loose morals and reading comprehension

Legs stiff and body tired from the long journey, he makes his way to the arrivals hall, wheeling his heavy suitcase behind him. The English air is much colder than he remembers, making him shiver, but he’ll have to get somewhere less crowded to dig out a jacket. Tired travellers mill all around, and on the other side of the rail is the usual turn-out of taxi drivers or travel agents, holding little signs with names, and loved ones with flags and flowers, waiting for their husbands, wives, children, or parents. The girl sitting across from him on the plane jumps into the waiting arms of her boyfriend, and Sirius feels a little pang of yearning in his stomach.

No one is waiting for him.

But it’s alright. He’ll find a hotel, get a good night’s sleep, and perhaps go and see James tomorrow. The tenant in his flat will be out on Thursday, and then he can begin the slow assimilation back into his old self. Whether that’s a good or a bad thing remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: it will be good to see James again. Hopefully he hasn’t forgotten him.

Making his way down along the rail, he passes more happy faces and more signs. ‘Mr S. Thompson’, ‘Dr Ramesh Kumar’, ‘Miss Bridget Furman’… and then at the very end: ‘Major W. Anker.’ He snorts and looks up to find a smiling face framed by a hopeless mess of black hair.

“Really?”

“You left me for a year, innit?” James’s smile widens to a grin, and Sirius throws his arms around him, laughing into his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up. I reckoned you’d do something silly, like finding a hotel when I have a perfectly equipped guest room.”

Sirius smiles sheepishly as they pull apart. James knows him too well.

“I’ve got both Stella and Guinness, so you can have your pick,” James says, nodding at the plastic bag by his feet.

“Lead the way.” Sirius grins, keeping an arm slung over James’s shoulders as they stroll past all the other people still greeting their loved ones. How did he ever envy them?

“Your hair got longer,” James says as he drives them into London.

“I see they still haven’t found a cure for yours.”

James laughs and runs a hand through it, messing it up even more.

They pick up some Indian takeaway and settle on James’s sofa, kicking up their feet and opening their beers like they’ve done so many times before. Banter and laughter flows between them like they haven’t been apart at all, despite how isolated Sirius has been. The last camp he worked in had no reception, and it could take weeks for a letter to reach England. It’s unreal having James so close again, and Sirius finds his mind drifting as James updates him on life in London, the timbre of his voice a warming balm on his still too-cold skin. The words are less important. Looking at him is enough. He doesn’t look any different, not really, yet Sirius has an acute urge to examine and log the wrinkles that appear in the corner of his eyes when he smiles, measure the dimples in his cheeks as he laughs at his own joke, and count the stubble on his chin where he must have missed it with the razor this morning. Wonderfully familiar and brand-new all at the same time.

“How was it?” James asks after they’ve finished their second beer. Low and hesitant, his voice has lost the playful edge. “Your letters sounded like….”

“Yeah…” Sirius says. “It was—”

But he doesn’t want to talk about it. Not right now. He wants the laughter back.

“Can I tell you about it tomorrow? I’m too tired.”

Sirius brushes his teeth in the hallway loo and exits to find James coming out of the guestroom.

“I found you an extra blanket.”

“Thanks, Prongs.” Sirius smiles at his best friend, chest suddenly tight. The thought of separating for the night is almost too much to bear. “For coming to get me, and for….”

“I’m just so glad you’re home.”

James pulls him in for a hug, warm and sure and safe, surrounding him with his whole body like he always does.

“I’ve missed you, Padfoot. I’ve really, really missed you.”

“Me too, Prongs. Me too….”

Sirius hadn’t even known it was possible to miss anyone that much, but the mere scent of James seems to soothe every cell in his body, his touch calming every nerve ending. The pulse in his neck is a tether to cling to, solid and unwavering against Sirius’s cheek.

They hold each other tighter, past the point where it would be prudent to let go, but Sirius can’t get his body to cooperate, and James isn’t making any sign of moving either, so he just lets it happen, lets himself sink further into James’s arms, emptying his head of thoughts. Here, he can simply exist.

“I’ve worried about you…” James mutters, turning his face into his neck.

“I’m okay,” Sirius whispers, not entirely sure if it’s true, but in this moment, it feels like it.

He runs a soothing hand up James’s spine and feels a tiny pull at his scalp as James plays with the ends of his hair. His other hand is resting safely on the small of Sirius’s back, but his fingers wriggle just the tiniest bit, kneading his muscles. James has never been able to keep his hands still, always moving, always busy, and though it’s just the softest touch, it’s insistingly pulling Sirius closer. He responds by scratching lightly between James’s shoulder blades, squeezing his side with his other hand. He’ll drink every second of this, let James’s fingertips burn his skin as they trail up his back, fill his lungs with the scent of home, melt into a puddle if it means he can cover every inch of James.

This is not what they do, not how James&Sirius functions, but he doesn’t care, he’s missed too much, ached too much. He’s not sure when exactly it dawned on him that James is the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of home, the first thing he sees when looking into the future, and the only answer he has ever had when asked about love, but the knowledge has been sitting solidly in the back of his mind for a while now, tucked away until the world would stop falling apart around him. But it’s breaching containment now, crashing to the forefront like a flash flood threatening to drown him.

Goosebumps travel down his arms, and an electric current pulses down his spine, all the way into his toes as James’s hands continue to caress his back, his sides, his neck. His own hands are busy mapping every muscle and every bone, every soft bit of skin, smooth and radiating heat. This is not what they do, but God, he wants it. Needs it. Craves it.

James nuzzles the side of his face, coaxing him into looking at him. Sirius is almost afraid to open his eyes, to find that this is all a dream, but the warm hazel eyes speak of a longing as strong as his own, and the full, soft lips meet his with a hunger just as fierce as the one growing in his stomach. His back hits the wall, and he pulls James closer, begging him to deepen the kiss, to erase this terrible distance that’s existed between them. They must make up for all this futile time apart, mend the holes in the fabric of the universe.

Don’t leave me again, James’s fingers seem to say, clutching desperately at Sirius’s shirt.

I won’t, Sirius tongue says as he pushes it deeper into James’s mouth, because how could he?

This is not what they do, but Sirius will happily spend the rest of his life doing it.

“You, ah…” James says, slightly out of breath. His chest heaves under Sirius’s hand, heart beating a urgent rhythm, beckoning Sirius like a ceremonial drum. “You don’t have to sleep in the guest room….”