Would you try to save a lion instead of fleeing from it? Run into the arms of almost certain death, a crazed grin on your lips and war promised in your eyes?
Would you take us back, if you could?
The eyes of God felt like flames of fire, dancing across his skin and singing the hair on the nape of his neck, almost a preview into what waited for him beyond the gates of Hell. He sat bowed, knees tucked up below him and elbows resting on the ground, eyes closed as he recited the same mantra in his head over and over again.
Forgive me Lord for I have sinned. I was tricked by the devil himself. Give me the strength to fight him off. Forgive me Lord for I have sinned. I was tricked by the devil himself. Give me the strength to fight him off.
“Now isn’t this a pleasant view?”
It was almost like he’d summoned him. For a creature that was supposed to represent sin and everything Remus had vowed against, his voice sounded like syrup, suffocating him with all its sweetness. He could hear footsteps approaching slowly, the heel of his boot echoing as he walked through the pews, one deliberate step after another. Remus was slow to move, standing up and brushing non-existent dirt off his robes as a way to busy his hands so he wouldn’t look up. Because the moment he’d glimpse those blue-grey eyes was always his ruination. So he wouldn’t look. He wouldn’t look wouldn’tlookwouldn’tlookwouldn’tlook-
He looked.
Eyes are windows into the soul, they say. But when faced with hell personified, a creature that by definition has no soul, all Remus saw was the fire reflecting his origin. It was all-consuming, beautiful in a way that divinity could never snuff out; a flame that God and Remus had tried to put out, only to fail. Demons burned forever. Sometimes, Remus thought he’d let himself burn too.
“You’ve returned,” Remus said slowly, flinching the closer the demon got to him.
“You summoned me,” the other, Sirius they called him, smirked, tilting his head in a way that was surely meant to be charming but Remus knew was mocking.
Because, see, this was the thing about devils. They could hear your prayers too. And they didn’t always come with horns and a tail dipped in fire, no; sometimes, they came as everything you’d ever wanted.
There was a moment where Remus was at war with himself, the sword he’d prayed for clasped in his hand, ready for battle. But the hilt of it didn’t fit in his hand anymore; too slippery, or maybe he didn’t have the willpower to hold it as tight. Perhaps the sword had pierced him when he’d dropped his shield, the moment he’d looked into those eyes, and that’s why he wanted to retreat. So, so badly did he want to blur the enemy lines and cross over, cradle a marble statue with sparkling jewels for eyes; his life had been a storm since the moment he was born, so how could he begin to fear the hurricane that churned in those grey eyes of Sirius’s? They were perhaps the most human part of him. A hope that, perhaps, these sinful thoughts of his could be repented.
But then he remembered himself. Remembered where he was. He looked up at the ceiling, saw his Creator staring down, almost a threat. He could not defy Him while wearing His clothes. So Remus turned around silently, making his way towards the cross he’d left on the altar. When he turned, he saw Sirius standing but a few feet away from him, that sinfully saccharine grin still on his face and a challenge in his eyes.
“And what do you plan on doing with that,” Sirius paused, “Father?”
Remus sucked in a breath, the word so typically used as a sign of respect and leadership sounding absolutely filthy coming from the demon’s lips. It seemed Sirius was aware of the effect, his eyes gleaming as he approached. There was a mere breath between the two now, so Remus held up the cross as a warning. Come closer, you’ll get burned.
“You won’t do it,” Sirius taunted, and it’s that underestimation that pushed Remus to do just that. That desire to win rushed through Remus once again, so he picked up the sword, adjusted it in his grip until he could drive it through Sirius’s heart. To his credit, Sirius didn’t show any reflection of being affected; but the way his black vest sizzled, smoke arising, the smell of burning flesh replacing that of the aroma of the candles proved to Remus that the fight was in his hands, now. He could almost taste the victory, feel the crowne between his fingerti --
And then he was cornered against a pew, Sirius’s hand forcing him to sit as he towered over, the cross thrown to the other side of the room. His pupils had blown out, until Remus was looking into a void, an abyss that promised destruction, and a smirk that displayed sharp teeth and dripping blood.
(Remus may have won the battle, but he’d never win the war).
“Now, Father, that wasn’t very nice,” Sirius leaned in closer, closer, his lips so close Remus could practically feel them as he spoke.
“I wasn’t aiming for nice,” Remus spat.
“You never are,” Sirius sighed, and then his lips were on Remus’s, and it wasn’t soft or gentle, it was hungry, angry, a back and forth full of teeth and spit and hatred. But the blood on Sirius’s teeth tasted like something far stronger than any religion Remus had ever believed in, the desire in Remus’s veins the most corrupt of longings, and as he wrapped his arms around Sirius’s neck to drag him down, closer, until they melted into one being Remus realised that if he was to be damned, he’d gladly spend an eternity in hell just to feel Sirius against him one more time.
As he came down from his blissed out state, Remus looked down to see his robes pooled at his feet. His priestly robes. That he’d taken off to fuck a demon -- not just for the first, second, or third time. By God, Remus had forgotten how many times Sirius had interrupted his praying to defile him.
“Aren’t you supposed to resist temptation, darlin’?” Sirius’s voice tore him from his thoughts, forcing Remus to look up at the vision before him. Oh, Sirius looked properly fucked out; his hair a mess, a scattering of bruises across his neck and torso, lips kiss-bitten. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt, sprawling out on the pew and kicking his feet up onto it. That dangerous look in his eye had disappeared, replaced with a raised eyebrow and a grin. A genuine one.
For all his talk of prayer, Remus couldn’t bring himself to even want to repent what they’d done. The line was crossed. Remus’s place in heaven was compromised a long time ago, but even more so now, and Remus felt strangely at peace with it.
“I don’t want to, anymore,” Remus said softly, moving so he was situated beside Sirius. The shorter man tucked himself against Remus’s chest, his arm splayed out around his waist. A small gesture, but one so tender, so lovely, Remus felt like it was coming home.
Maybe this was not a war meant to be won, or lost. Maybe they were on the same side the entire time, and Remus just took a while longer to realise.
“You know this will not go unpunished,” Sirius said, tilting his head up so he’s staring right into Remus. “Your fate has been sealed. When the time comes, your Creator won’t be merciful.”
“What are you implying?”
“I may not be able to find you, then,” Sirius paused, worrying at his bottom lip. Remus reached out, thumb pulling it out as he urged the other to continue. “He may not let me find you. But if you come with me now…”
He trailed off, letting Remus piece together the rest of his sentence.
“Is it horrible?” Remus asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Not if we’re together.”
So Remus sealed his own fate. A love began the same day the battle ended; that is, in fact, the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property leads a man to desperate undertakings. So hand in hand, promise on the tips of their tongue:
A sweeter death had never been sung. Enter a world of hopeful fallacies, a circle that houses those souls that shall never see the light of God or reason again, swept up in that same tempest that Remus had gotten so used to. But to hold Sirius in his arms just once more, Remus would do it all again. Succumb to the storm and learn to navigate. Because heaven was never fit to house an entity like them.