Sirius O. Black (srslypadfoot) wrote in unloading_zone, @ 2010-08-25 23:53:00 |
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Another mostly sleepless night. Sirius couldn’t have said when he dozed off, but when he woke up, it felt like his eyes had been closed for the barest minute. They were heavy, the kind of heavy that made him want to shut his eyes and continue burrowing under the damnably comfortable covers, but Sirius knuckled the sleep from his eyes and dragged himself up and out of bed. In spite of the stupid berk that was Teddy Lupin, Sirius wouldn’t fail to be there for Remus.
Using a blanket as a rucksack, Sirius gathered all the little pots of healing salve he could find, stuffed his most tattered shirt in with those, and somehow had the presence of mind to fill up a water flask. Bit more prepared than he was last time.
Or so he hoped.
Sirius would like to think Moony wouldn’t hurt himself again, but he knew it was wishful thinking. The dread churned in his stomach all the way to the library. When he reached the door, it felt like his intestines were all tangled up. Sirius never knew what to expect, the morning after. He should have brought James. Idiot that he was, he should have brought James, but he didn’t bring James because, deep-down, Sirius wanted to help Remus all by himself. Call it a hero-complex, selfishness, or stupidity induced by lack of sleep. Sirius didn’t know what to call it himself.
Fumbling to unlock all the locks, and then grunting to shove the door open through the barricade, Sirius managed to get into the library after a struggle that broke sweat.
“Moony?” he called, unsure where he would find the man this time around. The room was, yet again, a complete disaster. Madame Pince would have had an aneurysm if she saw a library in such a catastrophic state.
Remus wasn’t aware of anything until Sirius called his name. Even the sound of the bookshelf scraping against the floor as Sirius pushed the door open hadn’t cracked the surface of his awareness, but the sound of Sirius’s voice tickled him awake. He blinked wearily into the darkness, pain quickly suffusing his body and he groaned. It was a moment before he could become aware of his environment, too distracted by the dull ache and throb of his body.
“Here,” he croaked. His voice sounded like hell, but all he could hope for was that Sirius had heard him. Remus wasn’t planning on moving before he’d acquainted himself with his own body again. His head was throbbing, particularly on the left side. His left arm hurt, but a small turn of the head and a cursory glance let him know it wasn’t bleeding. A nice bruise was forming, though, quickly turning blue and purple in parts. If he only had bruises, he would count himself lucky. His chest hurt too, as did his side. Without lifting his head, if he had to guess, he would say he’d cut himself on something. Probably his claws. But it paled in comparison to the pain in his thigh. Remus resisted the urge to sit up or to lift his leg to take a look at it. It was going to be messy.
“I’m here,” he said again, his voice still rough and cracking, but he was alive. Merlin, he was tired. “Did you-” he had to clear his throat before he could try again. “Did you bring a blanket again?” He hoped Sirius had a blanket. He was cold.
Sirius didn’t catch Remus’s voice until the second time around. It was a gravelly sound, like sandpaper against brick, and he couldn’t make out the actual words. He followed by ear, lumbering past a few overturned bookshelves, clawed and crooked, before he found the man on the floor.
“Hey,” Sirius said, dredging up a smile he didn’t feel. It was hard to feel the faintest glimmer of mirth when your mate was lying on the floor, battered and bleeding and starkers. He could have elbowed Remus’s sides about birthday suits and inappropriate library usage, but Sirius knew a flop when he saw a flop. Only one thing popped to mind.
“I like what you did with the place,” Sirius tossed out light-heartedly, crouching down and untying the blanket. He emptied out the contents of his makeshift rucksack before helping Remus cover his modesty.
Remus loved this place. Back home, when he woke up after the moon, he was alone. He was always alone. Usually, he was also in a forest, had the taste of blood in his mouth - not his own blood - and often felt rather like he did now. Here, Sirius was coming to care for him.
He took a look at his surroundings then, noting the books everywhere, lining the floor like paper carpet. Pages had been ripped out of books, others had simply been destroyed, pages chewed, whole books punctured with teeth marks, bookshelves lying in scattered piles of wood... Remus groaned and closed his eyes. Harry wasn’t going to let him use the library anymore. He had to find someplace else, he couldn’t keep doing this month after month. When he opened his eyes again, Remus noted he’d even made a dent in one of the walls, a bit of a breeze and the sound of the waves coming in through the crack. That would explain his shoulder, then. And possibly his head as well.
“Mmmm thank you,” he moaned when Sirius covered him. Remus’s eyes fell closed again and his head dropped to the side. He was just going to take a little nap. Just a little one. Not even the pain could keep him awake. “Don’t tell me you plan on carrying me again,” he murmured, halfway back to sleep already.
“I didn’t come with any particular plan in mind,” Sirius admitted with a roll of his shoulders, shrugging. “If I have to carry you, I’ll carry you. I’ve done it once before, who’s to say I can’t do it twice?” he asked rhetorically, adding in an eyebrow waggle.
“But for now, I’ve brought these salves that smell like Professor Binns and my mum’s old tea cozies.” Sirius opened up one of the small tins and held it up to Remus’s nose, letting him take a whiff of the balmy brown stuff that was supposed to help heal the wounds faster. Or so the Malfoy git claimed. “Shall we have a look at your battle wounds?” he asked, beginning to peel back the blanket just a bit. “Oh, and I brought water if you’re thirsty.”
Sirius wasn’t shutting up. This greatly impeded his plans for world domination. Or sleep. Both now seemed as likely. The odor emanating from the contents of the tin made Remus’s eyes water and he turned his head away from it halfway through the sniff. He had wanted to point out that Binns was a ghost and could therefore not possibly smell like this, but his jaw was clenched tight for a moment, a reflexive reaction to the stench.
The prospect of water distracted him, though. “You brought water? Please, Sirius.” Remus licked his dry lips as he waited for it. “And the question about my wounds was rhetorical, I hope. You didn’t bring that salve for nothing. How do I look?”
Sirius knew Remus wasn’t asking out of vanity’s sake, but it still dragged a chuckle out of him as he withdrew the salve and picked up the water flask. In retrospect, he should have filled it with something like whiskey or vodka for the pain and passed it off as water. Blame the early morning haze.
Oh, right. Questions needed answers. “Like a right beauty,” replied Sirius, unscrewing the flask and bringing it to Remus’s mouth. He tipped the water in slowly. “Can you hold that? Arms all right? You don’t look too shabby, but I haven’t looked at everything yet.”
Remus brought up his right arm to hold the flask in place, blinking his gratitude to Sirius. The other man would probably not see it for what it was, but it was all Remus could do while slowly sipping the water. It was as he sipped that something occurred to him. Perhaps, like with Dora, Remus simply wanted to feel loved. Perhaps the only reason he had any interest whatsoever in Sirius was that he cared for him in a way no one else did. It might be as simple as that, and easily remedied - if he wanted it remedied. As it was, Remus would’ve given anything and everything, would do anything and everything if only it meant that Sirius would continue caring for him like this, in a way so very alien to him now. No one had had to care for him like this since his parents and Madam Pomfrey; the Marauders had been so good at distracting the wolf that he rarely harmed himself at all. It was only Sirius now, who came, without being asked, to tend to him after the moon. How could he possibly not love him for this alone?
“All right, good. You keep on doing that and don’t mind me having a peep,” said Sirius, and his eyebrows waggled in a playful manner before he pulled the blanket down. Remus starkers was nothing he hadn’t seen in the seven years they had gone to Hogwarts together, but for some reason Remus still seemed to be embarrassed about his body. Sirius didn’t know why. The man looked even better older and properly filled out. He was the only one who didn’t seem to think so. For that reason, Sirius tried to keep things as light-hearted as possible. Didn’t take much of an effort, really.
Leaving Remus’s chest exposed and the rest covered, gray eyes swept over the mauve-marked skin, the lacerations skirting all too close to the ribs. “Looking better than last month so far,” he commented, and scooping up a generous dollop of salve in his fingers, Sirius began to smear it over the bruises and nicked skin.
Remus tried not to mind Sirius taking a good long gander at him, but he felt... well, naked. He breathed deeply, his eyes closed, trying to think of Sirius as a Healer rather than as his best mate; and not just any best mate. It was a relief to hear that he wasn’t as bad off as last month, but that relief disappeared as the salve touched his skin, eyes squeezing shut. It stung and burned and froze and itched all at once, but Remus didn’t move away.
“Thanks, Sirius. For doing this.” He really didn’t have to. If it was on his chest, Remus would be able to reach in no time, and if the wounds weren’t that bad, they could wait for Remus to feel better. Some part of him had to believe that Sirius actually wanted to do this for him, as unlikely as it appeared. “Do you think it would be a bad idea if I sat up?” After all, Sirius had a much better idea of what was going on with Remus’s body than Remus did. He didn’t feel that much better than last time himself.
A grin played across his lips. “Amazing, aren’t I? No need to thank me for that. It comes naturally,” Sirius said, dismissing Remus and his thanks. Something didn’t seem right about being thanked for helping Remus. He hadn’t woken up at the arse-crack of dawn for any sort of validation. He wasn’t dabbling Remus’s skin with a salve that had the essence of Professor Binns because he wanted Remus to feel forever indebted to him. Sirius wanted to do this for Remus.
“We-ell.. Your chest looks all right. Nothing’s about to fall out if you do. Dunno about your back. You can try and see what happens,” replied Sirius, hitching his shoulders in a shrug.
Remus knew better than to agree with Sirius’s assessment of his own amazingness; some people had swelled heads... and then there was Sirius. The thought had Remus smiling despite the current circumstances.
He set down the flask and prepared to push himself up to a sitting position. “I’ll wait,” he said, closing his eyes against the tide of drowsiness that took him once again. It would be better, Remus decided, if Sirius finished with his chest before he forced him to deal with any other part of his body. Besides which, Remus wasn’t certain he would be able to sit up on his own yet and preferred not to fail if he could help it.
“Can people hear me?” he asked, the thought having suddenly occurred to him. How else could Sirius always know when to come tend to him?
“I thought I heard you howling. Could’ve been the wind,” Sirius answered, offering another dismissive shrug. He didn’t want Remus to start twisting his knickers – metaphorical ones since he was starkers – over that now.
One last long stripe of the thick remedy was drawn across Remus’s torso before Sirius said, “That about does it for your chest. Your legs feel all right or do we need to move the blanket?” Yeah, he could have just yanked the sheet up and had himself a good gander, but he decided to take the more considerate route. His bedside manner was improving, albeit by degrees.
The wind. That was a laugh. Remus rolled his eyes at that. Clearly, Sirius understood why he had inquired and knew Remus only too well - but in that case, he should’ve known that answer or no, Remus was going to worry about it. Not only was he destroying the building and its contents, but he was heard as well!
Something else occurred to Remus. Rather than be embarrassed that his best mate was looking on to his very naked body, Remus had elected to think of him as a Healer. But that appeared to be Sirius’s perspective as well, a very clinical, detached gaze sweeping over him. Part of him had to admit to the other that he was rather relieved; he couldn’t bear the thought that Sirius could see how mangled he’d become over the years, count his scars, wonder at when he had acquired them all, pity him... Remus knew that no part of him was smooth, his entire body crisscrossed with scars of varying ages and depths. But the other part of him regretted it, not because he wanted the pity or to see the horror or the disgust in Sirius’s face, to hear it in his clipped voice when he spoke, but because if it had been there, Remus would’ve known he’d have stood a chance. A very small chance, true. But if Sirius wasn’t seeing him at all, what chance did he have?
“Right leg,” he said shortly. It hurt something awful. Every since he’d woken up, Remus had wondered about his leg. “Up on the thigh,” Remus clarified. Perhaps it had all been in his head - and still was - how could Sirius have missed it when he’d approached otherwise?
“Right leg.. Thought I saw something red,” Sirius murmured under his breath. He didn’t exactly want Remus to know he’d seen just a blur of red before his attention had automatically focused elsewhere before he’d drawn the sheet over him. He couldn’t exactly say, I was too busy looking at your todger to notice you were bleeding, sorry mate.
“All right, let’s see what you did,” he said, pushing the sheet back up. Remus’s chest was covered, but everything below the waist was there for him to run his eyes over. In purely clinical detached interest, of course. Because Sirius could do that. Right.
“You’re got a nice slash here,” Sirius informed Remus, focusing on his inner thigh. Or trying very hard to. He placed a hand on Remus’s leg, a few inches below the gash, and slowly began to push his legs apart so he could see just how far the cut ran. “Spread your legs, will you?” Sirius couldn’t keep from smirking just a touch. He never thought he’d get to make an order like that to Remus.
The skin under Sirius’s hand was tender, and Remus gave a twitch and a small, surprised groan at the contact. Spread his legs. This was unbelievable. If Remus got an erection, he would have to kill himself. Though, he would be quite surprised if he could manage one in his current state.
Rather than move his right leg to follow the instruction, Remus moved the left and tried to think of something disgusting. Like the smell of the stuff Sirius had put on his chest. “How does it look?”
That was a groan of pain, right? Somehow, it hadn’t sounded like one. But he was sure he was just fancying what he wanted to hear. “Doesn’t look too deep, or too long,” Sirius replied, gray eyes lifting up and falling on Remus’s face. “Just makes me wonder how the hell Moony managed to do this to himself. He must get himself hurt out of spite.”
Holding in a chuckle at the thought, Sirius scooped another helping of salve out with his two fingers. His eyes flicked back down to the gnarled and open skin. Tongue peeping out the corner of his mouth, Sirius began to cover the wound, dabbling the smelly stuff on gently.
That was it. Remus had to close his eyes. This wasn’t happening. He was somewhere else, he was in pain (well, that was true, not really hard to pretend) and it was definitely not Sirius putting that gloopy stuff up his inner thigh.
Talking. Talking might help. Not help pretend so much as help distract; the pretending wasn’t working. “Might. There’s nothing else to do. He destroyed all the books, started working on the wall... He gets bored without-” without his pack, “without something to play with. He gets angry. Frustrated.” It wasn’t like this as often when Padfoot and Prongs were around.
“Needs his pack, he does,” Sirius muttered. He hated not being able to shift into Padfoot at will. It felt like a part of himself was missing. If he could have turned into that black shaggy dog, Moony wouldn’t tear up himself and everything around him. Remus wouldn’t have to wake up bruised, bleeding, and ragged. If Prongs and Padfoot were there, the werewolf wouldn’t be bored.
“I wish I had all my magic back for no other reason. Do you think Moony remembers Prongs and Padfoot?” he asked, spreading the salve up Remus’s thigh. Talking helped him, too. It helped him keep from thinking about how close his hand was to Remus’s groin.
So Sirius had understood. Remus hadn’t wanted him to feel bad, so he hadn’t said it. He had evidently said enough.
Remus’s eyes were closed as he tried to remember what the werewolf had felt. It was easier, closer to the moon. Later this week, he would remember only the aftermath and the complete loss of control that he experienced during the transformation. It was also easier to distract himself this way.
“I think he does. He remembers having a pack.” When he was young, the wolf had been hard to control. The wolf had also been hard on him when he’d started at Hogwarts, before the Marauders had become animagi for him. But ever since, when Padfoot and Prongs hadn’t been around, Moony became... frustrated. It was still the only word to come close to accurately describing the sensation. He was angry, frustrated at being separated from his friends. His pack. “I don’t know if, if he saw Padfoot again, he would remember him as being a part of it, but he misses his family.”
“Is that what they are? His family?” Sirius smiled at the thought. Family. When he thought about family, he didn’t think about Walburga or Orion. He might think about Regulus or Andromeda, but usually his thoughts went straight to James and Lily and Remus. “Maybe he’ll have Prongs and Padfoot again soon, yeah?”
Best to keep a glass half-full perspective on these things. Especially when you were gently brushing your fingertips against your mate’s upper inner-thigh. If it hadn’t been for the blood and the open wound and the smell of the medicine, Sirius would have needed something to cover his lap. Remus had really good thighs. Cor, it was horrible to be thinking that when he was supposed to be the detached Healer. But no, Sirius was the perverted Healer.
The salve burned and itched and froze and tickled, but Sirius was being so gentle and though the salve hurt... It didn’t hurt enough.
Remus squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He needed to concentrate. The most recent Goblin rebellion took place in 1631 over the Ministry’s decree making it illegal for any magical creature to hold a wand. The Goblins of the time Oh, Merlin, come on, snap out of it. The Goblin rebellion is not sexy, pain is certainly not sexy. The Goblins of the time had of course been using wands; it took them two full centuries to-
“Alright, my back,” he announced, quickly throwing the blanket down over his lower body and bending his legs at the knees. Remus pushed himself up with his arms, head thrown forward at the pain in his left arm at the movement, the stretching of the cuts on his chest. His breath came up short as tears sprang to his eyes. Merlin, that hurt. It was pain he might have embraced if it did anything to slow down the growing erection, but no such luck. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?
“Uh, all right,” Sirius said, not sure why Remus suddenly sat up. Or where he mustered the energy to do it. But he was glad Remus had enough strength in him, and in better shape than he was last month. He didn’t stop to think about why Remus covered himself up again because there was nothing unusual about him and his modesty. Sirius moved to around, getting situated behind his mate. “More bruises and scrapes,” he assessed, eyes roaming over the planes of Remus’s back.
Sirius scooped out the last of the salve and began rubbing it over Remus’s skin. “I’ll just spread it over and then we can get you out of here, yeah?”
Ever since arriving on the island everyone had been helpfully pointed out how old he was. Couldn’t he prove that to himself now? This would be a very handy moment for his erection to droop, and yet... no. Of course not. Only when the moment arose, if ever such a moment could arise, would his dick fail him. Not now, though. Not now. Of course not.
His elbows on his knees, Remus could feel his body trembling, fighting to stay upright. He had to. If he lay back down, he would have some serious explaining to do and he wouldn’t be able to lie and then everything would go to shite. Everything.
All because of that fucking luggage.
Remus gave a large exhale that sounded rather more like a sob than he would’ve liked. “Thanks,” he croaked and shook his head. This was so fucking unbelievable. He wasn’t just blushing in the face, his neck was blushing. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out. He would get out of this. Head in his hands, elbows on his knees and trembling more than ever, Remus mentally recited everything he remembered on the Goblin rebellions.
Sirius could be oblivious to certain things, but not to Remus in incredible amounts of pain. He could feel the other man’s body shaking. Add on the heavy breathing and the way Remus’s skin was turning red and blotchy around his neck, and Sirius could tell something was far from right.
“Remus, fuck. If sitting up hurts, lie the hell back down. Or at least lean back against me. It’s all right,” said Sirius, wrapping his arms around Remus’s shoulders and easing him backwards, trying to get him to lean against his chest. He didn’t care if the salve got on his shirt. He could wash the bloody shirt. From his perspective, Remus was trying not to feel like such a bother, and in doing so, only hurting himself. Which was daft. “Sitting like that can’t be comfortable.”
If staying upright had been difficult before, Sirius pulling him backwards was impossible to fight against, and Remus hurried to cross his arms over his lower-lower abdomen as a last-ditch effort to keep things hidden while the ‘problem’ went away. Since Sirius was there, Remus leaned back against him stiffly, self-conscious. But soon, even the self-consciousness was overcome by exhaustion, and Remus sagged against his friend. He didn’t care if he was heavy, if the salve was getting on Sirius’s shirt, if he was getting blood all over his friend or that he was naked except for that blanket, Sirius was solid at his back. And warm. Remus leaned his head back against Sirius’s shoulder and tried to catch his breath and willed the trembling to stop. His drowsiness was coming back all at once, hitting him like a freight train.
Sirius smiled, glad with Remus’s full weight against him. He could feel the tension ebbing out of the man’s body. Could hear it in the softer exhales and inhales. The shakes were lessening. “I’ll get you home, don’t worry,” he murmured, absently threading his fingers through Remus’s sweat-matted hair.
That sounded like he wanted to carry him again. That would be a bad idea, but saying so would take far too much effort. If Remus was asleep, he wouldn’t be able to help, wouldn’t be able to hang on. It would be worse for Sirius and he’d already had such a hard time last time. That, and he didn’t want to move. Moving was uncomfortable and would probably be painful... and he was comfortable. Remus felt himself slipping away, so much so that the fact his hair was disgusting didn’t occur to him at all. Sirius’s fingers felt so good...
“I’m not worried,” he murmured before darkness swallowed him whole. He had Sirius.