. But Sirius is dead, has been dead for months, and pretending otherwise will only hurt.

So this is a dream, Remus tells himself. It’s just a dream, as Sirius’s lips tighten around his cock, as spit-slick fingers crook forward, have him arching off the bed. His fingers curl in Sirius’s hair, pull him down hard and hold him there until he chokes, because you left me.

He’s coming then, toes curling in the sheets as he gasps out “Si-” and “Pa-” and never quite manages either one.

When Sirius pulls back, his eyes are tearing, glistening in the faint light from the window. He kneels up, shuffles forward, and in a few quick strokes is shooting over Remus’s belly, and there’s nothing dreamlike about the warm come landing on Remus’s clammy skin. There’s nothing dreamlike about the broad swipes of Sirius’s tongue licking it up or the taste of it when they kiss.

Wordlessly, they cling to each other until Sirius murmurs, “I have to go.” He doesn’t say where, and Remus doesn’t ask, doesn’t say any of the things he means to say. But when he wakes up in the morning, he thinks maybe Sirius already knows.