small_gifts | Fic: Who Do I Believe In? for Stompe

Title: Who Do I Believe In?
Author:

lyras
Written for:

stompe
Rating: R
Prompt: Fic or art inspired by "Vem ska jag tro på" by Tomas DiLeva. The title translates as either "Who should I trust?" or "Who should I believe in?" Video here.
Summary: Neither of them know how it'll end, and that's fine.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Section headings are borrowed from "The Sunlight on the Garden" by Louis MacNiece. The last line of each section either paraphrases or is inspired by a line from the prompt.

stompe, I really hope you enjoy this, and thanks for reminding me of this song! Thank you to

rian219 for a swift and helpful beta-read.

Who Do I Believe In?

The sunlight on the garden

It's the day before the summer hols, and Sirius Black and Remus Lupin have been snogging for the past three minutes.

Remus's mind is full of excitement and fear and lust and I didn't know he... and Is this the right thing? and Am I a good kisser? and Hell, this is Sirius, and Oh, good god, and What'll we tell James and Peter? and Can he feel my hard-on? and Wow! In fact, he is so full of thoughts that it takes him a few seconds to notice that Sirius has stopped kissing him back. He opens his eyes.

Sirius is watching him, eyes wide with - is that anxiety?

Remus breathes in the scent of him - which at the moment is mainly Benson & Hedges and Firewhisky, two smells of which he entirely approves - smiles and selects one of his thoughts to air more or less at random. It turns out to be, "Wow!" This is lucky, he reflects later, because imagine the humiliation of blurting out dodgy information about the state of your cock.

Sirius's smile is broad with relief as he leans in again, and something that isn't a hand or a knee or, well, anything except what it is, nudges the bulge in Remus's robes.

Oh! Remus stops worrying about his own hard-on and concentrates on snogging Sirius as expertly as he can.

They both know what's happening, but neither of them knows how it'll end, and that's fine.

We cannot cage the minute

Sirius turns away after kissing Remus, because he knows he's a terrible actor.

I can't do this much longer, he thinks again. Not with what they're planning; not with the lives of James and Lily and Harry at stake.

'So, been having any têtes-à-têtes with Voldemort recently?' He tries the words out silently and knows he'll never say them aloud. They may be down to the dregs of their relationship, but that would empty the beer tankard entirely, and he's not quite ready to give it up.

"Hey." Remus touches his hand and manoeuvres to face him. "Tough day?"

He looks just the same. Worn out, but then they all are. Except, is it Sirius's imagination, or are his eyes darting around a little too often? That wetting of the lips - which Sirius would have found irresistible only a few weeks ago - is it simply exhaustion, or nerves? Are you selling us to the fucking enemy?

He shrugs and forces a laugh. "No worse than James and the others. You?"

"Me?" Remus looks down. His habit of self-effacement, which has always frustrated Sirius, now seems sinister. Is he playing for time? "Well, you know the exciting life I lead on my days off."

"Not sure I do," says Sirius. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

Remus offers him a fag, takes one for himself and lights both before muttering something about Ministry bureaucracy, an Owl from his mum and a drink with Peter. Since Sirius has spent time with Peter today himself, his fears are unallayed.

The evening is spent exchanging bitter jokes and downing progressively larger measures of Firewhisky. They laugh at one another's witticisms, and when they go to bed they fuck, because that's what they do. But like clowns, under the veneer of make-up they are dead-eyed and unsmiling.

We cannot beg for pardon

Remus wakes from a dream of Moony, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail racing through the Forbidden Forest, and wonders again how they went from that to this. How, when, where did Sirius transform from the carelessly attractive schoolboy with a bitter sense of humour into a callous killer who betrayed his best friends? How didn't he see it coming? How were they all taken in?

Even knowing what he knows, he is assailed by memories: the two of them quarrelling amicably, or fighting Death Eaters back to back, or practising Quidditch, or fucking clandestinely in the tower dormitory, the stationery cupboard, under the Quidditch stands; anywhere they could find. As his body betrays him, his brain offers up a slideshow - Sirius's cheeky grin, his perfect, perky arse, an upward glance as his tongue slides down Remus's belly - until with a groan he reaches down and shuts his mind to what he's doing.

Last Christmas they awoke together in Sirius's flat, got distracted with one another and arrived at James and Lily's house late and still flushed. This year, spent and alone, he huddles under the rank sheets and tries to shut out the Salvation Army, who are celebrating the birth of a saviour by playing Hark, the Herald Angels Sing outside his window. Remus doesn't know any saviours. The heroes are dead; those who remain are the traitors and cowards.

And not expecting pardon

Sirius curls against the back wall of the cell and thinks of Remus again. Not the good times: he has learnt quickly that his jailers relish pleasure, and they have already stolen several of his favourite memories. He can't remember their contents, but he knows that they involved either Remus or James, because all his best memories do. Anything with Wormtail - he will never call him Peter again - is automatically tainted, so he sustains himself on thoughts of the four of them.

Their last Christmas at Hogwarts, he and Remus had spent most of their time looking for private corners. He remembers one occasion particularly, because Peter had so nearly caught them and Remus had been so horrified. For days, Sirius had been torn between laughter and lust every time he pictured Remus's pale face, eyes wide and come dripping from his mouth, an instant before he'd dived under the covers.

His body stirs again at the memory, but he doesn't attempt to get himself off. Even if he could, he's discovered that the Dementors love that, too.

He doesn't wonder how Remus could believe him capable of treachery, because didn't he believe the same of Remus? That's what the war's done to them both, although perhaps they'd have done it to themselves, anyway.

Sirius didn't need loneliness to make a cynic of him, but it's helped.

But glad to have sat under thunder and rain with you

Remus is guarding Hogwarts again. He watches as Harry, Ron and Hermione head towards the Forbidden Forest, but relaxes when they stop at Hagrid's hut. If they've gone to offer moral support during Buckbeak's execution, he can't bring himself to put a stop to that, however many rules they're breaking.

His gaze roves across the map, checking the various entrances to the castle: the tree, the hump-backed witch, the mirror, the Ravenclaw bathroom, the main door. I'll watch Harry back to the castle, he thinks. But when they reappear, they are accompanied by a fourth name that almost stills his heart. A movement near the Whomping Willow catches his eye, and suddenly he has to remind himself of where he is, and when. Then he dashes for the door, the map cast aside but not forgotten, because how could he forget the sight of those two names - one a long-dead hero and one an avowed traitor - reappearing on the map he created with them?

Bent double, knocking his head and jarring his shoulders on long-forgotten roots and rocks, Remus Lupin hurries along the passage to the Shrieking Shack to join Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. The question echoes around his mind: who to trust? By the time he reaches the house, he knows the answer to that, because it's the one he should have known all along.

And grateful, too, for sunlight on the garden

Remus opens the door and this time there is no hug, only a gasp and a croaky invitation inside. Sirius follows him into the kitchen, blurting out the news about Harry and Voldemort as they go.

When he gets to the other boy, the one who died, Remus's hand freezes in the act of pouring tea.

"He was a nice kid," he says, and Sirius remembers belatedly that he must have taught him. "Why is it always the nice ones?"

"It's starting again."

"Yes."

All the way here, Sirius has been beset by memories of before - memories that the Dementors left to him, because they were grim, death-ridden and dirty. Here with Remus once more, with Voldemort to fight and Harry to protect, he might have gone back thirteen years. Can we do it better this time?

Despite his crow's feet and greying hair, it is the old Remus who looks up from the mugs and says, "Are you ready to do it all again?"

Sirius pushes himself away from the counter, towards Remus. "D'you trust me?"

The flat seems impossibly quiet, the answer an impossibly long time in coming. "If you trust me."

When they embrace, Sirius knows that they will never talk about the misunderstandings of the past. They will never apologise for what they allowed war to do to them. But as Remus dips his mouth tentatively to his and their eyes meet in a naked exchange of nerves, Sirius thinks that perhaps there might be a happy ending, after all.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

leafyaki.livejournal.com

This is so beautiful! I especially love how the first part flowed to the second, both with kissing but in the second part, entirely different feelings, with Sirius turning away from the kissing knowing he can't pretend anymore ;___;

This, When they embrace, Sirius knows that they will never talk about the misunderstandings of the past. They will never apologise for what they allowed war to do to them. It's so striking, so different from what is normally imagined, them apologizing to each other, carrying the guilt of their past. But it's so real and human and lovely! And the last line of hope...*sighs happily* Beautiful fic!

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stocking stuffers, more like....

Fic: Who Do I Believe In? for Stompe

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