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Pretences	By : tomo Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Remus/Sirius Views: 1564 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make money out of it.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
PRETENCES

Disclaimer: First things first, the characters are not mine… but the story is, fortunately.

Rating: R

Summary: The only thing that Remus can do to be with him is to pretend.

A/N: The ones in italic are the present scenes. Thanks for reading! Please review! :)

Chapter Three

I let my fingertips glide over your face, then your neck. Your breath catches and your body stiffens. My hands stop and rest on your shoulders, kneading it. I stole a glance at your face. Your brows are knitted together… your mouth releases puffs of breath, as if you were in pain. Carefully, I leaned in, hooked my arms around your neck, and whispered desperately, "Love me.".

I have always associated love with pain. It is an ever recurring theme in my life. Whenever I love, I get hurt. That is plain to me. It doesn't in the least disturb me. But this doesn't mean that I am immune to pain. I am not. But I have learned to welcome it.

And so, when I woke up to the sight of wizard stuff adorning the unfamiliar room in which I ended up in last night, I knew that I would now be paying the price of continuously loving you. I smiled sadly.

I know a number of black-haired wizards of approximately our age. How long would it take before news flies about me sleeping with men? How long would it take for it to reach you? And if it does, what would you think of me?

You gasped. I covered your lips with mine, wanting to feel my breath mingle with yours. I shivered, savoring the feel of it. With trembling hands, I fumbled with the buttons of your shirt. My lips then ghosted through your throat, your chest, your arms… I want to take all of you in… To feel you forever with me.

I shot out of the bed and ran towards the window. With all my strength, I tried to pry it open. It wouldn't budge—it was spelled shut. I ran to the door. There is a small chance that he, whoever he is, went out of the house so that I can slip out unnoticed. But the door was charmed to lock from the outside. I panicked. Like a caged animal, I started ramming my fist into the glass panels of the window, only succeeding in doing myself more damage than the window itself.

"You know, that wouldn't work." I heard a hauntingly familiar voice behind me. I froze. Back then, I would have given everything just to hear that voice again. That rich voice that fills my every dream. But now, rooted in this spot, I wish I could take it back.

After a pregnant silence, you spoke again. "I made breakfast."

Tears started to well in my eyes. I wanted to shout at you. Why do you act as if nothing happened? Why do you make me hope? Instead, "I-I'll go now," was all I could stammer.

"I'm sorry? Let's eat. We'll talk later." I heard you say.

My face felt hot. Talk? What is there to talk about? Don't pretend you didn't get it after what you've seen me do. I can feel your eyes piercing through me… judging me. I couldn't stand it.

"There's nothing to talk about, Sirius. I'll go now. Thanks for letting me stay the night." I said, walking past you.

But you grabbed my arm.

I sat back and took a long look at you. This may as well be the last. I want to carve your image into my memory… your chest as it rises and falls with every breath… your hands, clutching the bedspread… The sight of you leaves me breathless. I knelt in front of you and worshipped you with my mouth. You took a sharp intake of breath.

I have always imagined how it would be like to tell you what I felt. Pictures of many scenes would pass through my mind, each more beautiful than the last. I would then wonder how I would tell you. What words would I use? How do I act?

Back in Hogwarts, I remembered walking in on a pretty Ravenclaw girl confessing her feelings to you, as I made my way to the library. She was blushing, and you looked surprised. But then you smiled. A smile you've never shown me before. I was angry. I was jealous. I was envious. Those smiles should be directed at me, and those confessions, my own. I wanted to turn and walk away. But I was rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away. It's as if a something was holding me back, forcing me to see everything. The scene was mocking me. And I was helpless.

Some people say that physical pain is better than emotional pain. I couldn't agree more. I can easily pinpoint the part of my body that is injured. It is then cured promptly. But if I saw you with another, and I got hurt, where would I point to? The aching in my chest? The feel of a thousand pins pricking my palms? The fluttering of my stomach? Where? And if I did point it out, can they do anything? Would you do anything?

And so, it wasn't surprising that on the same afternoon, Peter was shocked to find me in the bathroom, scratching at my forearms, dried blood caking under my fingernails.

Slowly, I lowered myself onto you. Tears fell uncontrollably from my eyes. It was painful, and yet, it was the most beautiful thing. I wanted to stay this way forever. I closed my eyes, and concentrated on the feel of it. I felt your hand reaching out for me, touching my face, my hair, my neck. I let out a voiceless scream.

I winced in pain as you tightened your grip. Your eyes grew wide in realization and you loosened your hold. But you still wouldn't release me. "Please…" I whispered.

"If you were in so much pain, why would you still go there?" You asked, the blatant accusation stabbing me, making me feel helpless.

Like a drowning man, I clutched onto the hand holding me captive. "Please," I whimpered, "please let me go."

Let go. Let me go from your hold on me… form the spell you cast on me. Stop letting me hope. Stop making me want more from you. Stop me from loving you. Hurt me enough that it would blind my love. Stop me.

I struggled.

Slowly, I moved. Keeping my eyes shut, I allowed my hands to travel across your chest, finally settling on your shoulders. I can feel your eyes on me, your hands worshipping my body. I whimpered as my movements became more erratic. I buried my face on the crook of your neck as I reached the peak, my lips whispering your name.

Your gripped tightened as I continued struggling. You were saying something but I wasn't listening. My only thought is that I have to break free. I have to escape you, because I know that if I don't do it now, I would never be able to do so. I would be trapped here, with your hand forever holding me in place. And I am afraid I would not regret it.

Losing patience, you wrapped your arms around me, and I was immediately reduced to a whimpering mass of flesh. I sobbed in frustration, knowing that such simple movement would seal my fate. I wouldn't want to move away.

"Remus," you called, "Remus." Your voice sounded as if from far away, luring me back to you. I shivered. "Please," I repeated, "please… I have to go. Please." "Remus," your voice came again, "Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you go there? Why?" My sobs wracked my body, and I melted to the floor. You followed, never once releasing your hold on me.

I cannot possible tell you. If you knew, everything shatters, and I would be left alone. I'd rather hurt myself—deprive myself of your love—than be abandoned.

"We followed you—James, Peter and I." You said, each word feeling like bricks falling upon me. I started trembling. James and Peter never mentioned anything when they visited me in the hospital wing. So it's true. It was you.

Sensing my agitation, you immediately interjected, "We were worried. We have to do it. We have to know."

We. It's always we, wasn't it? How silly of me to think that you cared when James told me you were worried. You thought about me from the collective perspective of a friend. I wasn't at all special, was I?

"And James, he told me he was scared you might hurt yourself. He said I should help you." You continued. It was James. Always James. It should've been James. I would've been better off if it were with James. But it has to be you. And I hate myself, my stupid self, for preferring you.

"I don't understand," you said, "Tell me. You have to make me understand." You couldn't possibly understand. You, who have always been loved… adored… who, with just a snap of your fingers, can find someone to love, who will love you completely in return. You can't possibly understand me. No matter how eloquently I tell you, you just can't.

"You wouldn't understand." I finally said. I shakily stood up, removing your hold on me. You seem to be thinking deeply as I glanced at you. You're eyes were staring blankly at the opposite wall. With one last look, I started to walk away.

But right then, as if waking from a trance, you stood up and grabbed me, tighter than before. I gasped in pain. "Sirius, please," I whispered feebly.

"Show me," you said. I shivered. "Show me. Let me understand. Show me."

I rested my head on you chest, listening to you heartbeat as it gradually slowed down. I felt your hands around me. I sighed.

The afternoon sun filtered through the window. I opened my eyes… and the magic was broken. You're eyes were closed, never once looking at me adoringly. Your hands, mere ghosts that I felt embracing me, touching me with care, were, all the while, resting at your sides.

Everything was wrapped in pretences.

You never understood.

And I walked away, hurt and battered, with more scars than I can bother to conceal.

~End
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Pretences