autumn stories: 1977 (year 7), the earth compels, NC17

Rating: NC17, No Warnings
Summary: “But glad to have sat under / Thunder and rain with you” (From Sunlight on the Garden by Louis MacNiece)—I used the whole poem and a different quote, sorry!

“Come with me, Moony,” Sirius said, and Remus knew he had a thousand other, better things to do, but he still took the broomstick Sirius held out.

The year had been unfolding like a litany of lasts: the last glorious autumn, the last airing of winter academic robes, the last first Hogsmeade weekend. Remus had barely noticed these lasts happening, but Sirius was preternaturally attuned to them. This, however, would definitely not be the last time for them to go flying, Remus thought, and should therefore be free of Sirius’ depressing thoughts. Remus kicked the ground and took off, gambling that this would merely be a bit of dangerous fun.

When they played Four-Seeker, Remus invariably won, despite disliking proper Quidditch games. He preferred to have wide-open spaces with no bludgers and to develop his own moves. He had just perfected his vertical rise, and Sirius was far below him, cursing faintly, in seconds. It was like being lifted up by a giant hand, faster and faster still, until he hit the clouds, a nasty cold wet grey, and then he was through and in the sunlight, gasping in the thin air.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sirius yelled, and Remus dropped stomach-wrenchingly to circle him, laughing. “You’re mad, you know.”

Remus locked his ankles and reached out over the void, slapping hard. “Tag. You’re it.”

It was a stupid game to play on broomsticks, especially with clouds to hide in, but they played until the the sunlight grew distant and cold.

“Where’s Hogwarts?” Sirius asked, his hair and robes in such wind-swept disarray that Remus’ heart skipped a beat as he pulled alongside Sirius.

Below was nothing but clouds. “We’ll have to go down and then fly back,” Remus said. “Lock brooms?”

Sirius didn’t reply, but he reached out and wrapped one hand around Remus’ broomstick. Remus did the same, and then they were sinking into wet darkness. It got only wetter and darker. The wood beneath Remus’ fingers was slick, and the lashing wind nearly tore Sirius away more times than he could count. Remus held on grimly, concentrating on the patches of warmth where their arms crossed and their knees banged together, and on finding a safe place to land.

The landscape was completely alien, but far off he could hear the Hogwarts bells booming out five o’clock. He turned towards them, pulling Sirius with.

There was a strange sharp taste in his mouth, and he felt the hair on his arms trying to rise. Sirius must have felt it too, because he pulled down sharply. They dropped, spinning out of control, and the lightning’s groping fingers reached for them with such brilliance that Remus was blinded. Sirius shouted something, words torn away by the storm, and then the ground was approaching them far too quickly.

They hit the hillside hard and rolled in a tangle of muddy limbs and broom straws. Everything was enveloped in grey. Remus struggled to get air back into his lungs, hampered by the water filling his nose and mouth. He could hear Sirius gasping beside him and forced himself up, reaching out in sudden terror.

“You all right, Sirius?”

“Are we dead?” Sirius wheezed. “Fucking mud…”

Remus wiped the mud out of his face and then started checking Sirius for broken bones, starting with the arm that he had landed on.

“Owfuck,” Sirius said, and shoved Remus’ hands away angrily. “Stop poking my bruises.” He glared up at Remus, who was sheltering him from some of the rain. “I guess that’s the last time those brooms ever get ridden. And probably the last time we’ll be out of detention before Christmas. I’m dead sure we’ll never do that again,” he added darkly, and whether he meant flying, or getting hit by lightening, or crashing into the mud, or what, Remus had no idea; but still the words hit louder and harder than thunder.

Remus went a little mad; or at least his body was already making its protest while his mind had yet to figure out how to express his outrage appropriately. His body had the advantage of not giving a damn about being appropriate.

He pushed Sirius’ robes up out of the way, shoved the zip of his trousers down, and by the time his hand wrapped around Sirius’ cock he was already hard. Sirius was saying something, and Remus ignored him: under heavy sodden robes it was easy to concentrate on the matter at hand. Remus bent his head and licked a spiral around Sirius’ cock from the bottom to the top, felt a shudder go through Sirius. He sucked the head into the warmth of his mouth and Sirius moaned, his hips thrusting blindly. Remus took the hint and swallowed Sirius as deeply as he could, still using his tongue to trace arcane and obscene sigils up and down the length of Sirius’ cock.

Sirius came explosively, without warning, a cry ripping from his throat. Remus had to force his hips down with both hands to keep from being further choked. He gave a last final lick, relished Sirius’ twitch, and sat back. He tugged Sirius’ trousers back into place, carefully.

“There,” he said, having done up Sirius’ trousers and straightened his robes, “there’s a first for you.”

Sirius was staring at him with wide, shell-shocked eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Remus gave a crooked smile and lay back in a puddle. “I can’t believe it, either. Is this going to make things awkward? It is, isn’t it? I’ll never hear the end of it. And that was the last time Moony gave me head, you’ll say, and you’ll repress a wistful sigh artfully.”

“How can it be the last time it it’s the first time?”

Remus shrugged, just barely. “It’s all up to you, Sirius. Is it the first time or the last time?”

Sirius rolled over, hard and fast, settling in a heavy sodden weight on top of Remus’ chest. “Were you just telling me to shut the fuck up? Or do you, are you–?”

Remus reached up and pushed back the sodden black hair that stuck to Sirius’ dirty forehead. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He had a trick of turning his head slightly to the left when staring straight at someone; this close, Sirius found it disconcerting.

Sirius put one hand alongside Remus’ face and turned his head straight. His mouth came down hard, his tongue forced into Remus’ mouth, his hands knotted in Remus’ hair.

First kiss, Remus thought, dizzy from being crushed. He’d imagined, oh—in the dorm, or on the astronomy tower, walking through the woods or standing by the lake, something that came slowly sometime after holding hands. Never pressed down in freezing mud that was slowly working its way into his ears, his toes going numb, never when he couldn’t tell if the streaks in the mud on Sirius’ face were from rain or tears, never when his mouth still tasted of Sirius’ cum (and mud, of course). He wrapped his arms around Sirius’ broad back and kissed him back, ignoring the rain that was getting in his nose. It was their first kiss, and a bubbly kind of hopeful warmth that he hated to quench formed deep in his chest.

Sirius pulled back. “You’re becoming one with the mud, Moony,” he said, and Remus shook his head.

“Don’t start that, not yet.” He tugged Sirius back down, stroking the dark head on his shoulder. “I want—I want—god, I want not to have to be flippant and pretend that nothing matters, I want to feel and not have to hide it, for once, for once. I want you,” he said into tangled wet hair. “You can laugh at me tomorrow, you can tell James and leave horrible things in my bed, but please can I just have this moment?”

Sirius kissed his neck, and then his mouth trailed up, along his jaw, and then he kissed him again, less angry and desperate this time. Almost sweet. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Remus shook his head, loving that his cheek brushed Sirius’ when he did so. “Last I heard you weren’t gay, Pads,” he said, and the words sounded like coffin nails.

“Well, it seems we haven’t been telling each other the right things.”

Unfair, Remus’ mind protested. “You know I like blokes.”

“You never said you fancied me.”

“Of course I fancy you.”

Sirius smiled. “Say that again.”

“Of course I fancy you.”

“Say it again.”

Remus’ eyes blinked into focus. Here was new territory: the same teasing tone, the same quirked smirk, but instead of gently but firmly pushing him out he was on the inside somehow.

“How could I not fancy you?” He didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted, whether it could be asked for, whether asking would ruin the moment, which he absolutely did not want to do. He didn’t care about what was real, he just cared that it felt like the real thing, that he could feel this way for the moment.

“How could I not fancy you?” Sirius repeated. “That’s good, makes me sound like a compulsion. And I want to compel you.” He looked down at Remus. “I have been trying to make time stand still.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to lose everything, I don’t want to be out in the world, and I’m absolutely nail-bitingly terrified of it all.”

“What you don’t understand, Sirius,” Remus said, pressing their foreheads together, “is that for everything that ends, something begins. We just kissed for the first time. I have you here in my arms for the first time. This is definitely the first time I’ve ever rolled in the mud with you, I’d remember. And there could be a second time, and a third, and a fourth—“

“But there will be a last time, sometime.”

“You can’t not live your life because it might end.” And then, because Sirius was lying on his stomach and the rain was shining in Sirius’ hair like phoenix tears; because even once was better than never, Remus leant forward and pressed his mouth to Sirius’.

“Moony,” Sirius said, some time later. “Moony. I don’t want this to be the last time.”

“Good,” Remus said, smiling through bruised lips, the bubbly feeling gone all through him.

“Which means I can’t let you die of pneumonia. Did you notice it’s sleeting now, Moony, and your hair is frozen to the ground?”

“I thought you were pulling it,” Remus said, reaching up to check.

“And even though we are conserving body heat as best we can, you’re shaking like a maraca and I can no longer feel my arse.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, feeling sincere sympathy for Sirius’ arse. He rubbed it, sympathetically.

“Back to school,” Sirius said, sitting up and pulling Remus up with him, inadvertently ripping out half Remus’ hair. He groped around until he found the icy remains of the broomsticks and then stood stiffly. Remus wrapped an arm around his waist, and they squished down the hill through the mud to the promise of light and warmth and first times to come.

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