InsaneJournal

Sweat cooling on his slender back, Sirius shifted across the bed. Bed sheets bunching in cotton ribbing under his weight, he pressed his body to Remus’ back. Sighing contentedly, Sirius ran the tip of his index finger along Remus’ side: warm flesh and cold sweat, sticky against his skin, and, he discovered as he inserted the same finger into his own mouth, salty on his tongue.

But that’s to be expected, Sirius mused silently.

Smilingly.

Extricating his finger from the confines of his mouth, Sirius resumed his lacksadaisical meanderings over Remus’ skin: undulating as he traversed the bounds of Remus’ ribs, rising and falling as his lover’s breathing steadied; gentle snores filling the room.

Still smiling, Sirius finally settled his arm across Remus’ chest, holding him close. Resting his chin against Remus’ bony collarbone and shoulder, he exhaled deeply.

And he was, unexpectedly, amazed.

As the first slivers of grey broke through the threadbare curtains of their bedroom, Remus’ face was illuminated, glowing even. It was as though the torn and tortured skin, the silvery scars that so carelessly and callously disrupted his otherwise fine features – had taken the first rays of the morning’s light in their iridescent fingers and, tightening their grip on the golden beginnings of a new day, tucked them away somewhere inside of Remus.

Awed by the manifestation of pure joy – for that’s what it was, Sirius was certain of it – that dozed beside him, Sirius closed his eyes. Nestling against Remus, whose features appeared as though they had stolen the light from the dawn, he sighed contentedly once more.