Remus Lupin, when he was young, was a very cuddly boy. He would trail Hope all day and crawl onto her lap the second she sat down, then, when she went to cook dinner, he’d run to Lyall who’d just come home from work. He would hang off of the man’s legs and then run around under his mother’s feet until his father was changed and showered, then land himself on his da’s hip, squirming excitedly.
His extended family would come to visit on occasion, or he’d go to see them, and he’d drive everyone insane with how clingy he was. His uncles would have to wrestle him off of their laps to help the other kids. His aunts would have to unstick him from their sides to go and use the bathroom. His cousins would have to push him off of them go eat dinner. His grandparents would have to call someone to pry him off of their legs when they had to move.
After he was bitten at the age of five, things changed. Remus still stuck to Hope’s side— in fact, he got even more cuddly with her after the incident— but things changed with Lyall. His father started pulling back, dodging hugs and side-stepping any sort of contact. It ended up spilling over to his other relationships and, now, Remus has started backing away from being touched. It’s too scary. Sometimes, he wonders if people will be able to tell he’s a werewolf if they feel his skin.
Sirius Black, meanwhile, has never been big on physical contact. Ever since he was a kid, he’s wanted everyone to keep their hands away from him. Being touched has never been comforting, it’s only been stressful; it feels like sandpaper on his skin, it makes him want to bite something, mostly his own flesh.
He knows that his preference is, more than likely, due to the way he was treated as a child. He’s realized, over the years, that being beaten into unconsciousness by his parents, the ones that are supposed to care for and love you more than anything, is not normal. Not only is it not normal, it is, apparently, both illegal and immoral. It’s been a lesson hard learned, partially because it’s what he grew up with and partially because he didn’t want to believe that the word ‘victim’ can be applied to him. Truly, he still doesn’t, but he’s accepted that there’s nothing he can do to change it.
According to the one person he’s has talked to about it, Remus, his father occasionally putting his hands on Sirius’ body is also not normal. The sensation of hands on his skin, especially if it’s bare, always brings him back to Orion stripping him and trailing his fingers over every inch of his frame. The man never raped him, there was never any contact to his private areas, and Orion always kept his clothes on, so Sirius never classified it as assault. Remus says that a father forcing his child to get naked and bend into obviously sexual positions isn’t okay. Sirius doesn’t know if he’s ready to think about that.
Now, even after running away to live with his best mate, he still feels anxiety bubbling in his chest when people get too close to him, touch him for too long. Even James, his brother, his best mate, his platonic soulmate, can only wrangle a hug out of him once a week, which they’ve made something of a ritual out of. Peter gets a hug once a week, too, but they’re a little bit more flexible with the rule and skip the routine some days.
At some point, though, between getting with Remus within the first week of fifth year and half way through seventh year, Sirius’ touch aversion seems to have made space for the werewolf. Ever since falling for Remus on the train to first year, the moment the younger boy had fumbled through an introduction and sat down next to Sirius, eyes big and nervous, there’s been a spot in Sirius’ heart for him. It’s mushy, and strange, and out of character, but Sirius has always given Remus a little bit more leeway when it comes to physical affection.
James had picked up on it, asked about it before Sirius came clean about his feelings. Sirius denied it, but knew, deep down, that he would never let anyone else casually brush up against his arm in the halls, press their knees together when they sit together, or link their pinkies when they stand next to to each other. He knew because whenever anyone else made physical contact with him, even if it was just fingers brushing against his elbow, something benign, he felt like ants were crawling all over him, like he needed to rip his skin off of his bones. Remus never sparked the same reaction.
In the past, unexpected affection from the werewolf had upset Sirius. If it came without warning, went on too long, or was too much, it could evoke the same feelings as the smaller touches from others. Over the years, though, the lurching, panicked feeling slowly mellowed out the longer he knew Remus, until now, nearly seven years into knowing each other. The only time Remus ever causes anxiety nowadays is when Sirius doesn’t realize who’s touching him.
Today, though, Sirius doesn’t have to worry about any of that. It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, meaning that James and Peter are out, along with most of the other students in the castle. If he recalls correctly, James and Lily are on a double date with Peter and some Hufflepuff Sirius vaguely recognizes as a girl he slept with before coming to terms with his orientation. Sirius doubts that Peter and her will work out, mostly because he has some of his own theories on whether or not the younger boy even experiences attraction (he’s even researched it!), but that’s not for him to bring up. Either way, that means that everyone who stays in their dorm, other than Remus and Sirius, is out.
That means that Remus and Sirius get the entire dorm to themselves for about eight hours.
To some, such as James and Lily, a bedroom to themselves, with little-to-no chance of interruption, for hours and hours, it would be an opportunity to fuck like rabbits. But to Sirius and Remus? Well, Remus’ sex drive, due to the moon, its effects on his body and hormones, and his constant insecurities, is finicky at the best of times. Sirius’ trauma from his past makes his own libido fluctuate, along with his hesitance to let Remus see him as overly sexual, lest the best thing in his life fall apart at the hands of a comeback of his past man-whore reputation.
All that to say, neither of them see this time as an inherently sexual period. It’s why they’re sitting in bed, Remus curled up in Sirius’ lap, wrapped in big, muscular arms, a book propped in front of his face while Sirius buries his face in the younger boy’s neck. Sirius presses his full lips to the thin skin between Remus’ shoulder and neck, another one on the protruding bone at the top of his spine, then another on the soft curve of his jawbone. He continues peppering gentle kisses to Remus’ tanned skin, tracing every single scar he sees or feels there.
Sirius knows where every single mark, every freckle, every scar is. He doesn’t need to look to know exactly where to run his fingers to find the perfect little valley of Remus’ collarbones meeting, nor to feel the curve of his skinny shoulders. Sirius doesn’t need to think about how to spur a soft sigh from the werewolf in his lap, how to make him hum contentedly, how to cause him to completely relax back into the big, warm body bracketing him, not that that last one takes much effort; Remus melts willingly when it’s Sirius encouraging him to. Truth be told, Remus is also the only person on Earth Sirius will, with no hesitation or complaints, let his guard down entirely for, as well. Then again, the animagus thinks he would find a way to bring Remus the sun if he wanted it.
Remus sometimes catches his big, callused hands in his own thin, softer ones, runs his nimble, crooked fingers over Sirius’ scarred knuckles with something akin to reverence, then kisses the rough skin on the back. Every time he does it, Sirius’ heart skips a few beats. It’s such a soft, loving thing to do— something he thought only existed in the books he first read in Hogwarts’ library back in first year. Now, though, he knows better. Now, he knows exactly how Remus’ chapped lips feel on his hands, his neck, his chest, his body, his own mouth. It’s all he’s ever wanted in life.
Remus, beautiful and perfect, has been nothing but kind and loving with him, even though Sirius has, admittedly, been difficult to deal with at times. Due to his multiple traumas, Sirius has been hit-or-miss about when he’s okay with kissing, certain touches, and specific phrases, but Remus has been incredibly patient with him. It’s gotten easier, but things get rough sometimes, and, even after a few years together, Remus is still willing to pull Sirius’ head onto his chest, kiss his forehead, and say the sweetest words. The younger boy, somehow, knows just what Sirius needs, just when he needs it.
Remus is the only person left that Sirius feels safe, comfortable, and like he can be himself around. Remus will listen to him ramble about his various interests, no matter how niche they are and how little he cares or knows about them. Remus doesn’t like muggle vehicles much, he gets carsick and finds the moving parts overwhelming, and he prefers charms, care of magical creatures, and history of magic to transfiguration, ancient runes, and arithmancy. Even if Sirius’ passions don’t line up with Remus’ own, he’ll still listen, and it’s one of the most amazing things Sirius has experienced.
They, as much as they love each other, have very different personalities and passions. Where Remus likes tea with honey, cream, and sugar, Sirius takes his coffee black. The werewolf can only handle a few glasses of butterbeer, but the animagus can drink anyone in Hogwarts, including the professors, under the table. Remus is an introvert who gets awkward and shy with new people, meanwhile Sirius thrives on chatting and has the ability to make everyone like him.
Despite all that, they still work well together. Remus reads the headlines of newspapers, sometimes skimming articles if they pique his (equally strange) interest, then passes them to Sirius, who enjoys doing the crosswords on the back. Remus likes being cuddled, and Sirius likes cuddling people, but isn’t too keen on letting people hold him. Remus enjoys pickles, which Sirius has never been big on, while Sirius loves the olives Remus finds gross. Remus reads books, annotates the pages, and then hands them off to Sirius, who adds his own opinions to the margins, along with little doodles of hearts, stars, and moons.
Sirius hooks his chin over Remus’ shoulder, eyes flicking over the words his boyfriend is reading currently. It makes no sense, obviously— Remus is halfway through the story, and Sirius just picked a random sentence from the middle of the page— but it still makes him feel closer to the boy nestled between his thighs. Remus’ freckled hands go limp around the book and he tilts his head back, against Sirius’ broad, muscled shoulder, then turns towards his neck. The former Black heir feels a pleasant buzzing in his chest at the sensation of warm breath fanning over his skin, just under his pierced ear, then presses his lips to the spot.
Remus then looks up, cupping Sirius’ sharp jaw and gazing at him with so much fondness in his amber eyes that it throws him off for a second. No matter how many times he sees it, Sirius never fully adjusts to being looked at like he’s something worth loving, something worth caring for. Once upon a time, Andromeda, Uncle Alphard, and Regulus looked at him in a similar way, but it was a little bit different. That was years ago, anyways. Since then, Andromeda has vanished and he hasn’t been able to find her (though, he’s still looking); Alphard is still part of the House of Black, despite his unspoken disagreement with most of their politics; and Regulus has become the perfect little puppet for whatever sick plans Walburga and Orion have. James, sometimes, comes close, but it’s not the same. Remus is the only one who has ever looked at him like that. It’s a heady thing.
Remus shuts those big, beautiful eyes, sighs contentedly, and pulls Sirius closer. He goes obediently, slipping his own eyes closed, and their lips connect. Kissing Remus still feels like it did when they were fifteen, full of emotion and hoping it would never end. Granted, they are only eighteen, but Sirius thinks that Remus must be his soulmate.
Remus pulls back first, Sirius tries to chase his lips, but they spread into a grin and then Remus starts laughing, warm and gorgeous, higher-pitched than it would be if they were in public. His voice always goes up when it’s just the two of them, like a little secret for only Sirius. Remus’ giggle, his laugh, and his smile when he doesn’t feel the need to hide it make Sirius’ chest warm, his heart flutter. That grin, the ones he’s being face with now, is the best sight he’s ever seen. Lopsided, framed with thin, chapped lips, full of somewhat crooked teeth. Sirius would die for that expression.
“Hi,” Remus says, smile audible. He reaches back to card his fingers through Sirius long, dark curls.
“Hi, Beautiful,” Sirius replies, pressing his cheek against Remus’ in a move that feels a lot like something he’d do to Moony, as Padfoot, on one of the fulls. The younger boy tilts his head to rub their noses together, another canine-like motion.
“You’re so amazing,” Remus says against the corner of his mouth, then kisses him, close to his lips, but not quite on them. Sirius turns until he can kiss his lips properly.
“Aren’t you a flatterer,” Sirius chuckles, low and genuine. “I think you’re absolutely brilliant,” he adds, leaning back to see his lover’s pretty face. Remus twirls a lock of Sirius’ hair around his finger, then reaches down to slide his hands under Sirius’ own, which are wrapped around his body.
Remus hums, appreciative. “I love you, my Star,” he says, book abandoned on the bed. Sirius grins. What lovely words to hear. Sirius knows he’ll never get tired of hearing those words, no matter who they’re from, but they mean something especially wonderful when they’re from Remus. Maybe it’s because he was denied being told that throughout his early years, but Sirius maintains that that little phrase is the most beautiful thing to hear from anyone.
“I love you, too,” Sirius says back, because, with Remus, he can say those words freely.
It took both of them a while to say it, seeing as Remus had been insecure and worried about moving too fast, whereas Sirius had never been taught how to show his love due to his upbringing and wasn’t comfortable with voicing his feelings. It was a little under a year in that Sirius, after a few too many bottles of firewhiskey passed around the Gryffindor common room, had dragged Remus up to the dorm to kiss him silly and blurted it out. After a moment of silent panic, Remus had slammed their lips together again, pushed him over, straddled his lap, and, very breathlessly, said it back. The emotions of that moment are still just as prominent as they had been back then, even though they were intoxicated and sixteen, high on adrenaline, deep in their moment.
Regardless of Sirius’ anti-touch nature, he is so, so thankful for Remus’ weight in his lap and the contact between their bodies. Generally, he’s just thankful for Remus, overall.