Title: Sweet Torture
Author: kbk
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never said they were.
Rating: R - and can I comment on feeling obliged to use the American system, just because it's prevalent on-line? 'Cause, really, I don't get it all that well.
Summary: Sirius thinks about Remus. Watching him wake, touching him, being his friend, wanting more... Gets a bit darkish later on. Set in late schooldays. Pre-slash. Bad language and sexual references. There's a Remus POV sequel-ish, Cherished Smiles and a third-person resolution, Gracious Revelation.

I wake early, some mornings. You would think, with the amount of energy I seem to expend during the day, that I would be loitering in bed until the last possible minute, attempting to squeeze out every drop of refreshment from my sleep. Some days, I do that. Today, though, I woke early.

I didn't expect to do that today. We all had a late night. We decided to round off our planning meeting with a trip to place a few dungbombs in the dungeons; unfortunately, having split into pairs, we ran into Filch – and of course Jamie had the Cloak while Remus had the Map. And, as always, I was with Remus.

We ended up huddled together in a cupboard for an hour until we were sure he was gone. Now, spending time with Remus is no hardship – if we can talk. I like talking to Remus. He always knows interesting things. Not that I don't, but he tells them better than I do – preparation for Professorhood, Jamie calls it. He has a lovely voice, as well – light and smooth with an untraceable accent which lilts and slurs its way through his lectures. Hiding in a small space, however, is not the most opportune moment for a talk, be it heartfelt or not. Hiding from Filch, you have to be very, very quiet.

If we can't talk, then I have to think. Thinking is not good. I think about the things around me, or I think about Remus. In cases such as this, the things around me are Remus, so I have to think about him. And I don't mind that. I love thinking about Remus. I could think about him all day. If he wasn't there. It's just embarrassing to be thinking about... things, and then look up to see him sitting there all innocent. I have to sit on my hands so I don't reach out and touch him.

So I did. I sat on my hands. I slumped with my back against one wall and my feet against the other, legs being used by Remus to prop up the map while he kept tabs on where Filch and the others were. Truthfully, we could probably have sneaked out on several occasions: and we really should have, considering the fact that stone floor at midnight is not a good place to be sitting. But we stayed. It was sweet torture.

Remus, you see, was twisted into some mad contortionist pose which left him with one arm cushioning his back, one elbow on my near shoulder, one ankle against my far hip and the other shin pressing into the underside of my thigh. Admittedly, we moved around, but we were always in some form of contact – it was impossible not to be. We were stuck in that position for at least twenty minutes, though, afraid even to breathe too loud. Now, I've always enjoyed rough-housing with the boys, and god knows how cramped it gets under that damned cloak of Jamie's, but prolonged casual contact like that is generally reserved for girlfriends. Of which I have had many, who never stick around because my first loyalty is to my friends and they don't seem to get that. And possibly because I really don't try that hard to make them understand. I'm cute, see. Girls like me. I like girls back. But the only person I ever really wanted was Remus. And at times I was basically between his legs. Heaven, because it was him. Hell, because I couldn't touch. Plain too much.

I should probably have called on Padfoot to get me out of it. I could have tangled myself up in him and he wouldn't have minded – wouldn't have suspected. I've never had a hard-on as Padfoot. But if I'd transformed, Remus would probably have used me as a pillow. He's done it before. My doggy self accepts this graciously, and enjoys the contact with his master; while intellectually I'm yelling that this is Remus, this is your secret crush, this is where you've always wanted to be and what are you doing? Lying there like an idiot with your tongue hanging out. Way to go, Siri!

It's nice, though, when they treat me like a dog. When they forget, a little, that I'm still Sirius. I changed back one time in the middle of being petted – it was fairly early days, I didn't have total control, and I got a bit too happy to pay attention – and Jamie and Peter practically jumped away. Remus finished ruffling my hair. Padfoot isn't too proud to ask for physical affection, and he always, but always, gets it. Dogs are eminently touchable. Humans aren't. Humans tend to neglect touch, despite – or possibly because of – what a powerful tool it is for conveying emotion.

Remus always used to shy away from touches. He still very rarely initiates them, but he's learned to accept, maybe even welcome, Peter's tap on the shoulder, James's elbow in the ribs, my exuberant hug... OK, I'm seeing a pattern there even if he isn't. Even James and Peter, his two other best friends, will only touch him for a reason – needing help, drawing attention. I'm the only person who grabs him whether he likes it or not, whether he understands it or not. Most of the time, I have a reason I can give, but truthfully? I just want to feel him in my arms. And he's comfortable with it. Comfortable with me. He gets a little more protective of his personal space when the full moon comes around; and I can accept that, refrain from reaching out. I don't know if it's a wolf thing or if it's the injuries he still picks up despite our presence, or if it's a mixture of both. I don't know what he thinks about it. I don't know if he thinks about it at all.

I think he's scared. I think the fact that lycanthropy is passed on through contact is subconsciously keeping him away from people. I think anyone who ever found out he was a werewolf became scared of him; and even if they tried to tell him that wasn't the case, their body language gave them away. They stopped touching him. They erected an invisible barrier around him, and now he's the one who maintains it. But now, he has friends who... shit. Like I said, James and Peter only touch him for a reason. That means they're still scared. Shit! Now that's just stupid. And really, really disappointing. I'm sure they'd tell me they aren't. I'm sure they tell themselves they aren’t. I'm pretty sure they're lying.

I'm not scared of him. Well, let me refine that. I'm not scared of Moony. I'm not scared of the wolf, because Remus is in control of that. I'm a little scared of Remus, but that would apply even if he hadn’t been bitten. I'm scared he'll realise he's far too good to hang around with the likes of me. I'm scared he'll realise I'm in love with him, and reject me. Or worse, feel sorry for me. I'm scared he'll wake up right now and see me watching him through his mysteriously-opened curtains. I'm scared I'll lose him.

I'm scared for him as well. Scared something will happen to get him expelled, maybe even executed. Scared that he'll end up totally alone, hiding from the world. Scared that he'll never again find what he has found here – friends and acceptance.

He looks beautiful in the mornings. It's probably why I don't turn over and try to catch another hour of sleep before I have to get up. Instead, I sit up and pull my curtains all the way back – an expression of openness, telling anyone here that I'm awake and I have nothing to hide – and pull at his just enough that I can look in. He sleeps in a dark cave, curled up small – protected. His honey-gold hair spills over his forehead, not quite long enough to hide those eyes. I love his eyes – they change all the time, and they tell you so much if you only bother to read them. I could look at them forever. But then they would all know, and the others would side with him – how could they not? – and I would be alone. If I can't have him for my lover, I'll have him for my friend. And I'll be damn happy with it.

It's possible, I suppose, that he would want me. But we're sixteen. How can we have forever at this age? I wish we could – I really do – but I can't help doubting it. And I think the thing about "'Tis better to have loved and lost" is a load of bullshit. Breaking up with him would be sheer hell. I couldn't do it. I couldn't survive it. So I have to keep quiet, and never let any of them suspect that I'm in love with him.

It's only half a hell. And I have these mornings to sustain me. I always look away an instant before he wakes, and then I glance back over. The sleepy smile he gives me melts my heart. Sometimes I wonder if it's reserved for me. Sometimes I wonder if he'd smile that way as we woke up together after I nailed him into the mattress. Or the other way round. Oh, who am I kidding? He'd totally top. He's wolf. He's alpha. Moony howls and Padfoot rolls over, and I see no reason why that would change just because we're bipedal. I think I'd relish being fucked, anyway. Maybe that would be enough to fill up the empty spaces inside of me – no, his love alone would do that. But being that close to him... I trust him to keep me safe. He wouldn't trust me enough, I'm sure. I don't mind. I'm flighty, I know it. He's the only one that keeps me grounded. You know, I'm glad my brain changed track, because if I was still thinking about... you know... I would be embarrassing myself here. And damn but that started me thinking about it again. Quick, quick, don't… How come I can talk about being fucked but when I say... oh yeah, so I don't remind myself and start thinking... Damn.

I might have enough time to sort this before the others wake up.

No. Ignore it and it'll go away. Just watch Remus or something.

Oh, that's a great idea, Sirius. Honestly...

Potions homework. That'll do it.

Everything makes me think of Remus, these days. Aconite – wolfsbane – that's obvious enough. But when salt makes me flash on him admonishing me for not tasting first, and stir makes me think of his elegant fingers curled around a glass rod... something else... It's impossible. Totally impossible.

I could... here, I suppose. That's normal enough. I could look at him, and nobody would know. No. That's not normal. Also, it's not right. Thinking about him is one thing, but watching him when he isn't aware of it is too much like taking advantage, and I won't do that. He's my friend. That's the one thing I am never going to do. I know he'd do practically anything for me – that's the way we are, all of us – and I won't use that. That scares me, actually – that if I were to tell him how I feel, he might agree to dating me even if he didn't want to. Just to keep me happy. And then... if I did... how far would I push? How far would he let me go? And when he stopped humouring me... I'm scared of how I would react. I'm scared of what I would do if it ended. I'm scared of what I would do if I found out that it had never been real from his side.

He wouldn't. He's far too righteous. But... God. If he did... I would be so happy until I found out it was a lie.

Well, that took care of my problem.

I am more scared of what I could do than what anyone else could. Especially with Remus. Even one careless word could wreck his life. I could... Christ. I could use that to pressure him into anything. I won't. But I could. What he wouldn't do out of friendship he might do out of fear. God.

We're Marauders. We protect our own. Even from each other.

I'm going to have to tell Jamie. He'll freak out, but that can't be helped. I need him to watch me – tell me if I go too far. I trust him to do that for me. We're like brothers. He's the leader, I'm the second-in-command – it's been that way since we were tiny. Peter is Jamie's pet project, really, taken under his wing. Remus is the voice of reason. The four of us are the Marauders. They're the additions. The two of us, James and I, we're bloody well key. And we will do anything for each other: and that includes hurting each other. We hate it, but we do it. It's necessary. I hope it won't be in this case. I'll talk to him, the sooner the better I think. And then if anything does happen with Remy, James will keep an eye out – have a little talk with him, sound him out... no, that sounds like I wouldn't be sure of him... but I wouldn't be... but... ack. James would talk to him and make sure that: a) he's not just humouring me; b) I'm not pressuring him; c) I'm not hurting him; d) I'm not doing anything wrong at all, because if I am he'll kick my ass. Not that Remus couldn't do that on his own behalf.

All right, I'm a bastard, I'm worthless and nowhere near good enough for him, and it's never going to happen, and everybody thinks I'm straight anyway and girls are all right, really, so can we stop this now? Please?

He's so pretty, now. All vulnerable and open. I think he'll be waking up soon – he seems a bit restless. I wonder what he's dreaming of?

I love him. He's wonderful. If he finds someone, I'll be happy for him. If he doesn't, I admit I'll have a selfish little good feeling. I want him. If I could have him...

He's moving a bit now – waking up. I look back down at the parchment, chew on my finger as I scan the page, looking for errors – realising just how much I have left to do before two o'clock. I guess lunch is off the menu. I turn my head and rustle the page slightly. He looks up.

He blinks.

He smiles.

I'm happy.