day 29: Wish You Were Here
day 29: Wish You Were Here | 820 words

Wish You Were Here

Remus turns the postcard over, raising a skeptical eyebrow at the Wish you were here scrawled in Sirius’s bold hand. He looks at the picture again -- beautiful azure water, lush emerald hills -- and sighs, wishing he were there as well.

A tiny voice in the back of his head -- it sounds remarkably like Sirius, though Sirius is half a world away -- reminds him he could be. He is a wizard and he can come and go as he pleases; the Ministry hasn’t taken that from him yet.

He takes a closer look at the postcard. It says, Ke’e Beach, Kauai. He stares at it until he can see it with his eyes closed. He taps it with one hand, murmuring, “Portus,” and a minute later finds himself standing on a beach, feet sinking into the sand, sun high overhead, the long twilight of the English summer evening far, far away.

The cove is oddly empty -- surely such a beautiful place must play host to hordes of tourists -- and he begins to feel foolish. Sirius could have sent the postcard from anywhere. He’s a wanted man, a fugitive from the law. He’s not looking to rekindle an old romance with a shabby werewolf. You are an idiot, Remus tells himself, readying his wand for the trip home.

“Have you got to ‘I’m an idiot, I’ll just go home,’ yet? I’m a little rusty.”

He whirls to see Sirius, naked as the day he was born, walking towards him on the sand. “I--" Remus pushes a hand through his hair and laughs, abashed. “Yes. Perfect timing, as always.”

He lets Sirius pull him close and undress him with deft fingers, the feel of sunlight and warm breeze on his skin a joy, the touch of Sirius’s lips against his a benediction.

They ease down onto the sand, older, slower, more careful with each other now than they’d ever been as boys, even in those first tentative weeks when Remus couldn’t believe it was actually happening. He can’t believe it’s happening now, either -- there are too many years, too many scars, too many broken promises between them, and yet, here they are.

“You’re thinking again,” Sirius says against his ear. “Tsk, tsk. I must be losing my touch if you can still think at a time like this.” He reaches down between them, begins stroking Remus’s prick with sure fingers. The one thing Sirius hasn’t lost, Remus thinks while he still can, is his ability to make Remus come undone. He unravels with soft sighs and low growls, the curve of Sirius’s shoulder framing the sun, which shines more brightly when Remus closes his eyes, consumed in the flare of heat between them.

Sirius shudders and comes above him, then collapses on top of him, a warm, welcome weight he hasn’t felt in too long.

The sand is sticking to his skin and his bum is asleep, but Remus doesn’t want to let Sirius go.

“I don’t have much money,” he says apologetically, and Sirius gives him a crooked grin.

“You can’t stay, Moony. It’s not safe.” Sirius props himself up on an elbow in the sand, his other hand tracing intricate, aimless patterns on Remus’s chest and shoulders. “I’m not even going to stay much longer.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course,” Remus answers, trying to salvage what’s left of his dignity, which isn’t much, considering he’s lying naked on the sand with twelve stone of Sirius pinning him down.

“’Oh, yes, of course,’” Sirius mocks. “You are an idiot, Moony, if you think I don’t want you here.” He shifts, and Remus can feel Sirius’s cock hardening against his hip. “I can show you again, though, if you like.”

“I would,” Remus manages, thrusting up as his own body rouses again. “I would like very much.”

When they are done the second time, he gathers Sirius close and kisses him tenderly. They fall asleep, and when they wake, it’s late afternoon, and Remus can already feel the sting of sunburn and the ache in muscles gone too long unused.

“I suppose I should go,” he murmurs in Sirius’s ear.

Sirius’s grip on him tightens for a moment, and Remus’s heart leaps -- perhaps they can stay together. He has nothing to go back to in England, after all. But Sirius lets him go, and he knows it’s the wiser thing to do.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, pulling on his trousers and gathering his clothing. Sirius kisses him fervently, making a promise of his words, and he barely finds the strength he needs to make it back to his flat, which suddenly seems small, grey, less home-like, in the darkness of the late August night.

He tucks the postcard away someplace safe, tells himself they will be together soon. And the next evening, when the first star appears in the sky, he makes a wish for the first time in years.

*

Feedback would be loverly.