His parents think he's at James's house, staying for the weekend. James thinks he's at Peter's, avoiding Sirius. Peter thinks he's at James, making up with Sirius. He's gotten so good at lying in his life that it's second nature to do it now, even though his stomach is sour with guilt and fear.

He hasn't spoken to Sirius since the morning after he sent Snape to the shack, hasn't so much as looked at him. He'd thought about attempting to bridge the gap, accept the apologies and admissions of guilt from Sirius on the train ride home until he'd run into Snape, who'd done his level best to make Remus remember why he was mad at Sirius in the first place.

Being at home, alone, had been a different story though. Every night his mind betrayed him, casting Sirius in roles that Remus never dared dream. He tossed and turned at night, woke up every morning and stumbled to the shower, sinking to his knees under the hot spray, knowing that dealing with his rampant morning erection would leave him too weak to stand.

Sirius was penitent in his dreams. Sirius was subservient and apologetic but sly and devious, on his knees begging forgiveness from the end of Remus's cock. Asking for absolution as he kneaded Remus's arse, fingering the tight hole, massaging his balls. His tongue pleaded dispensation as it brought Remus to climax again and again until he woke with a start, teetering on the edge of release.

The shower was better, not as vivid and cloyingly thick with buried emotions. The shower was his hand and his brain but not his heart. In the shower he could pretend it was someone else, anyone else, even though he knew without doubt that it was Sirius, even though it was his name on his lips every time he came.

He's shaking slightly as he watches the door. Several people have come out and a few have looked his way, but he shakes his head every time. They shrug and turn away and don't seem to mind, don't seem to take much notice beyond that but more and more people come out and turn to him, their eyes curious, their offers plain.

The brick wall behind him holds his weight as he leans on it, inhaling the smoke and smell of London. He debates going inside the club, losing himself in the pounding beat or the back room, slipping between leather and sweat covered bodies until he forgets where he begins and ends, but there's really no place to stay when he's lied to everyone and no way to explain it away to his parents. He knows they're worried at how withdrawn he's become, knows they're afraid for him. Sometimes, in his darkest hours, he wonders if they're afraid of him.

The back door of the club opens and he straightens, watching intently. He knows without knowing how that he's the one - that this boy, this man, is the one he's been waiting for. He clears his throat.

The dark hair brushes over the collar of the leather jacket and his eyes catch the light. Remus catches his breath, swallows his heart. Sirius's eyes are glazed with liquor or stronger and he moves over to Remus and presses his body against his. He reeks of sweat and sex and sweet-smoke, his cock is hard and demanding as it presses against Remus's thigh. "What d'you want?"

Sirius is lost, mate. Lost without you., James had said without saying more. Remus had felt guilt, had wanted to find him, but knew he couldn't until he'd purged the dreams and need from his system.

"On your knees." He doesn't recognize his own voice as it scrapes out of his dry throat. Sirius smiles and Remus hardens even more, the sly grin familiar. "Why're you smiling?"

"I'm good on my knees," Sirius assures him, working Remus's pants open, his cock free. He doesn't kneel though, simply wraps his hand around Remus's shaft and begins stroking. "But I'm better with my hands."

"What if I want your mouth?"

Sirius's breath is hot on Remus's cheek. "You'll have it," he assures him, moving his lips to Remus's. Remus doesn't groan, doesn't allow himself the breath it would cost him as Sirius's tongue slides inside, over his with a strong sense of possession. His hand works furiously at Remus's cock, thumb sliding over the tip again and again until every nerve in Remus's body is drawn taut enough to snap.

"Yes," Sirius breathes as he whispers the word in Remus's ear, teeth sharp as they bite the flesh of his lobe. "You're so hard. Maybe I will get on my knees."

Remus starts to speak but stops again as Sirius does as he says, sinking down and replacing his hand with his liquid hot mouth, clamping tightly around Remus's cock with sweet suction that seems to pull at Remus's blood. His nails dig at the brick and he winces as he draws blood, his hips rocking forward to meet Sirius's feasting mouth.

Cold air surrounds him as Sirius pulls back and stands, all leather and denim as he thrusts his entire body against Remus's. His hand returns to Remus's flesh, his mouth to his ear. Remus can't quite make out the words, knows that he's not supposed to hear them, not supposed to understand. But as his cock pulses with need and want and release, Sirius's voice crystallizes and he hears him whisper his name.

Remus stumbles back and out of Sirius's reach. The night seems silent, even thought there's still smoke and light and people swarming from the club. He meets Sirius's eyes and knows there's nothing in them but whatever he'd had inside the club. "Sorry, mate." Sirius grins like the impervious god he is. "Did I call you by the wrong name?"

Remus hurts, his whole heart wrung with the knowledge that he was not the first and would not be the last. "No, Sirius. For the first time, you've undoubtedly gotten it right."

He doesn't care about the fact that he's supposed to be somewhere else. He doesn't care that he's in Muggle London and there are people milling about not that far away. He simply Apparates away, tumbling to relative safety as he trips over the semi-nakedness of James and Lily tangled together on the floor.