Seeing Other People

~600 words :: Harry Potter :: Sirius/Remus, Sirius/James :: 4/27/05
Remus wants Sirius. Sirius wants James. Neither is getting what they want.


Black hair aside, there’s no resemblance, really. There never is. The build, maybe. But bent over like this, hair hanging in his face, he could pass. It could be Sirius Remus is fucking.

If it were Sirius, there’d be a wand on the bed where there’s a half-used tube of lubricant, and it wouldn’t be this bed, either, in some Muggle hotel that lets you pay by the hour if you know who to ask.

It could be Sirius, but it’s not, and that’s part of the thrill.

His hands slip over sweat-slick skin and he tightens his grip, fingernails digging in. They’ll make crescents on the boy’s hips, bruises that Remus won’t be around to see fade.

The voice isn’t Sirius’s. It’s too high and the accent’s wrong when he swears. Remus doesn’t tell him to shut up; each moan is a reminder.

There’s no lying together when it’s over; there’s no dozing sticky with sweat and come. Remus gets up and cleans off without a word. He pulls on his pants and jeans, and there’s a moment of panic when he digs in his pocket and his fingers close on Galleons and Sickles rather than the Muggle notes he needs. His wand is in his jacket; it would be easy enough to make this boy forget him, but it doesn’t seem fair. For a moment, he’s considering it, though, fair or not. But no, there they are in his other pocket, kept separate so this wouldn’t happen.

Not meeting the boy’s eyes, he drops them on the bedside table and finishes dressing.


Black hair aside, there’s no resemblance, really. The music pounds, filling the air and his ears, so he can’t hear what the bloke says, though it’s clear enough from the hand on Sirius’s arse what he’s offering. Grinning, Sirius shrugs an apology and moves on.

Someone catches his arm as he weaves through the crowd. Sirius turns, swaying with the beat. This one’s redheaded, but the bulge in his trousers is impressive. He’ll do, Sirius decides. To hell with resemblance.

The bulge grows as they grind together and by the time they make it to the back room, Sirius’s mouth is watering. He presses the bloke against the wall, squeezing his cock through the tight denim as he undoes the buttons. Dropping to his knees, he wraps his lips around the head and closes his eyes. It could be anyone’s cock he’s sucking, anyone’s hands tightening in his hair. It could be James jerking Sirius’s head forward, nearly choking him.

Sirius’s cock twitches in response and he nearly comes.


It’s late at night, and they’re at Remus’s after James and Lily’s wedding. Just the two of them left. Sirius comes up behind him and slings one arm around Remus’s shoulders, a drink hanging from his hand, and starts taking the piss out of the guests. Remus laughs, and when he turns his head, their lips meet like he knew they would.

It doesn’t change anything.

Nor does the next time, or the time after that. Remus thinks he might as well be fucking some nameless Muggle still; there’s really not that much difference after all. Sirius’s eyes are always closed, seeing someone else, and it makes Remus want to scream.


Sirius still thinks of it as Remus’s flat, Remus’s bed, though he sleeps here nearly every night. They’re not sleeping now. Remus is straddling him, arse tight around Sirius’s cock. His hands slide over Sirius’s chest, up his arms, moving to pin them above his head, and that’s the first thing that’s different.

“Open your eyes,” Remus says, and the surprise alone has Sirius obeying.

Remus’s grip tightens. His voice is low and it sends a shiver down Sirius’s spine. “Forget about him.”

And for a while, Sirius does.