Angel Burn

THE NEXT MORNING, Sirius and Remus headed back to the garage to find out about the car.

Though it was only ten o’clock, the day was sticky with humidity already; Remus's hair up under the baseball cap felt damp and heavy.

As they walked the half mile or so, they talked about the heat, whether the car would be ready that day, the too-sweet motel donuts they'd had for breakfast.

Neither of them mentioned how things had shifted between them, but it was there, anyway.

Things just felt a lot more relaxed, as though they didn’t actually hate each other now.

But then, as they started to cross the concrete forecourt to the garage, a feeling of foreboding gripped Remus and he stopped short.

“Wait a minute,” he said, touching Sirius's arm.

He glanced down at Remus.

He was wearing a burgundy T-shirt, and the hair at the nape of his neck was curling slightly from the heat. “What?”

Remus shook his head, still gazing at the garage with its bright sign and plate-glass windows.

It had seemed fine yesterday, but today he had the weirdest feeling about it — nothing he could put his finger on, just a really strong sense that he shouldn’t go inside.

“I — I better go back to the motel,” Remus said, taking a step backward. “I’ll wait for you there, OK?”

Sirius's eyebrows drew together. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Just — I don’t think I should go in there.”

He glanced over at the garage, frowning.

“OK, here.” Remus dug in his jeans pocket for the plastic card key. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

“Thanks.” Remus took the card key. “Listen, have them check out the Mustang’s air filter while they’re at it, OK? I think it might need a new one.” Then Remus turned and started walking hurriedly back up the road, glad for the sunglasses that covered half his face.

It was so quiet out, with only the occasional car speeding past.

After he'd been walking for about five minutes, he heard a new noise: rhythmic footsteps striding behind him, growing closer.

Hugging his elbows, Remus peered over his shoulder.

It was Sirius.

Remus felt his shoulders relax; he waited for Sirius to catch up.

“You were right,” he said as he fell into step beside Remus. “There was a guy in there wearing a Church of Angels cap.”

Remus heaved out a breath. “Oh, God. Do you think he saw me?”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t think so; he was talking to the mechanic when I went in. The Mustang won’t be ready until around noon tomorrow,” he added.

“He found a garage that has the right bolts, but he won’t be able to get them until this afternoon.”

Tomorrow. Remus rubbed his arms. “So . . . I guess we’ll just wait in the motel room, then.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Sirius.

He was walking with his hands stuck in his back pockets; his legs were so much longer than Remus's that he took two steps to Remus's every three.

“It’s not exactly safe for us to go sightseeing, even if there was anything worth looking at around here.”

They got the motel room for another night and headed back to it.

As Sirius swung open the door to the room, something occurred to Remus. “Hey, what’s your last name, anyway? I just realized I don’t know.”

With a wry smile, Sirius took his wallet out of his jeans pocket; opening it, he pulled out a few pieces of ID and handed them to Remus. “Here, take your pick.”

Remus flipped through in amazement.

A California license for Alexander Stroud . . . a Michigan license for Owen Patton . . . an Ohio license for William Fraser . . . Remus started to laugh.

“God, you’re like James Bond,” he said, handing them back to Sirius. “What’s your real, actual last name?”

“Black,” he said, tossing the wallet onto the dresser. “I don’t have any ID with that on it, though. I don’t exist, as far as the system’s concerned.”

Remus blinked. “What — really?”

Sirius looked amused at the expression on his face. “Yeah, really. My bank account was under a fake name; it was set up by the CIA. I never got a social security card or anything. Or a real driver’s license.”

Remus couldn’t think of much to say to this.

He had thought he was joking about the James Bond thing; apparently he wasn’t.

Remus sat down on his bed and pulled his shoes off. “Do you have a middle name?”

Sirius grinned. “Yeah, it’s Orion, actually.”

Taking his own shoes off, he sprawled back onto his bed, reaching for the remote. As he switched the TV on, a talk show flickered onto the screen.

“You’re just making this up now,” Remus said after a pause. “Your middle name is not Orion"

“Yeah, it’s Orion, as in Orion Black, my father. What about you? Have you got one?”

“No, just Remus Lupin,” he said, stretching out.

“I always wanted a middle name; I was the only boy in my class who didn’t have one.”

Sirius looked over at Remus, his eyes interested. “So what was it like? Going to school?”

Remus glanced at him in confusion and then suddenly realized. “You never went.”

He shook his head. “I grew up at the camp, pretty much. I’ve only seen school on TV. Is it really like that — with homecoming and proms and stuff?”

So that’s why he hadn’t known what a yearbook was called.

Feeling sort of dazed, Remus said, “Yeah, it’s exactly like that. Prom is a very big deal, actually. Some of the boys at my school even go into New York City to get their suits. They spend, like, thousands of dollars on them.”

“Did you?”

Remus barked out a short laugh. “Uh, no. I never went.”

Sirius rolled onto his side, facing Remus. “Why not?”

Remus could feel his cheeks heating up.

He stared at the TV, where the talk-show host was sitting next to a guest, both of them dabbing at their eyes with tissues. “Because no one ever asked me.”

Sirius's eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. High school is . . . ” Remus tried to think how to describe it.

“There are all these ruling cliques, and if you don’t belong to one of them, then — that’s sort of that for you. I never really fit in; I was always King Weird.”

Sirius's eyes were narrowed as he looked at Remus.

“What?” Remus said, feeling self-conscious.

“I’m just having a really hard time picturing this,” he said. “Prom is like the big dance, right? At the end of school? And you’re saying that nobody ever asked you to it?”

Remus would have been irritated, except that Sirius sounded so honestly surprised that Remus found himself laughing instead.

“Sirius, I’ve never even had a date. You’re really not grasping the extent of the ‘King Weird’ thing here.”

“King Weird,” Sirius repeated. “Why — because of the psychic stuff?”

Remus pretended to be deep in thought. “Well, let’s see; there was the psychic stuff and the way I dress and fixing cars . . . ”

“What’s wrong with the way you dress? You mean like the old jeans thing and knitted jumper?”

Remus held back a smile at the ‘weird jeans and knitted jumper' thing.

“Yes, exactly. It’s not in fashion; I bought it at a thrift shop. Most of my clothes are like that.” Remus thought of a cloche hat from the twenties he had loved and a pair of old adidas shoes that he'd worn until they literally fell to pieces.

And Mary had threatened to disown him when he'd turned up to school in a bomber jacket once.

Sirius was starting to look seriously confused. “OK, so . . . maybe girls would notice that kind of thing, but you’re saying that this actually mattered to the guys?”

“In Pawtucket, it did,” Remus said. “The girls who were popular were the ones who wore the right things and had perfect makeup. And the guys were jocks with abs."

“Why do you need abs or makeup?” Sirius sounded bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Remus said. “I’ve never really understood it, either. I guess that’s why I’m King Weird.”

“Right,” said Sirius after a long pause.

He gave his head a brief shake, as if he was clearing it.

“Well . . . if you want my opinion, the guys in Pawtucket are idiots.”

“I always liked to think so.” Remus's face tinged with heat as he glanced at Sirius. “Thanks.”

Sirius smiled, looking a little embarrassed. “OK, take me through a typical day,” he said, straightening up.

“You’re really interested?”

“Yeah, go on.”

Remus shrugged. “OK. It’s pretty boring, though.”

Sitting cross-legged on the bed facing Sirius, he described everything about Hogwarts High — classes, and bells ringing, and homework, and GPAs, and shuffling through the hallways in a crowd, and final exams and lockers, and the cafeteria, and skipping classes sometimes when it got so boring he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Sirius listened intently, absorbing every word.

When Remus finished, Sirius was quiet for a minute, his expression thoughtful.

“That all sounds so strange. I can’t really imagine it — having to do homework and caring about what grade you get.”

Remus laughed. “Wait, my life sounds strange? God, yours is like something out of a movie.”

And then it hit him— really hit him— that he might never go to high school again.

Remus had always sort of hated it, but it was a bizarre thought, anyway; it made him feel so adrift somehow.

What was going on there now? Everyone must be talking about me, wondering what had happened.

“What?” asked Sirius, watching him.

He managed a smile. “Nothing.”

They watched TV for a while after that, ordering a pizza when they got hungry.

Sirius turned out to know the plots of half the soap operas that were on. “I can’t believe that you actually watch this stuff,” Remus said.

It was midafternoon by then, and he was lying on his bed, feeling too full and slightly stir-crazy.

On his own bed, Sirius was stretched out on his side, looking totally relaxed as he stared up at the TV, like a sleek panther lying in the sun.

He shrugged as he took a bite of pizza. “There isn’t much else to do when I’m waiting for a text,” he said.

“I get pretty sick of ESPN sometimes, when they’re just showing golf or whatever.”

Remus found himself just gazing at Sirius for a moment, taking him in. “So how does it work?” Remus asked, trying to picture what his life must have been like.

“Who sends you the text?”

“Someone at the CIA. The information comes from angel spotters. Came from angel spotters,” Sirius corrected himself.

His expression hardened momentarily, and Remus knew he was thinking of the angels having taken over Project Angel.

“OK, so — you got a text and then what?” Remus asked.

“I went to wherever it said. And then did some surveillance, checking the angel out and waiting for it to try to feed. That’s when you have to attack, when they’re in their angel form. You don’t have much time.”

Remembering how quickly he’d reacted when the angel came after Remus, he didn’t doubt that Sirius was very good at it.

Remus thought of the shards of light falling against the sky. “How does a bullet kill them, though? I mean, they look like they’re just made of light.”

Sirius tossed the pizza crust back into the box and shut the cardboard lid.

“You have to get them right in the halo. Like I said last night, that’s their heart. We’re not totally sure how it works, but when the bullet hits, the halo’s energy sort of jumps off the rails. It sets off a chain reaction that their bodies can’t handle, and then it just blows them apart.”

And Remus's angel didn’t have a halo.

What did that mean?

Remus slammed the thought away.

He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to know.

“It’s weird that something so small can destroy them,” Remus said instead.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah. Not very good planning for them to come here; I guess they don’t have bullets in their own world.”

“Does it always work?”

He stretched, linking his fingers together. “Usually. Sometimes if you nick the edge of their halo, they just pass out in human form. That’s only happened to me a couple of times, but it’s a bitch when it does — you have to trail them for days to get another chance at them. Plus, they’re aware of you then.”

Remus couldn’t help staring at him.

He was so calm and matter-of-fact about all of this, even though it sounded like his life was on the line every time he got a text.

“And . . . you’ve been doing this for how long now?”

“Which?” he said, glancing at Remus. “Hunting angels or getting texts with their location?”

“I don’t know. Either.”

“I’ve been hunting angels since I was eleven,” he said.

“Eleven?”

Sirius shrugged. “I’d been in training for years by then. It was different in those days — a bunch of us would go out hunting together, following leads. A hunt might take weeks. We’d be out on the road, staying in different places. Camping sometimes.”

A brief wistful look crossed his face, and all at once Remus knew just how much those times had meant to him.

“OK,” Remus said after a pause. “What about the texts?”

The toned muscles of Sirius's arms flexed as he lay back on his pillows, propping them up under him.

“Well, after the Invasion, the CIA took things over and we each had to work alone, without any contact with the others. Angel spotters sent us the details, and we just went after them.”

“You mean you’ve been by yourself since the Invasion? But — you said that was almost two years ago.”

“Yeah,” he said shortly.

Remus felt his heart chill. He couldn’t even imagine it.

Maybe he wasn’t the most sociable person in the world, but being alone for that long in awful motel rooms like this, with only his own stupid thoughts for company? He'd go insane.

“So you got a text with my address on it,” Remus said finally, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Sirius nodded, staring up at the TV like he wasn’t really seeing it.

“I was in Colorado. It took me about a day and a half to get to Pawtucket, and then I went and checked you out.”

“Broke into my house and followed me, you mean.”

Sirius gave Remus a sideways glance. “Well, the orders I got were just to shoot you. Following you for a while seemed like a better idea.”

“I’m not complaining,” Remus said. He studied the firm lines of Sirius's face.

“You’re in danger, too, aren’t you?” Remus realized suddenly. “I mean, the angels want to kill me, but you can’t be very popular with them, either. You rescued me from the church — and you know that they’ve infiltrated Project Angel.”

Sirius shrugged, folding his hands under his head. “Yeah, I’m probably not their favorite person,” he said mildly.

How could he sound so laid back about it?

For a moment Remus didn’t know what to say.

“You really did rescue me, you know,” he said at last. “I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.”

Sirius looked quickly at Remus, his eyes surprised.

Remus smiled, and after a beat he smiled back.

“That’s OK,” he said.

The rest of the day passed.

An old movie came on, something called The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, then a couple of game shows and sitcoms.

They watched sometimes and talked sometimes — mostly just about what was on TV, but it felt nice.

Relaxed.

Around nine or so that night, Sirius got up and stretched, yawning.

“I think I’m TV-ed out for now,” Remus said, yawning, too. “Much more of this, and my eyes are going to fall out.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Reaching for the remote, Sirius turned the TV off. “Hey, do you know how to play quarters?”

Remus shook his head. “What’s that?”

“We just need a glass.” He got a plastic cup from the bathroom and then sat down at the round table, moving his bag to the floor.

Remus swung his legs off the bed and took the chair next to Sirius.

“OK, it’s usually a drinking game, but it doesn’t have to be,” he said, digging in his jeans pocket.

He took out a quarter. “All you do is throw it flat against the table, like this —” He tossed the quarter sharply against the wood, his forearm flexing. It jumped up in the air, kissing at the plastic lip of the cup and then spinning back onto the table.

“Almost,” he said. “You’re supposed to get it in the glass.”

“OK, let me try.” Remus reached for the quarter.

It was tougher than it looked; on his first attempt, the quarter hardly even bounced at all.

After a few tries, he got the hang of it and sent the coin flying up into the air and into the cup, almost knocking it over.

“Good one,” said Sirius with a grin.

They started keeping score, using a GoodRest pen and a sheet of stationery.

Sirius wrote both of their names at the top; his handwriting was quick and spiky.

After an hour or so, he was ahead seventy-two to fifty-seven, but then Remus started to have a run of luck and leaped ahead of Sirius.

“Are you sure you’re not cheating?” he asked, marking down Remus's latest goal.

“How could I cheat?” Remus snapped the quarter against the table again, and it went straight in.

“Yes!” He cried, lifting his fist.

Sirius cocked a dark eyebrow at him.

“Maybe you’re psychically making me think that you’re winning when you’re really not.”

Remus burst out laughing. “Yes, I have psychic mind control, you’re right . . . Look, dude, I don’t need to cheat; this game is easy.”

Remus tossed the quarter again, and missed this time.

He slid it across the table to him. “See? Not cheating.”

“Hmm,” Sirius said, picking up the quarter.

Remus propped his chin on his hands, watching Sirius.

“Do you think that the psychic stuff is really weird?”

“Stop trying to distract me,” he said. “Just because you’re in the lead.”

His blue-gray eyes were narrowed as he aimed, bouncing his forearm slightly as he prepared to throw the quarter.

“Sorry.” Remus sat back in his seat with a smile as Sirius threw; the quarter went in.

“No, I don’t think it’s weird,” he said, adding it to his score.

He glanced up at Remus.

“We trained in all kinds of strange things at the camp. Not that, exactly, but things most people would think was just as strange — auras, chakra points, all kinds of stuff.”

Remus pulled a knee up to his chest.

“So even though being psychic is an angel thing, you don’t think it’s weird?”

Sirius shrugged.

“Well, the angels would never use it to help anyone,” he said, getting ready to aim again. “So I don’t think you have much in common with them there.”

Warmth flowered within Remus. “That’s . . . a nice thing to say. Thank you.”

Without answering, Sirius snapped his arm and threw.

He missed and rolled his eyes, pushing the quarter back at me. “That’s what I get for talking to you.”

He won in the end, anyway, a hundred to ninety-four. “Best two out of three?” he suggested, jiggling the quarter in his hand.

“You have got to be kidding,” Remus said. “I’ll be seeing quarters in my sleep.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’m kidding.” He tossed the quarter into the cup. “I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

Remus got up from the chair and dropped onto Sirius's bed. There were a couple of pieces of pizza left.

“Do you want one of these?” Remus asked, opening up the box.

“Thanks.” He reached across from the table, and Remus handed him one. Remus wasn’t even hungry, really; there’s just something about cold pizza.

For the rest of the night, they watched a movie that was on.

Halfway through it, Sirius moved to the bed, stretching out on his stomach a few feet away from Remus.

It was an action film, and he kept rolling his eyes, muttering things like, “Man, you would never do that . . . Is this guy trying to get killed, or what?”

Remus was sitting cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees. “Would you be quiet, please? I’m trying to watch this.”

Shaking his dark head, Sirius fell silent as the hero got ready to confront the bad guys, sliding his gun straight into the waistband of his jeans.

“Hey, he’s not using a holster,” Remus said, glancing at Sirius's on the dresser.

He laughed out loud. “Yeah, I guess he must want to shoot something off. It’d be so great if these things were true to life — the next scene would show him at the hospital, like, clutching himself in agony.”

Remus laughed, too, imagining it. “OK, it’s a pretty crappy movie. But we’ve still got to see how it ends.”

When it was finally over, Sirius yawned, reaching for the remote. “Good, the world’s been saved and the guy’s still in one piece somehow. Maybe we should go to bed; it’s after midnight.”

Remus started yawning, too. “Stop that — you’re setting me off.” He stood up; his legs felt stiff and creaky.

“Sorry, I guess it’s contagious.” Sirius snapped the TV off and looked down again, fiddling with the remote. “You know, it sounds stupid, but this has been a good day,” he said.

His cheeks reddened.

“I’m usually in these places on my own. It’s sort of nice to have someone to hang out with.”

Remus's heart tightened.

It sounded as if his life had been so incredibly lonely these last two years.

“It’s been nice for me, too,” Remus said shyly.

And the weird thing was, it was true.

Even though he'd been sitting in a motel room in Tennessee, today had felt — well, not normal, obviously, but a welcome reprieve from everything that had been going on.

Like he'd been able to just put my thoughts on hold for a day.

And he knew a lot of it had simply been being with Sirius.

He'd never really been alone with another boy like this before; he'd never dreamed that it could feel so natural.

“I’m, um . . . I’m really glad that we’re talking now,” Remus said.

Sirius didn’t look up for a moment.

When he did, he smiled at Remus, and Remus saw that same faintly troubled look in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”

~~~~~~~

That night the Sirius had the strangest dream.

They hit the night air, and Sirius spotted the truck behind the corner of the club and all but dragged Remus over there, digging in his pocket with his free hand and finding the keys.

The door to the truck was unlocked and opened, and the key was in the ignition in a split second which was a stunning display of capability, considering Sirius was under the influence.

Even more surprising and just plain, downright exciting was the fact that as Sirius leaned over to jam the keys into the ignition and turned the truck on, Remus hopped up onto the driver's seat, feet hanging out of the car, which was just perfect, really because Sirius attacked him about half a second after the truck roared to life.

“You know what the fuck you’re doing,” Sirius said as he pushed Remus back on the seat, hearing a laugh escape his throat before Sirius's lips pressed roughly to the edge of his jaw.

He dragged teeth across the skin, hand coming up to push against Remus's neck and tilt his head back.

And Remus arched into him, his leg fitting between Sirius's where he was leaning outside the truck.

Bending his knee, he roughly pressed into where Sirius was hard and had been half hard all night watching Remus doing whatever the fuck it is he does that makes him so infuriatingly compelling.

And whatever had gotten them there in the first place.

“Sirius? Jealous?” Remus managed to gasp out as Sirius shoved at his jersey, trying just to get it off because it was an obstacle.

He huffed as his lips found Remus's collarbone, biting down, and it caused Remus's hips to come up once again and the prettiest whine to leave his mouth as he rubbed his thigh against Sirius in his pants.

“Yeah—” Sirius nodded as he finally helped Remus get the jersey off and tossed it against the passenger side window. “You know what, I am.”

“Why?” Remus whispered, but it sounded rough as his hands frantically tried to undo his belt buckle.

Sirius pushed against his shoulders, keeping Remus's hands still as he ran his lips down the column of his neck, tasting the sweat and skin and everything he had been staring at all night.

And Remus tasted so sweet—like all the candy in the world couldn’t even begin to compete.

“Because you’re a fucking tease, and you know it.” He knocked away Remus's hands before he could undo his belt. “And I don't like sitting there watching everyone look at you like they wished they could fuck you.”

Remus fought with Sirius's hands that were firmly planted on his belt buckle.

It was no use, and he shoved them away as he kissed Remus again.

Pulled on the buckle, lifting Remus up and into him, and heard him let out a small gasp.

It was sloppy—messy. It was absurd how Remus tasted like cigarettes still and sweat and the sweet drinks they had been drinking.

It's fucking unbelievable how he opened his mouth to allow Sirius in, but Sirius didn't give in.

He took Remus's bottom lip between his teeth, biting down so hard he al- most felt bad, but then he felt Remus's hips lift again—his feet grappling and trying to find purchase on the edge of the truck so he could press himself against Sirius.

It was making Sirius delirious, Remus's lips everywhere.

Panting and eyes blown like he had been longing for this and couldn't stand it now that he was in the moment. Like he knew Sirius would give him anything he wanted.

Remus knew exactly where he had Sirius.

But that wouldn’t do—that was too easy, and as much as Sirius wanted to give into everything swimming in his head at the moment, yeah, he had been jealous.

But it was him over Remus right then, and him Remus wanted, and that whole concept made Sirius feel higher than he ever had in his fucking life.

He pressed his lips against Remus's neck, leaning into him and trying his hardest to soothe the area after he bit down, but he very quickly found he was obsessed with how Remus's skin felt against his teeth.

Soft and pliant and like Sirius was bending it to his every will.

He drew back just enough to glance down and see Remus's chin wet with spit, lips parted and trembling as he took quick breaths.

Sirius groaned at the sight before Remus seemed to have had enough.

He let his feet fall out of the truck, and Sirius nearly died from the loss of pressure against his cock.

But now Remus was lying below him, hands threading into Sirius's hair and allowing Sirius to just kiss him.

Remus leaned into it, letting Sirius tilt and turn and move his head as he pleased, lips unhurried as his fingers skated over Sirius's waist.

He took a sharp breath against Sirius's lips, spoke softly. “You wish you could fuck me?”

“I don’t think you want to know the answer—” Sirius huffed, bracing an arm on the seat and lifting to meet his eyes. “To that question.”

And then the little moment of what could hardly be called tenderness was gone.

It's nothing romantic or sweet or anything nice, really. Except it was nice because Sirius's tongue was about an inch from literally being down Remus's throat, and his lips were moving against his, and they were so fucking soft and everything he ever wanted.

Remus's tongue was sliding against his own, and it was clumsy, and maybe Sirius, any other time, would have been embarrassed because he could kiss better than whatever this was, but the knocking of teeth only made him harder.

Their teeth clashed, and Sirius hissed as the feeling sank into his gums.

Remus moaned, made this filthy noise, and licked over the front of Sirius's teeth. “You taste like bud.”

And he felt Remus pull back as their gaze met again.

Sirius didn't know what he could possibly be seeing in his eyes, but Remus fought back a lazy smile before bringing Sirius's lips to meet his and spitting in his mouth.

It was still for a moment in the cab, and all Sirius could hear was the laughter and loud voices of those outside the bar.

The low static of the radio and the hum of the car.

And then there was the heavy breathing and the sound of Sirius's brain boiling over as Remus captured his bottom lip with his own and pushed his spit into Sirius's mouth.

Literally swapped spit, and it was somewhere between the second shoe dropping of the night and falling in love for the fourth time.

Still, Sirius lifted, shoving against Remus's knees to try and get him to hurry back into the truck, and then they were both in the car, the door slamming shut behind them.

There was a moment of panting, Remus resting on his elbows, shirt wrinkled and lying wrong.

Unbuttoned and falling off one shoulder.

Sirius was on his knees in front of him, and Remus's chin was wet with spit—he could see where it was running down his chin and hadn’t quite made it into Sirius's mouth.

And he could see it shining in the dim light from the bar outside, and Remus looked debauched—like if you hadn’t known, you would have thought he had just been thoroughly and extensively fucked.

And that was just the most enticing concept Sirius had ever considered.

Then everything started up again the moment Sirius reached over and turned the radio on.

His mouth tasted like Remus's spit, and he cursed before leaning down again.

And this time, Remus was ready and arched so prettily into Sirius's chest when he leaned down.

His knee came between Remus's thighs, and Sirius's hands were on that fucking belt buckle as Remus lifted to give him another kiss.

He twisted it in his grip, and Remus threw his head back, narrowly missing hitting the door.

And Sirius could only think about all the times they had been in the truck while he thought about this exact thing happening.

He had never gotten the details down but was more than happy with what he was being provided.

It had always been on the edge of his mind, but Sirius never allowed himself even to consider it, yet here he was with Remus underneath him, whimpering and moaning and begging.

“Please,” Remus swallowed hard, stuttering as Sirius pressed their foreheads together—watching as Remus looked at him. Eyes dark and dazed, heavy and so fucking beautiful.

They were wide and full of that something Sirius would chase to the ends of the fucking earth.

“Please, Sirius."

“Hm.. should I?” Sirius whispered against his lips, pulling back just enough so Remus couldn’t kiss him despite arching back and desperately trying.

Sirius's hand found its way underneath Remus's waistband, pressing into the skin and dragging across Remus's stomach.

So soft, tangible proof of the good in the world under his very own fingers.

“Please.”

He gripped Remus's waist harder, running his palm over the skin and Sirius let out a shaky breath.

He shoved Remus's hips into the seat, and it was a beautiful fucking sight—maybe ethereal or euphoric, even—watching Remus lose it under him.

Fully in his grasp, hips lifting—searching for Sirius.

“Sirius—” Remus whined, and it was the most perfect sound he had ever heard—and he needed to hear it again and again and again.

“What do you want?” Sirius grinned as he shoved his hands under his thighs, pulling Remus up and into him.

But he knew what Remus wanted, and he’d tease him all day—until his words were jumbled, and there were tears in his eyes—but Sirius fully intended on giving him anything he wanted at that moment and always.

Just this one time.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

And Remus tried to answer, to tell Sirius like he didn't already know what Remus needed by the look in his eyes and the tilt of his hips, now grinding into Sirius's thigh, but only let out a breathless gasp.

And Sirius had half a mind to tell Remus to get off like that.

Tell him that if he wanted anything, he would have to work for it.

That they were going to sit there, and Remus was going to ride his thigh until he came, and then maybe—maybe—Sirius would touch him.

But as he looked down, noticing Remus's flushed skin from where he had been digging into it and felt his fingers grasping at his shoulders, Sirius thought another time.

He got Remus's belt undone, and Sirius threaded the leather through the loops, tossing it somewhere wherever the jersey was, and then tried to shove off Remus's pants.

Sirius could feel Remus's fingers brushing and knocking into his, both of them desperately trying to get the fucking pants off.

“Why do your pants have to be so fucking tight,” Sirius huffed, bringing his hands around to try and tug them off from underneath. “What the fuck?”

“I don't know,” Remus shook his head frantically, trying to lift and peel them off.

It's awkward in the cab, and Sirius banged his elbow, but they managed.

They collectively got them far enough down, and Remus kicked them off, feet hitting the door, and he cursed.

“They're off. They're off—please.”

And then Sirius paused, sitting up and settling his hands on his knees.

Breathing heavily, his head was a mess looking down at Remus.

He looked a mess—cheeks flushed and red. Hair shoved away from his face, sticking to his skin in other places.

Sirius could see the rise and fall of his chest and the way his lips were swollen and shining.

Remus looked absolutely wild.

And it was all too much, and he asked because he could not be given this and then have it taken away.

“Are you sure?”

Remus finally gets a leg free, wrapping it around Sirius's hip as another whimper escapes his lips.

His fingers find their way into Sirius's hair, tugging him down for a kiss. “Yes—please, yes.”

He can only nod. “Okay—okay.”

“Just—“

Whatever Remus meant to say was cut off by a groan.

Deep from his throat, ripped out, it was a mix between a half-choked sob and his name as Sirius reached down and took his cock in hand.

“Oh fuck—okay, fuck,” Remus nodded, head thrown back as he tried to bring Sirius closer. “Okay—god.”

“You gotta be quiet,” Sirius muttered as he looked at Remus's length in his hand.

His lips parted, eyes growing heavier before glancing up at Remus. “But you’ve got a pretty cock.”

He was hot in Sirius's hand, and holy shit, it was happening.

Remus was below him, and it was happening, and Sirius needed to get it together.

But Remus was way ahead of him and started rolling his hips into Sirius's hand, shoulders digging into the seats as he looked at Sirius.

“Sirius,” He begged. “Move—fucking do something, what the fuck—”

“Shit—sorry, okay.” Sirius held Remus's hip down before leaning over his cock and spitting—letting it fall over the tip before he swirled his thumb.

“You’re kidding—“ He gasped, and Sirius glanced up, leaning over and covering his mouth with his hand. “Holy shit.”

“You’ve gotta be quiet,” Sirius reminded, digging his fingers into Remus's cheek, resting his chin on the top of his hand, and looking down into his eyes.

He moved his hand, smearing the spit over Remus's length, and then his cock was slick with Sirius's spit, and Sirius was painfully hard in his pants, shifting to where he was straddling one of Remus's thighs.

The song on the radio faded out, the next started, and Sirius let out a breath of a laugh.

He twisted his hand as he brought it up, squeezing a bit tighter around the base, and watched as Remus's eyes rolled back, and he felt his mouth part under his hand—hot and heavy breaths against Sirius's skin.

“You’re gonna be good and be quiet?” Sirius asked, glancing up and watching a few people walk past the bar through the rapidly fogging windows.

He nodded quickly as Sirius quickened his pace, slicking his hand over Remus's cock before twisting and running his palm over it.

He pressed his thumb against the ridge around the tip, watching as Remus let out a huff of disbelief, arching into Sirius's touch.

“Tell me—“ He said, and he felt Remus continue to nod.

He lifted his palm, letting him speak, but Remus only continued to stare at him wide-eyed, nodding, brows drawn.

“You gotta tell me, baby—that you’re going to be good.”

“I promise.”

Sirius shoved two fingers in Remus's mouth, pressing down on his tongue as he closed his lips around them.

His tongue was slick against Sirius's skin as his hips pushed into his hands—matching his pace.

“Fuck—look at you.” And it was Sirius who choked the words out that time, feeling Remus twitch in his palm.

He looked up, watching as a few people started heading toward the truck.

His eyes flitted down, spitting on Remus's cock again before pulling out his fingers and switching hands. He quickly shoved his other palm over Remus's mouth, slick, and Sirius let out a shaky breath at the sight under him.

Remus was close.

Sirius could fucking see it, and he wanted to see him come apart and scream his fucking name for the entirety of the world to hear.

Sirius felt drunk on the heat of their breaths fogging up the windows—intoxicated and wrung out by Remus looking at him like only Sirius could give him what he wanted.

Remus licked his palm—Sirius felt his hot tongue graze over the inside of his hand and cursed.

But as Remus got louder, somehow managing to slip a few moans between his fingers, Sirius looked up and saw the silhouettes of more people exiting the club.

“Be quiet,” He hissed before removing his hand, reaching over to the radio, and turning the volume up as loud as he could spin the small dial.

Sirius wasn't quick enough, though, and all that could be heard in the truck was Remus's voice for a brief moment.

“Oh—fuck, fuck. Please.”

“Sirius—I’m gonna—”

“Please—I wanna come—”

And then it was drowned out by Foreigner of all bands, and Sirius glanced up one more time, watching as people pointed towards the truck, and Sirius heard them faintly talking over the music.

He leaned down, pressing his palm against Remus's mouth, and doubled the pace, keeping Remus still. “You’re going to come, okay?”

Remus nodded, eyes absolutely wrecked.

“And you’re going to bite down on my hand when you do because there are people standing right there,” Sirius nodded his head towards the window.

Remus's eyes widened even more, and he shifted, pressing his feet into the seat and lifting his hips.

“And after you come,” Sirius's voice was hoarse, eyes pleading.

“I’m going to lick my hand clean, but you have to be quiet.”

Because he was going to make Remus come—would rip it out of him if he needed to—just to watch Remus's eyes flutter close and hear what he sounded like as he came undone under him.

And as soon as Sirius said the word lick, Remus reached up, wrapped his hand around Sirius's wrist, and flipped his palm over, teeth sinking into the oft flesh on the top of his hand.

He let out a loud fuck before he felt Remus still under him—biting down harder.

Sirius was sure he would draw blood right before Remus went slack.

His head fell back, and his hips stuttered. Eyes fell shut for the briefest of seconds before they opened again, meeting Sirius's like he was all he could see in the world.

His teeth let up as his hips jerked once, and Sirius felt him spill over on his hand.

And it was the most alluring sight he had ever seen—making Remus come.

The music was loud in the truck, but he could still hear him—the choked groan and muffled cry Remus let out as Sirius let go of his cock, pulling his hand away from his mouth.

His hair was wet with sweat.

Shirt was wrinkled and creased, and Sirius leaned back, looking down at him.

Pants shoved down, one leg out and come had dripped onto the soft dip under his navel.

Sirius didn't wait a second before bending down, tasting the soft and salty skin as he met Remus's eyes.

Gathering it with his tongue before lifting, sucking a finger into his mouth.

“Fuck, Sirius—”

And then another, and then another as Remus looked on with something akin to fascination in his eyes.

Short breaths and pants escaping his lips where they were slick with spit and sweat—his hips pressing into the seat, chasing that high that Sirius had just given him.

Sirius awoke with a jolt.

His dream voice was still echoing in his ears.

Oh God.

What the fuck was that.

Breathing hard, he swallowed and covered his eyes with his forearm.

He gave himself a moment to come down from the planes of dreamland and to think about what that dream meant.

On second thoughts, maybe it's best to not think about that.

Letting his arm drop to the pillow behind his head, Sirius opened his eyes.

It barely made a difference; the room was almost pitch-dark, its curtains showing only the faintest sliver of light.

In the other bed, he could hear the soft sound of Remus's breathing.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could just make out the curve of Remus's body as he lay curled under the covers.

Sirius hesitated, gazing at him— and then shifted through his chakras, lifting his consciousness up through his body until it hovered outside of himself, above his crown.

The angel appeared above Remus: life-size and radiant white.

As before, his lovely face — a mirror image of Remus's own — was bowed in repose, his wings folded behind his back.

Sirius could see the glowing outline of every feather; see every fold of the robe that fell from the angel’s shoulders.

Sirius lay looking at the angel for a long time.

The halo-less image didn’t move, and neither did he.

Sirius took in the curls of his hair, his lips, his slightly downcast eyes that looked as if he'd be smiling if he glanced up.

And slowly, Sirius could feel warmth releasing in him.

As the images of his dream resurfaced, his breathing quickened; his heart started thudding.

When Sirius finally calmed himself and closed his eyes once more, it was Remus's face that he saw . . . and he knew that he’d sleep peacefully again