Gold
2000
As the sun shone down on them, Sirius felt like he might combust. Remus, returning from a dip in the sea, shone in shades of gold as he walked back to where Sirius was sprawled out on a towel. His hair was lighter than it once was, but the sun of Marseilles had more to do with that than stress these days. The freckles that Sirius had a little (fairly major) crisis about when they were sixteen were back, and Sirius was allowed, no, actively encouraged to kiss them now.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He dropped a kiss on the top of Remus’ wet hair as he flopped down beside him. Remus tilted his face up, and caught Sirius’ chin, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
Harry was flooing in for dinner later. They’d been reluctant to relocate at first, but Harry, with all his youthful logic, had reminded them that he could be with them in seconds wherever they were. Finding the villa had been pure chance, and Sirius, with his inheritance from Alphard had bought it on the spot, not even giving Remus chance to argue.
Being effectively retired before they were even forty wasn’t something either of them had considered. Honestly, neither of them had thought they’d live to see thirty-eight at one point, so they made the most of it, mostly at Sirius’ insistence. So they read on the beach, went to museums, drank outrageously priced wine on rooftops, and lived like they'd never dreamed they could.
France had made it possible to have a civil solidarity pact, recognising their rights as partners, last year, and Sirius was just pipped to the proposal post by Remus. Something he loved to gently tease him about. Harry, Hermione, The Weasleys, Tonks, Andromeda, Kingsley, Hagrid and Minerva had attended the ceremony they held to sign the documents and watched as they exchanged golden bands with the inscription, ‘Mischief Managed’.