Harry's watching them again.
They kiss like it's the only thing they'll ever need to do, like it's food and drink and oxygen all rolled into one. They tangle together in a knot of limbs and too-thin torsos and unkempt hair. But this is organised chaos. After so long touching each other, they know exactly what has to be done. They have their own rhythmn, and they pulse with it.
Harry tries to keep up with their elusive beat, but often it proves too much for him. There's always so much to see. Sirius's face is buried in Remus's neck and Remus's hand is clutching at Sirius's hair as Sirius's hand is working Remus's cock as Remus's leg is twining around Sirius's....
Such a wealth of touches; Harry has only two hands, and he can't hope to imitate them all. For a short while he attempts it, but soon he merely contents himself with stroking his own cock as he tries to take in as much as he possibly can.
And them Sirius rolls over to Harry's side of the bed, and lifts him bodily into the centre, and as two talented mouths and four talented hands go to work on him Harry rolls his eyes back in his head and wonders when, how, he ever got this lucky.
First and Last
The first time Sirius kissed Remus, they were fifteen, giggling, drunk on illicit alcohol and the luxury of private time together. In the morning Remus looked at him, and there was something haunted in his expression; and Sirius hadn't dared to bring the subject up.
The first time Remus kissed Sirius, it was very different; slow and deliberate and full of promise. They were eighteen, newly-graduated, unsure of what they wanted to do with their lives but passionately certain that they wanted to do it together.
The first time Sirius kissed Harry, he barely knew what he was doing. His hands roamed desperately over his body, searching for injury, relieved beyong telling to find nothing but a startling thinness. He had escaped; somehow, miraculously, he was still alive. The kiss was a basic, primal, necessary reminder of all those things.
The first time Harry kissed Remus, Sirius watched, and smiled, and tousled the boy's hair affectionately, keeping his other hand on Remus's knee and thinking he had never seen anything so beautiful.
The last time Remus kissed Sirius, it was domestic and perfunctory, a goodbye kiss born of long habit. Harry wasn't there that week.
The last time Harry kissed Remus, Remus could taste tears in his mouth. They tasted bitterly of their loss, and as they clung to each other neither could pretend that that day would not bring further griefs to them.
And the last time Remus kissed Harry, his lips were cold, and still, and breathless, and it was the end of everything.
Harry blinked. Padfoot seemed to have grown a lot. And the grass in the back garden was scraching his nose, making him want to sneeze.
"Oh, bravo!" said Remus. "Very nicely done, Harry!"
His voice seemed louder than usual; almost deafening. Harry pawed at his ear, and nearly fell over.
Remus chucked, and ran a gentle hand over Harry's glossy black fur.
"There there, Harry," he soothed. "I daresay it takes some getting used to."
Harry purred, and attempted a few steps. It was odd, walking on four legs, but not especially difficult.
Padfoot nudged Harry along with his nose, and then, growing impatient, carefully picked him up in his mouth. Harry yowled but didn't attempt to struggle. Padfoot's rough tongue rasped along his belly.
Remus smiled. "C'mon, kitten," he said. "I'm sure Padfoot has a lot of things he'd like you to help him explore."
Sirius likes it under the sky. He says he feels more alive outside, that even the air tastes better. Harry giggles and agrees with him; he loves the tickle of the grass on his bare skin. Remus rolls his eyes and says he'll know who to blame if they're arrested for public indecency; but he only smiles indulgently when Harry straddles Sirius's hips, and squirms up his chest to give him one of his messy, enthusiastic kisses.
The late afternoon sun warms them as they sprawl together, exchanging lazy touches on naked, slightly reddened skin. They all of them spend too much time hiding, Remus thinks. The light is probably good for them.
Spaces In Between
There's a gap where he used to sit. It yawns between Harry and Remus like a chasm, and neither is sure that they would want to close it, even if they knew how to do it. It would mean admitting, really admitting, that he wasn't going to come back; neither of them is ready for that. The silence is dull and heavy, like an overcast summer's day.
"I'm going to bed," Harry says at last. His voice is flat. But he looks an entreaty at Remus before he leaves the room, and Remus stirs.
"May I join you?"
Always, before, Sirius had given his permission, had sanctified their union. Tacitly, with his smiles and his encouraging hands and the little noises he made in the back of his throat, he had told his two lovers that they could touch each other.
Harry can't find the words to give that kind of permission. But he nods, and Remus follows him upstairs.
They use the spare bedroom, despite, or perhaps because of, the bed being smaller.
Remus's hands and mouth, the solid reality of his body, his scent, carry with them the blessed relief of the familiar. And yet it isn't quite right. The embrace isn't all-encompassing enough. It's too cold.
No energy for spectacular bedroom gymnastics; too much desperation, too much need, to prolong the act. Soon they're stripped, kissing so quickly and fiercely their teeth clash, just enough space left between their clinging bodies for their hands to work.
Remus is making it hard for Harry to concentrate; the speed and pressure of his hand are just right. But he's together enough to run his thumb around the head of Remus's cock, to twist his hand slightly as he strokes up and down the shaft. He can almost feel Sirius's hand over his own, the way it was the first time, feel Sirius's hot breath on his ear as he whispered just what to do. Hungrily, he claims another kiss as they hurtle towards the edge and over it. They're soaked through with him, the pair of them; maybe this is the easiest way to keep him upmost in their memories.
If either of them called his name at the climax, they're both too sensitive to mention it.