Chapter Text
“Sirius!” James calls from the living room. “Your carriage awaits!”
Sirius gives his reflection a last look. The black velvet suit, the simple shirt underneath, and his hair brought back loosely into a knot at the base of his skull — one stubborn curl slipping through and dangling against his temple.
He had thought long and hard about what to do with it, if he should fold the silk into a proper pocket square and tuck it into his breast pocket. That had looked a little too much like he was going to prom. Tying it around his neck made him look like a flight attendant. So he simply wrapped the silk around his low bun, the orange and purple and blue and green in stark contrast to his dark hair.
A touch of black eye pen to the waterline, just enough to bring some attention to his eyes.
Sirius steps out into the living room and James whistles. “Wow, look at you!”
Sirius curtsy and then sticks his tongue out to Regulus who looks like his eyes might get stuck in the back of his head from rolling them so hard.
James looks out the window facing the street again. “This is very ‘Mr. Big’ of him, rolling up with a car outside your flat.”
Sirius laughs. “I’ll let him know.” Allocating his phone and his keys, Sirius ties on his shoes and grabs his coat. “All right, have a good evening you two. And don’t wait up — if I’m lucky I might not be coming back.
He won’t be, he dropped off his overnight bag at Remus earlier.
“Don’t worry,” Regulus says, with a genuine grin but with a sticky-sweet tone. “We won’t be.” And looks at James with a face Sirius doesn’t want to see on his baby brother.
Coat on and his heart beating healthily in his chest, Sirius skips down the stairs and out to the black and sleek-looking car waiting for him outside.
He gathers his coat around him as he sits down on the leather interior. “I can’t believe they sent you a driver for this,” he greets Remus with a swift kiss.
“Hello to you too.”
“No really, James said it was a very Mr. Big type of move and I’m inclined to agree—“
“Hey,” Remus interrupts as Sirius leans back to buckle up. “Come back here.” Two long fingers grip his chin and steer him back into Remus’ lips, a softer lingering kiss that makes it impossible to determine left from right. The car smells of mahogany and tobacco, rich and spicy, timeless and sexy.
“Hi,” Sirius whispers when they part.
Remus smiles as the car takes off. “Hey. I like what you’ve done with your hair.”
“Did you see this?” Sirius turns to show Remus the back where the silk is tied around his hair.
Remus laughs, bright and joyous. “I did, a much better use for it than having it lay forgotten in my closet.”
“Speaking of hair, you look great.”
“You think so?” Remus asks, running a careful hand through his freshly cut hair. It’s still a bit floppy and curls at the ends. But just a little tidied up. So is his beard. And Sirius' breath catches a little in his throat at the peak of the black tie underneath Remus' winter coat. He just looks so handsome
“I do.”
The car takes them through London, gleaming lights illuminating the streets slick with rain and melting snow. There is soft music playing in the car, a partition shielding the passengers from the driver. The car stops outside the National Gallery, the large columns of the building towering above them as the driver opens the door to let Remus out.
Remus, ever the gentleman, steps out and offers his hand. A smile playing on his lips.
“Remind me again,” Sirius says as they walk up the steps to the entryway. “Is this a private showing?”
“Something like that; the gallery invited some top contributors and members of the board for a preview showing before the exhibition opens to the public tomorrow.”
Their coats are taken by a smiling museum employee and another leads them into the antechamber. Remus looks devastating in a black suit, all long lines and handsome profile in the low light of the gallery.
A small swarm of people greets them, dressed in finery and with glittering diamonds adorning fingers and necks. Men with gleaming cufflinks and hair like spun sugar nod at them as they enter, Remus tall and serene, Sirius on his arm. Caterers in white shirts weave through the crowd with practiced ease, holding silver trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvre.
A woman in a tasteful black dress and graying hair swept back into a chignon style sneaks through the gathering and comes up to the two of them before a waiter even spots them.
“Mr. Lupin, welcome,” she says, reaching out for Remus’ free right hand to take them between the both of hers. “May I just thank you again for this wonderful opportunity to display these sketches.”
Remus offers a smile as he shakes her hand. “Ms. Fortescue, may I introduce you to my date, Sirius Black.”
‘Date’ has a much nicer ring to it than just ‘Writer for Dion Magazine’. Ms. Fortescue’s eyes travel from Remus to Sirius, who detangles his arm from Remus’ to shake her hand.
“Mr. Black,” she addresses him as they shake hands. “Am I right to assume you are the writer of the wonderful article in Dion Magazine.”
Sirius smiles, pleased. “You would be correct.”
“Ms. Fortescue has been the main curator for this exhibition and a very helpful hand overall.”
Sirius nods as Ms. Fortescue just waves off the compliments. “Please, have some champagne, mingle. I’ll let you know when we’re opening the doors to the exhibition.”
Ms. Fortescue toddles off and is replaced by a waiter with crystal glasses filled with pale champagne. Sirius clinks his glass lightly to Remus’, grinning over the rim of his glass as the two of them sip.
Champagne sparkling on the tip of his tongue, Remus standing close by and speaking softly in his lovely suit, a few polite minglers approaching them to offer congratulations and thanks to Remus for his contribution.
Then Ms. Fortescue clinks her glass and asks for the room’s attention. She toasts every single one’s wonderful contribution to the Gallery, whether it be monetary or with paintings or sculptures. She raises her glass, especially to Remus Lupin and the Lupin estate for the largest contribution to this exhibition of Picasso’s sketches.
Then the doors to the main room are opened to the selected guests for the first view of the exhibition by the public, an exclusive preview before the opening tomorrow.
Sirius has to admit, the curator has done a masterful job. The sketches are paired together with placards of the stories Remus told him that fateful day when he got to see them in the portfolio on his desk. Sirius can almost hear Remus’ voice softly reading him the information nailed to the wall, his words shine through.
“You helped with this as well, right?” Sirius says as he gestures to the plaques.
Remus nods. “I did.”
They move around the room, seeing the sketches in a brand new light on the walls of the National Gallery rather than tucked in between the plastic sheets in a portfolio.
They stop at the framed sketch of the topless woman that had caused Sirius to giggle so undignified the first time Remus flipped open the portfolio.
Sirius gestures to it with the hand holding the glass of champagne. “I think I started fancying right you around here.” He speaks of the sketch as if it is a timeline in their relationship together, both professional and personal.
Remus snorts, eyes dancing and filled with laughter as he looks at Sirius, affection swirling in his eyes. “Seems like as good of a time as any.”
Sirius wants to curse Remus for being born during such a shit month as March. It's not true winter and not yet spring, at least not so early into the month.
Then he wakes up and realizes that March tenth sometimes falls on a particularly windy Saturday and few things are as lovely as waking up in a warm bed and realizing that not even the weather will give you grief for staying indoors the entire day.
Multiply that feeling with a thousand when he finds Remus’ wiry arms wrapping around him in bed. And of course, Sirius wakes up bright and early. It’s not so bad though, now he can rest in that state of in and out of sleep for a bit before Remus starts moving, savoring the feeling in his arms.
Forty is a mighty big age. Maybe not as celebrated as fifty and possibly not as daunting as thirty. But it’s still a whole new decade that Remus steps into as soon as he opens his eyes.
It fits him.
The graying hair around his temples and the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, the way he manages to take Sirius apart with just a look or a perfectly placed dirty kiss.
The soft howl of wind outside their little cocoon of warmth and rest. The lovely sheets that came right out of the drier just yesterday smelling of detergent and the remnants of Remus cologne and of Sirius’ deodorant.
Because he can keep such things here now.
Sirius is the first person to admit that he is a bit unfamiliar with how fast or slow-paced a relationship should be. But he knows that he has a toothbrush parked next to Remus’ on the sink in the bathroom, a little shelf in the cabinet cleared for his own cologne and moisturizer, and a travel-size bottle of his favorite saltwater spray.
He has a drawer in the closet.
It’s mostly underwear and socks, the occasional T-shirt, and the sweats he has stolen from Remus. But the drawer isn’t even remotely filled yet and Remus said just yesterday how to just let him know, he can make more room.
They haven’t said ‘I love you’ yet. Not if one doesn’t count the awkward declaration of affection back in early January, which Sirius doesn’t. He feels it though, how it keeps bubbling every time Remus throws his head back and laughs or pushes his glasses up his nose or whispers dirty things in his ear whilst inside him.
And it’s not like he plans to keep it for himself for much longer. He’s not even nervous about it.
It’s just… There is a charm to keeping it for himself a little too. A sweet little secret behind his teeth; a piece of hard candy that melts in his mouth.
Sirius turns in Remus’ arms, looks at that soft face sleeping. The birthday boy should be woken up properly, shouldn’t he?
Sirius begins the careful descent, kissing Remus’ sleep-warmed skin on his neck, and down his chest.
Remus awakes somewhere around the time when Sirius teases the edge of his underwear with his tongue under the covers. Careful hands take him out of the cotton confines and take Remus in his mouth. Remus moans softly above him.
Happy birthday — I love you.
“You don’t have to cook me breakfast,” Remus muses a bit later, sitting on the same bar stool Sirius often occupies in the kitchen.
Sirius, hands full of stirring scrambled eggs and keeping a watchful eye on thick slices of bacon sizzling in the pan, tosses a look back at him and winks. He may not be the same level of natural in the kitchen as Remus (or even James) but he’s gotten a newly found appreciation for the act.
“Sure I do, it’s your birthday.”
Remus just sits, head held in his hand, and smiles at him. Like he can’t believe Sirius is there, cooking them breakfast in a washed out old hoodie belonging to Remus, boxers, and thick socks.
Sirius plates the bacon and eggs with slices of toasted rustic bread and adds a little sprig of basil from the herb garden on the kitchen windowsill, just for the flair of it, and places the plates on the table.
“Eat up, old man.”
Even Sirius has to admit that he actually makes excellent eggs, warm and fluffy and paired with that lovely bread fetched from the bakery across the street. Remus cleans his plate with the vigor of a man who got birthday-head not too long ago, drinking a large cup of coffee.
“Now,” Sirius starts as Remus scrapes his fork across the plate to get the last bits of egg. Sirius gets up from his chair and fetches the box he has expertly hidden in the closet in the hall. Then he fetches the cupcake from the fridge and sticks a little candle in it, fishing up a lighter from its nook in a kitchen drawer.
Remus just laughs at him where he sits, still at the kitchen island; it’s fond and incredulous, when Sirius starts serenading him with Happy Birthday.
When he finishes, he places the box with the bow on top and the little plate with the cupcake on in front of Remus.
Remus looks over his offerings. “Wow, I can’t remember ever being celebrated like this before.”
Sirius knows he must be lying, he knows that there have been huge parties and expensive dinners in his honor for his previous birthdays, but the lack of insincerity in Remus’ voice makes him believe that this might be what he was missing during all those previous birthdays, the sincerity and privacy that a little breakfast and a cupcake can offer.
Remus dutifully blows out his candle and goes to uncover whatever it is the box in front of him is hiding.
Now, buying gifts is generally a pain in the ass. Sirius, who usually is a pretty decent gift giver, was close to pulling out his hair in stress over what to get Remus.
The thing is, he would have liked to give Remus something totally romantic and fancy and possibly a bit cheesy; something like engraved cufflinks or a nice watch. But Remus already had engraved cufflinks and already owned his favorite watch (which was way out of Sirius’ budget anyway) and despite his expensive taste, is not very materialistic nor overly cheesy.
And Sirius really wanted to give him something that he would actually enjoy, not just something he’d use out of a sense of obligation. So when Remus stepped on something sharp and finally declared his old trusted Birkenstocks dead and ready to pass on to the land where overused sandals go to die, Sirius finally found the perfect gift.
Remus lifts the lid of the gift box and laughs when he spots what’s inside. “You got me new Birkenstocks?”
Sirius smiles, pleased with himself and Remus' obvious excitement. “I did, I know you loved your old ones but they really had to go, didn’t they?”
Remus grins as he picks up the brand-new brown leather. “They really did, thank you so much.”
What Sirius doesn’t mention is that the shoes are not his only gift. He has actually been in cahoots with Lily to get Remus to a nice restaurant at six thirty in the evening where his surprise birthday dinner is held in the Chambre separee. James and Regulus and Peter are also invited, Marlene is obviously also coming but with Dorcas. Mary and Lily are leaving Harry with Mary’s parents and have invited almost twenty of Remus' closest friends and acquaintances from throughout the years.
It’s not going to be some huge lavish thing, there will be no suits or classical music. Just good food and good drinks and wonderful friends all there to celebrate him.
The huge lavish thing will have to wait another week, for the release party of Remus’ book that his publisher is throwing him.
Remus leans over the countertop and kisses him softly on the lips. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome. What do you want to do the rest of the day? It’s your birthday so you get to decide.”
Remus grins. “Lucky me,” he says before leaning over to kiss him again, slow and dirty. “I’d like to go back to bed actually.”
The kitchen is suddenly much warmer as Remus looks at him under hooded eyes. Sirius slides off his barstool to go over to Remus’ side, and straddles him on his stool, wrapping his arms around him. Then he is reminded of the forgotten chocolate cupcake on the plate and reaches for it. He picks the wrapper off with careful fingers and holds it out to Remus.
“Eat your birthday cupcake, then take me to bed.”
And Remus takes a nosedive into the dessert held in Sirius' fingers, getting frosting all over his mustache.
Much later, after being ravished by the birthday boy and spending the rest of the lazy day in various states of undress, reading and talking and just lazing about, Sirius finds himself freshly showered next to Remus in the bathroom.
Remus trims up his neck with a razor, stretching the skin with his long fingers and rinsing the razor from shaving cream under the running water. He has a towel tied loosely around his hips and Sirius must remind himself that there certainly isn’t time to coyly hook his finger where that towel is tied and let it drop on the floor. Sirius feels insatiable where he stands, ogling his boyfriend after the day they’ve had, after already coming by Remus’ talented hands in the shower.
Sirius puts his arousal in the back of his mind, saving it for later and goes back to shaping his hair and brushing his teeth. When Remus has finished shaving, he cleans off the last remnants of shaving cream in the sink and wipes his face with a face towel. He spritzes on some cologne and the whole bathroom is now smelling of the warm scent of Remus that made Sirius’ head spin the first time they came close enough for him to smell it.
“Hmm, I love that cologne,” Sirius hums around his toothbrush. Remus moves to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around Sirius' middle, craning his neck a little to nose at Sirius’ neck. He is so warm against Sirius’ back, warm skin and firm chest.
“You do?” Remus asks, pointlessly, he already knows that.
Sirius nods and bends down over the sink, spitting out the remaining toothpaste, still with Remus hugging him from behind. When he straightens, Remus is already looking at him in the mirror, head leaning against Sirius’ own. Soft brown eyes looking straight at him, as if deep in thought.
“What?” Sirius asks, toothbrush still hanging out of his hand.
Remus smiles a little, still with that thinking look about him. “I love you.”
It’s no surprise, not really. Or no shock at least.
But the warmth spreads all the same, Sirius’ heart beats strongly behind his ribs and his blood sings and he feels the smile building all the way from his chest up until it reaches his lips and his eyes.
Sirius laughs a little, unbelieving and so terribly in love. To hell with keeping it to himself. To hell with all of everything that isn’t this.
“I love you too’”
Sirius sees the same light ignite within Remus, where he stands behind Sirius. It’s remarkable. It’s breathtaking.
Sirius spins around within the circle of Remus’ arms and kisses him square on the lips. He lets himself get lost in Remus’ mouth and the way he holds him to his chest. Deep and loving and just so much love and desire shared between the two of them.
When they break apart it’s with a bit of breathlessness about them, smiling against the other, both hard once more underneath their towels.
Remus grins, eyes alight with love and a hint of mischief. “Hurry up and get ready, you said we were in a time crunch.” Before landing a soft smack with his palm against Sirius’ towel-clad ass.
Sirius laughs when Remus sneaks out of the bathroom to the walk-in. “You can’t just say that and then chastise me for wanting to kiss you the rest of the evening!”
“You were the one who made plans we apparently need to get to, that’s not my fault,” Remus says from the closet, tone teasing.
Sirius grins at his own reflection in the mirror, hair done and still in his towel. An unshrinking smile on his lips and eyes shining with something new. “I love you,” he calls out, just to say it again, taste it on his lips.
“I love you too,” comes muffled from the closet.
The air is warm upon his skin, a soft breeze that does close to nothing to chill the late afternoon sun. The fridge-chilled beer is sweating condensation against the glass, forming a little ring of cold water on the checkered tablecloth.
Sirius sits with his knees drawn up on the wicker chair, glancing distractedly over the piazza where old men sit on park benches in the shade, children kicking a ball between them.
Naples is breathtaking in the late June afternoon.
“What are you so thinky about?” Remus asks behind him, freshly showered and with his own beer from the fridge in hand.
This was originally Remus’ work trip; Monday and Tuesday were filled with meetings with a museum on an exhibition he is loaning out paintings for. But Sirius managed to shuffle his work around and the booking on the hotel in the old stone building with the gorgeous view from the balcony could be extended from two days to nine.
Naples is beautiful.
Sand-colored stone buildings and gorgeous Catholic churches. Twisting alleyways and the crystal clear Mediterranean just beside the city.
The streets littered with restaurants balancing iron-wrought tables on the cobblestones and with pitchers of red wine placed precariously on top.
Sirius has walked the streets until his feet ached and the hair at the base of his skull started to curl from sweat. He has taken refuge in a church in between masses just to get out of the heat and enter solace and the chilled comfort of old stone.
He has also swam in the ocean for the first time in ages, laid out on the sand with heaps of spf because he burns like no one he’s ever met, and to keep the integrity of his tattoos.
And Remus.
Christ almighty, Remus.
Remus doesn’t burn, he turns a sun-kissed golden, freckles sprouting and new interesting shades of brass and copper bleaching out of his hair. He wears linen shirts, an extra button unbuttoned and wayfarer sunglasses. His legs look miles long in his a-touch-too-short shorts and Sirius needs to remind himself to close his mouth whenever he looks at him.
Remus in London is gorgeous and handsome. Remus along the Mediterranean coast is heartbreaking.
They lay on the beach, each with an earbud in, listening to the same audio book until Sirius needs to move and goes to the edge of the water to look for seashells or pretty rocks washed ashore, Remus sketching back on their towels.
They go for dinner at quaint little trattorias and share pasta and shellfish and true Neapolitan pizza and drink wine until a blush stains the high points of Remus’ cheeks and Sirius aches to kiss him. Just kiss him all the time.
When they come back to their picturesque hotel, they turn the ac on before Remus drags him into bed, fucking him with a sincerity that makes Sirius’ eyes prick before falling asleep under the starched linens.
Sirius has already showered, his hair is drying and it’s that wonderful time of day where they have washed off and it’s time to recuperate before heading out to a late dinner. Having a drink and salty chips and a serving of olives before walking down the street to find a place for dinner
Remus sits down in the chair next to him on the balcony, popping an olive into his mouth with his long fingers and settling in.
Sirius glances up from his phone where he has been staring at the long text message James sent him a little while ago. “Huh?”
“What are you thinking about?” Remus repeats himself.
“Oh,” Sirius says as he turns the phone upside down on the table. ”Just something James messaged me.”
”What’d he say?”
Sirius sighs. “He’s thinking of not renewing the lease in November.” Sirius reaches up to tie his hair back with the clip resting on the table, just to give his hands something to do. “He’s thinking of moving out.”
Remus sits quietly, and lazily puts an olive in between his teeth to eat around the pit. Just listening.
When Sirius doesn’t elaborate, he probes. “You kind of expected this though, didn't you?”
“Yeah, I did,” Sirius starts as he takes a swig from his beer, the neck of the bottle held softly between his fingers. “He’s been talking about wanting to move somewhere by himself, possibly buying a place…”
“And you know he’s not leaving you just because he wants to do this,” Remus reminds him softly when he trails off.
“I know that too. And I know that he wants Regulus to move in with him somewhere down the line. It’s not that. I just… I don’t know what to do,” Sirius says, laying out all of his thoughts for Remus to examine. “I mean… I can’t afford the flat by myself and finding someplace else is just such a headache.” He huffs a deep sigh that comes off as a laugh, he is pitiful. “I know I’m just complaining. It’s gonna be fine — I’ll find something else.”
Remus looks at him, deep in thought as the sound of children playing on the piazza below travels up to their balcony.
“You know,” Remus starts softly. “If you want to, you can move in with me.”
Sirius looks at him.
They have been officially dating for six months. If you count the unofficial time that number goes up to roughly eight months, nine if you were to ask Remus. Sirius has things at Remus’ house; clothes and toiletries and a few nick-nacks on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He spends roughly half the weeknights at Remus’ house, in his bed. Remus knows his favorite foods and the ones he’s not particularly fond of. He knows the types of shows Sirius wants to watch after dinner.
In the bedroom hangs one of those sketches from the sketchbook that Remus drew during those fateful autumn days when the skies were steel gray and Sirius had butterflies growing in his belly.
He had once asked about it.
“I thought you didn’t like drawing?” Sirius had asked with a tongue-in-cheek sort of grin, referencing the sketches; when it all wasn’t so raw and fresh anymore. “I thought your passion was writing.”
Remus had only smiled, soft and convinced.
“When I find the words — that’s when I’ll write about you.”
That had shut Sirius right up.
And all of that is still not quite the same as to what Remus is offering him now. This is not just romance. This is commitment and something tangible.
“Remus,” he starts, a bit speechless if he’s being honest. “You don’t have to invite me to live with you just because I’m complaining. That’s a very big step… and I don’t want you to make it out of pity.”
Remus smiles in that crooked way of his, extending an arm across the table to take hold of his hand where it lies next to the chips. He intertwines their fingers.
“That’s not what I’m doing.” Remus smiles a bit wider at him. “I really want you to come live with me. I love you; life and my home is so infinitely better with you in it. I’ve thought about it for a while.”
And six-eight-nine months may not be a long time. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing at all. But it’s enough that Sirius should have gotten used to the way Remus can fully steal his breath away. The way Remus is so quietly confident in them that it makes it hard for Sirius to find any cracks in the facade that makes up those declarations Remus sometimes delivers at his feet.
“You’re extraordinary.”
And then he just says something like this; so beautiful and open and obvious.
Sirius can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips, the overwhelming shot of happiness blooming in his chest. And Sirius knows what it refers to.
“I love you.”
Remus sees it, sees the decision Sirius is already making. “You don’t have to decide right now — think about it.” He gets up out of his chair, leans over Sirius and kisses him with all the love poured in between them in the last few months, with promises for more.
“Think about it,” Remus whispers again, against his lips.
Sirius smiles, unable not to. “I will — I’ll think about it.”
But Sirius is done thinking about it, he has already decided.
The end.