The Twelve Fucks of Christmas: A Wolfstar Story

The Beast with Two Backs

Remus never slept well when Sirius was working the night shift—worse still when they had fallen out. He hadn't even bothered trying to get to sleep, knowing that it was a fruitless endeavour, and decided to use his time constructively, correcting Roger's Astronomy homework and setting him reading assignments over the Christmas holiday. When he had finished that, he got comfortable in bed with a book, although he struggled to concentrate on the words. Not that it mattered: he'd read it enough times already that he could recite it easily from memory. Still, staring blankly at the pages of the book was better than lying in the dark musing over their argument, and it kept his hands and mind occupied while he waited for Sirius to come home.

It was after midnight when he heard the scratch of keys opening the lock on the front door and the sound of Sirius' heavy feet stepping over the threshold into the cottage. Remus continued to stare fixedly at the book as he listened to Sirius trying to move quietly through the cottage, but the walls were so thin that, really, it was impossible to do so. He held his breath as he heard Sirius stop outside their bedroom door. Sirius probably saw the light of his bedside lamp from the hallway and was now contemplating whether or not he was ready to talk to Remus yet. After a few moments, the bedroom door creaked open but Remus didn't look up.

Silence followed.

"Hey."

Remus' head snapped up at the tentative greeting and he saw Sirius lingering by the doorway looking uncertain. For a man overflowing in confidence, it was strange to see him look unsure of himself, but then they didn't argue all that often. Remus noticed that he still had his Auror robes and cloak on but that he was barefoot. He had a habit of forgetting to take off his work boots when he got home and would inevitably traipse mud through the house, so Remus was quietly thankful that he'd remembered to take his shoes off at the door today. He slipped a bookmark into the page he'd been reading before closing it over.

"Hey yourself," he replied cautiously. "How was work?"

Sirius shrugged, "Too much paperwork and not enough staff—the usual. It's a lot more fun when you're there to distract me from work."

"I bet." Remus gave him a weak smile. He'd spent all evening trying to figure out what he was going to say to Sirius when he got home, clever words that would explain away why he was this way when he knew that all he really had to say was sorry. But when he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out—sorry just didn't seem sufficient.

Sirius' eyes fell to the book on Remus' lap and he nodded, "What're you reading?" Remus lifted the book to show him the cover and Sirius flashed him a quick smile. "The Merchant of Venice again?"

"It's my favourite," he explained.

A slight frown creased Sirius' brow in concentration before he spoke again, "I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, a stage where every man must play a part, and mine a sad one."

Remus couldn't help the smile that tugged the corner of his lips and Sirius tentatively returned it.

"I didn't think you were a fan of The Merchant," mused Remus.

"I'm not really," he conceded with a careless shrug. "Personally, I prefer Othello. But I know that it's your favourite, so I figured it was worthwhile memorising some of it if I ever needed to woo you between the bedsheets."

Remus chuckled, "I'm not going to lie, it has worked before. A few too many firewhiskys never hurt your chances, either."

Sirius stepped further into the room, still looking a little apprehensive. "There is another bit I memorised if you'd like to hear it?" Remus nodded, so Sirius moved closer and sat on the bed at Remus' feet. He rested his hand on Remus' thigh and continued, "The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: it blesseth him that gives and him that takes."