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"This one is new," Sirius whispers into Remus's mouth, running his fingers softly under his shirt, up a long scar on Remus's back. Remus just hmm-hmms, and the shiver that runs up his spine has nothing to do with the fact that Sirius's hands now seem to be perpetually cold, and everything to do with the fact that it's Sirius’s hand.
Tomorrow they're going to London, to check if Sirius's childhood home is fit to house the Order's headquarters. Sirius's eyes become distant whenever he is reminded of that fact, so today they're pressed as close as they can in Remus's bed, warm under the old quilt and a little drunk on Remus’s last bottle of cheap wine. The responsible part of Remus's brain tells him that their conversation in Remus's kitchen wasn't enough, that they shouldn’t hurry lest they ruin things again. The responsible part of Remus's brain has been kicked in the teeth by the part that missed Sirius so fucking much for so many years, that can't believe the miracle of having Sirius's again, a little worse for the wear but alive and sane and innocent.
Remus runs his own hand up Sirius's side, under his own jumper that looks better on Sirius anyway. Sirius breath hitches as Remus's fingers meet sharp ribs, and Remus rests his hand there gently until the trembling in Sirius's chest stops. This is new too, Remus thinks, this Sirius who is jumpy at being touched, who can't stand too much when he once craved it, who hides behind Remus's old clothes and Padfoot's fur.
Sirius never used to care about his appearance. His beauty was always a given, as much a fact of the universe as the moon rising in the east. It still is, even though his face is now lined and gaunt, his hair is an uncombed mess making a dramatic contrast against the white pillowcase. He'll always be the most beautiful person Remus has ever seen. And Remus was never good at saying things like that, but they'd agreed when they talked, before they'd even thought about doing this again, they'd agreed to no more secrets. Never again. So he inhales deeply.
"You're beautiful," he says out, simply. He feels stupid the moment the words leave his lips, it's not much, definitely not enough, but it's still hard to get it out.
"I've looked better," Sirius answers, but he opens a new, shy smile. "Bet you've had some good-looking men over the years." Sirius's leg is resting on top of Remus and he bumps the back of Remus's knee with his ankle, pushing closer.
Remus agrees. His "bad boy scars" and "air of mystery" had gone a long way in the 80s, before his monthly sickly appearance made him look like a risk. "There was a tv actor."
"You're just pulling my leg," Sirius says. His hand is all the way up Remus's shirt now, scratching lazily at the space between Remus's shoulder blades, and Remus could cry with how good it feels.
"Well, he was an extra in Doctor Who," Remus concedes. "You couldn't really see his face, with all the green makeup."
Sirius looks confused for a second. "The space one, with the police box," Remus supplies, helpfully. Sirius nods, remembering. They used to have a TV in their old apartment, an old thing that changed channels by itself if they used too much magic in the sitting room, because Sirius liked muggle things and Remus thought it was important to keep up with the world news.
"Some women too," Remus adds, still in the spirit of total honesty.
Sirius immediately gets a frown, as if studying a particularly complex problem. "Really?" He asks. Not upset, just curious.
"A few," Remus agrees.
Sirius is quiet for a while. His hand stills. "You hadn't, before," he finally says.
"No, just boys." It had caused a bit of tension, when they first got together, that Remus had a little experience where Sirius had none. Sirius pretended that it didn't bother him, but it clearly did, and he would spring questions when Remus wasn't expecting them. How many blokes? When? How far did you go? Remus rolled his eyes and pretended to be so annoyed, but privately felt more than a little flattered at Sirius's jealousy, more than a little smug at knowing something Sirius didn't, and more than a little turned on at how flushed Sirius looked when he told him. Sirius, never content to be second place at anything, had immediately declared that if he wasn't Remus's first, then he'd be the best. He'd won by a landslide. He still had the first place. Remus tells him that too.
"Still?" Sirius's smile is broader now, closer to his old one.
"Yeah."
"Guess I'll have to defend my title then." Sirius's lips are right there, and that part had always come easy to them. It starts slowly, and turns into a full snog, and Remus ends up on top of Sirius, with Sirius's long legs wrapped around his waist. It takes Remus longer than it probably should to realize they're both half-hard. He moves to take off Sirius's shirt, but Sirius stops him, bony fingers lacing with his.
"I feel like a virgin," Sirius blurts out. There is a little colour on his cheeks. "More of a virgin than I ever was."
Remus hides his chuckle into Sirius's neck because now is not the time to explain Madonna. "We don't have to," he manages, soberly.
"Can we just..." Sirius mumbles. He bites his lip and doesn't finish his thought, but he doesn't have to, because he's wrapping his legs tighter around Remus, pressing him down where he wants to. Remus goes willingly and tries to use his knees to help but his joints are not what they used to be, and they didn't use to be much to begin with. He ends up sprawled on top of Sirius, trying to adjust their bony hips a little more comfortably.
"Is this alright?" He asks, into the skin of Sirius's neck. He tentatively brushes his thumb against Sirius's nipple and Sirius shudders again.
"Yes. Very." He answers. His bottom lip is red from biting, a little chapped so Remus kisses it, again and again until Sirius throws his head back and gasps. He used to be so loud when they could get away with it, but now his voice seems permanently hoarse. One more way in which they are the same. Remus licks the long column of his throat, and Sirius huffs a laugh.
They rock together for a long time, neither in much of a hurry for it to end. It feels sweet, tentative, like they’re sixteen and still getting used to each other’s bodies. Which they are, Remus muses. It’s unfamiliar, and for a second Remus is scared they can't fit together anymore. They still do.
Sirius's thighs are trembling around Remus's waist. His fingers dig on Remus's back, trying to pull him impossibly closer as he buries his face on Remus's neck. "Moony!" he gasps, and Remus is gone too.
When Remus finally catches his breath again, he realizes there's a prickle behind his eyes. He makes a show of rummaging for his wand under the pillow, casts a quick cleaning charm on their damp pyjama bottoms. He risks looking at Sirius too, and Sirius's eyes are suspiciously bright. He pushes Remus's hair behind his ear, keeps his hand there to pull him down for a kiss.
"The winner, and still champion," Remus whispers, Sirius takes a second to realize what he is talking about, and then laughs.
They kiss again, but it grows lazier, soft brushes of lips more than actual kisses. Sirius runs his hand through the scar on Remus's back again. "Good night," he whispers, half asleep already.
It is.