Remus had only just barely been allowed a shower and a change of clothes before being shoved into the kitchen for something that was becoming increasingly similar to a questioning. It hadn’t started like that, but here, in a safe house Remus hadn’t been to before, it was apparent that that was the way the war was developing.
Feeling his eyes itch with exhaustion and the harsh light of the kitchen table, Remus did his best to talk through his last two months he had spent at the werewolf camps to two senior Order members sitting across from him.
None of this was particularly new, were it not for Sirius sitting behind them, just out of the cone of light. Sirius hadn’t sat in on these when Remus last left, and his attention kept drifting, stealing glances overtop of the shoulders of the men in front of him.
For how ever endless the loop of questions seemed, Remus knew it was done by the time Sirius stood to leave, a beat before the two members thanked him for his time.
“It’s good to have you back, Lupin,” one of them said with a tired attempt at being friendly; Remus’ attention was entirely on the doorway Sirius had just gone out of.
“Yeah, thanks,” he fumbled, rising to a stand before having enough sense to glance back at the interviewers, seeking permission to leave.
He was granted it with a wave of a hand, and Remus was quick to edge past the sparse furniture of the room to go after Sirius.

If you had asked Sirius a year ago, he never would have been able to guess just how bloody tedious being in a war was. In the beginning, Sirius felt like he had been actively fighting and doing something in the hopes of giving this war a swift end, but as the war dragged on so did Sirius’ responsibilities and as he was becoming a more senior member of the resistance he was expected more and more in planning.
It hadn’t even registered on his radar that Remus had returned until he almost sat face to face with him, a proper reunion spoiled by the presence of Baker and Dunlop, but Sirius couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed. He couldn’t find it in himself to be happy either, the apathy of their constant battle starting to feel like another burden on Sirius’ shoulders.
He knew the entire routine so much by heart that by the time that Baker had asked his last question Sirius had already gotten up, knowing just how much was still on his plate for the day, but feeling some semblance of relief in knowing that Remus was back.
If he was being generous to himself, Sirius would say that he was relieved that his good friend was alive still, something that was rapidly becoming a luxury, but deep down he knew something else was entirely was the source of the relief.

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Remus had followed Sirius into the hallway without thinking, but also because there wasn’t anywhere else to go. He didn’t know the house, and had already forgotten the narrowness of the hallway and the endless amount of doors surrounding them.
Suddenly in the same room, Remus was surprised to feel that the distance hadn’t disappeared, only compressed in the few feet between them, so much forced into so little space. It was almost worse, amplifying just how much he had missed Sirius, but also the endless cycle of returning and no longer knowing whether or not this was allowed anymore.
“You’re part of this, now?” Remus said, when really, he wanted to say literally anything else. Sirius had been on his mind for weeks, and addressing the most recent thing felt so trivial. “They’re promoting you?”

It really and truly was weird to see Remus again.
Sirius knew that he should feel something upon seeing his friend, if nothing else then at least relief, but there was something hollow inside of him that seemed to absorb it all and he couldn’t even properly muster that.
“They are running out of senior members,” he said with a shrug, not wanting to linger too much on the why’s of them running out of senior members. After all, they both knew what was at stake here, so it didn’t make sense for Sirius to remind both of them why they were here.
“You alright?”

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Remus stalled for a beat, not at the harsh reality of the Order’s declining numbers, but at the attention, though Sirius’ question seemed just as trivial as Remus’ own.
“Yeah,” he replied, a lie. He assumed Sirius knew the extent of it, and what he didn’t probably showed on Remus hollowed out face. Nothing was really good these days and still the camps were somehow even worse. Remus wasn’t sure it was a real question, anyway.
He still returned it, too stuck in his ways of caring about Sirius to stop giving it thought now. “Are you?”

It really was an utterly useless question and Sirius had known it the second it’s had left his lips, however it wasn’t like there was anything else they could talk about. After all, they both knew far too well the situation they were all in, so lying to each other didn’t really make sense.
Completely ignoring the returned question, Sirius instead approached Remus, putting his hand on his shoulder and softly pulled him along further down the hallway.
“You must be exhausted,” he instead said, “come on, I’m gonna show you your room.”

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The room Sirius led him to was honestly pitiful. Probably carved out of a larger room to add another bedroom, back when the house was properly inhabited, it barely allowed space for more than a twin bed and a sad looking bunk. Remus barely looked at it, disengaged.
His entire attention was on Sirius, a heavy sort of pause as Remus processed through an impulse. This felt so much like it had done in the recent several years, like Remus was simultaneously invited and intruding on Sirius’ life, barely a speck on the grand scheme of things.
It was inevitable not to chase that, a glimpse of something good. Rather than reach for Sirius to bridge their height difference, Remus ducked to catch Sirius’ lips in a kiss, spilling over with no ounce of hesitation.

Much like stepping on a bear trap, Sirius reacted promptly and without hesitation, immediately pulling Remus down by the neck as he hungrily, greedily returned the kiss.
He couldn’t remember exactly when their friendship had turned physical, but he knew that it had to have been pretty early on, remembering how much more plump Remus had been back then. Now, he was barely anything but skin and bone, but Sirius didn’t care; desperate for human touch in a way that wasn’t putting his life in danger.
He didn’t hesitate in pulling Remus towards the bed, knowing that both of them were too worn and tired to do much of a song and dance about it.

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Having spent so much time in a place where every touch exchanged was filled with violence, it was hard not to feel the echo of it in Sirius’ touch, rough and selfish as he grabbed for Remus. For how much it made his tattered nervous system flinch, Remus grabbed for Sirius’ hips with an equal amount of desperation.
There hadn’t been a moment these past months where Remus hadn’t thought about Sirius, so all consuming that Remus’ own sense of personhood had grown muddled between tents and rot and wolves, only truly feeling like himself here, in whatever Sirius still saw and wanted from him. Remus wanted to give him everything and more.
With the tentative familiarity they had come to develop, Remus shoved Sirius against the bed, so comically small it felt even more juvenile than Hogwarts, where they hadn’t ever been intimate, but where the snug fit would’ve at least been silly. This was just heartbreaking, a far cry from what Remus had wanted.
Determined not to think of that, Remus followed, a clumsy knee between Sirius’ thighs to once again be able to catch his lips in a desperate kiss.

There was such a deep relief in feeling another body against his own once more, making Sirius feel more alive than he had done in the months that Remus had been away. Deep down, he knew that it was nothing more than pure instinct, wanting someone to be close to give him a semblance of safety, though they were hardly safer when they were together, but Sirius still cherished the break from the dread.
The shove was rough but their reunions always were, both of them too frayed to know how to truly and properly be gentle anymore. It didn’t matter though, because soon Remus had bridged the gap again and Sirius eagerly pulled him closer, wanting to not think about the life they were living for just a moment.
Eager, and slightly clumsy, hands grabbed at the collar of Remus’ shirt, needing that skin on skin contact so badly that it almost felt like he couldn’t breathe.
When he pulled the shirt of Remus’ head, Sirius did briefly notice just how noticeable Remus’ ribs were becoming and were he a better man it probably would have caused him worry, but while he cared deeply for his friend, he also knew that there was nothing to be done and worrying about it wasn’t going to help either of them.

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Willingly shifting his weight back far enough for Sirius’ to pull his shirt off, Remus didn’t shift back far enough to recapture Sirius’ lips in another kiss. Steadied himself with a hand at Sirius’ midriff, Remus instead pressed his face to the crook of Sirius’ neck, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses to Sirius’ jaw, his throat, teetering on a line between adoring and possessive; of wanting to consume him.
Pushing his fingers beneath the fabric of Sirius’ shirt to expose the skin, Remus was caught between the impulse to let it drift upwards or downwards, wanting all of Sirius at once. In a different world, this would be a nice indulgent thing between them, but like so many times before, Remus was bitterly aware of the fact that that wasn’t necessarily what Sirius wanted of him.
So, Remus’ hand moved.
All but resting his forehead against Sirius’ clavicle, Remus glanced down between them in a fumble of the button closure, before finally undoing Sirius’ fly as he once again stretched to lick another desperate kiss into Sirius’ mouth.

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“Sit still, ya wanker,” Sirius grumbled with a warm grin on his lips, kneeling on the floor in front of Remus, who was seated on one of the rickety chairs in the small kitchen of their current safe house.
Other than the two of them the safe house was utterly empty, something that was as rare as it was unusual. Rationally, Sirius knew that it was bad news for the development of the war, however it was extremely difficult for him to care, having been desperate for this kind of privacy for quite a while now and finally getting it felt like a breath of fresh air.
“You’re gonna make it crooked,” he added as he brushed hair away from his face, the needle in his hand never stopping it’s methodical poking into Remus’ skin.

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Remus’ vision was swimming, the mere act of looking down at Sirius making the room spin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew getting a tattoo while drunk was a poor decision, having heard it was bound to bleed out the ink, but he simultaneously couldn’t imagine being here sober, either.
Hard liquor and a spliff had loosened the noose around Sirius’ neck and he was so familiar to Remus, only then really realising how much he’d missed him, and how grim things had gotten. It had been the easiest thing to say yes to, and Remus would continue to say yes to anything else Sirius might suggest.
"Sorry," he muttered.
Remus had been watching the letters appear on his skin, but really, he had been watching Sirius, his chest aching with something tender and bruised. In a poorly suppressed impulse, Remus drunkenly reached down to smooth his hands over Sirius’ crown, mindlessly carding his hair back and holding it in a loose tie at the nape of his neck.

It really was a daft idea, and yet Sirius couldn’t help but grin as the letter started taking shape on Remus’ legs. It was probably dangerous to brand themselves like this, however Sirius couldn’t really imagine anything that would serve to make their current situation any worse.
The feeling of Remus’ hand in his hair made a wave of calm fall over Sirius, leaning softly into the touch without moving too much away from the work he was doing with the needle.
This was such a rare bubble of calm that Sirius could almost forget about the war raging outside, feeling the alcohol and the spliff calming his ragged nervous system in a way that he didn’t think was possible anymore.
“What’d ya think?” Sirius asked as he placed the final touches on the line through the t in faggot, sitting down on his heels and looking up at Remus with a warm smile.

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As Sirius straightened himself up, Remus withdrew his hand, letting Sirius’ hair slip through his fingers. It had never been anything to begin with, but the loss and distance still made Remus’ stomach sink with a stupid disappointment.
Looking down at the tattoo, the word upside down above his knee, Remus didn’t register any sense of permanency about it. Already certain he wouldn’t survive the war at this rate, Sirius might as well have written it in quill ink. It was so hard to think about the repercussions.
“Yeah,” he said, a little dazed. Sirius could have tattooed anything on Remus and he would have agreed, even his name; as it were, the rough FAGGOT didn’t feel far off, just as much a jab between the ribs. “Looks good.”

“It doesn’t,” Sirius stated, knowing that his penmanship was poor even at the best of times and pressing a needle into skin hadn’t exactly helped in the matter.
Still, he had a grin on his face, all the stimulants in his system almost making him feel like his old self again, even if there was still a shadow over the both of them. However, if he ignored that he could almost imagine that they were not in the middle of a war.
“But thank you,” he said as he reached up again, putting his weight back on his knees and leaning up to press a kiss to Remus’ collarbone.
When they were like this, Sirius could almost imagine what could have been if they hadn’t gotten dragged into this war, but he also knew that lingering on that thought for too long would not be helpful in any way.

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Remus’ lids barely fluttered shut in a shudder as Sirius stretched up to press a kiss to his shirt-covered collar. For some time now they had balanced on a line where Sirius had been touching him in a life-altering way, while barely having touched him at all. The kiss was just more of it, more needles pressed into his skin. For how familiar Sirius had acted this evening, it had propelled Remus back to being a teen, of being caught in his orbit and wanting to drown in even the smallest touches Sirius bestowed upon him.
Desperate to confirm that, while they weren’t anything, they were far more than they had once been, Remus reached for Sirius. His movements made indelicate by the alcohol, Remus’ hand settled at the nape of Sirius’ neck, urging him to stay close before he once again disappeared far off.
“I love it,” Remus reassured, low and earnest, leaning in to catch Sirius’ lips in a starved kiss.

There was something so special about seeing Remus in a setting like this, a week off a mission and having gotten a little more sleep, that could almost propel Sirius into thinking that their lives were normal.
When Remus kissed him it took scary little for Sirius to kiss him back, feeling lighter than he had in ages and wanting to share that with Remus in any way that he could.
He got himself up a little more from the floor, stretching and placing his hands on Remus’ hips only to let them run back towards his lower back. The craving he felt for physical contact never lessened, but the more time he got to spend with Remus the less violent and possessive it became, and right now, with everything else making a mess of his system as well, Sirius almost felt that it was affectionate.
He didn’t allow it to go on for too long though, breaking the kiss with a grin as he sat back down on his heels again, the tile in the kitchen killing his knees.
“Now you do me,” he stated and handed Remus the needle that was somehow still in his hand.

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Faced with it, Remus actually had no desire to tattoo anything onto Sirius’ skin, much less in the state they were in. It felt too much like laying an ugly claim to something that wasn’t his, though rationally he knew Sirius was reading far less into things.
With an unsteady hand, Remus picked the needle out of Sirius’ grip.
“Turn around,” he softly encouraged.
Craning his neck, Remus looked around him for either of their wands, feeling an unease grow at the realisation that, for the first time in years, his wand was out of reach.
Refusing to let anxiety get a foothold when his intoxication had otherwise felt so pleasant, Remus instead settled for the half-full glass of spirits they had been drinking. Taking a large drink of it to numb back his worries and trepidations, Remus dropped the needle into what was left of it.

Sirius grinned at that, excited about the silly little tattoo idea that they had gotten. Honestly, it had mostly been Sirius’ idea, the only one between the two of them who was already tattooed, but he had been thrilled when Remus hadn’t fought him on the matter.
Eager to oblige, Sirius turned around and sat down on the floor entirely, leaning against the one of Remus’ legs that he hadn’t just tattooed, feeling calm with the combination of stimulants in his system, but also the physical closeness he got from being around Remus.
For once, the physicality wasn’t laced through with deep desperation, rather a brief calm in the eye of the storm, a reprieve from the life that they had both been pushed into it.

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