Title: In Mourning
Author: Kait
Rating: R
Summary: What do you do when your entire world is crumbling around you?
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Notes: Dark. Death. Bad!sex. ::whimpers::


In Mourning

You know he's the traitor. You can feel it coming off of him in gushes and waves of unease and disgust. You've been on the verge of leaving each other for weeks now, but you go to him, still.

You find yourself at the door of the flat, your flat, although you have not slept there in many days. You stayed at James' house when you couldn't be with your mother, begging your friend not to tell him you were there. You think he knew anyway, but he never came to get you, never came to see you. You're not sure if you're relieved or disappointed in him.

You're soaked and shivering and praying, for once, that he's home. Who knows what you did with your key earlier tonight and you're in no state to apparate anywhere, even into your own living room. You bang on the door, and when he cautiously opens it, you fall into his embrace.

You hate yourself. You hate that you're still going to him, hate that you're sleeping with the enemy and you know it. You hate that he has this effect on you, even after all you suspect.

But he knows where you've been and can tell from your shakes and agitation what you've been told. And he holds you, whispers to you, calms you. Kisses you. And you kiss back.

It's intense and raw and desperate. You cling to him, grasp at him as if he's all you have left.

He nearly is, now.

You're pushing him back toward the bedroom, ripping his clothes off - quite literally - as you go. Buttons fly. His breath hitches and as you mark his neck you hear him whispering furtively, almost secretly. 'Love you, love you, love you!' Your stomach turns because you still believe it. You still love him back.

You slam him onto the bed. Your clothes are gone in an instant, buttons lost, seams ripped. You kiss him hard and you take him. Just like that. No preparation. He doesn't cry out, merely thrusts his hips towards you, trying to impale himself further. He always was a masochist, you think grimly as you force yourself to remember his allegiances.

It's rough and over quickly. He pulls you to him, whispering in your hair.

'Love you, love you, love you so much Moony Remy sweetheart...'

You're crying. He thinks the tears are for your mother. No. No, because you're selfish and ugly and can't even properly mourn for the most supportive person you've ever known, your own goddamned mother. No, you cry for yourself, because you promised you wouldn't do this, promised you wouldn't go to him and now here you are in his arms and you never want to leave.

You still love him.

You want to die.

'Stay here, Moony. Stay again, please, Remy, baby, lovely, stay with me. Be with me, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for you, I'm sorry for me, for whatever I've done, I love you and I'm sorry for you and I know what she did for you, I loved her too, for that, please, please...'

And you can't do it anymore. It's so futile, all of it. Light will never win, not when dark is all soft sapphire eyes and long black hair. The world is ending, your world is ending, and it just doesn't matter anymore, any of it.

You hold him and you sob and sob and you tell him you love him and you mean it and you can't even bring yourself to care that you're saying it out loud.

When you make love later that night it's slow and soft and warm and you can't help but sob to yourself as you come, praying for redemption.

-end-