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lumosinlove · 5 years ago

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Sweater Weather

part iv

Remus hovered outside James and Lily’s house, waiting for Lily to answer the door and watching his cab drive away. Lily and James lived in one of the nice, private neighborhoods, not too far from Sirius and some of the other guys, but it meant a bit of a cab ride for Remus. He’d splurge though, for Lily.

The door swung open and Lily smiled, even if she did look a little frazzled. “Re.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Hi, Lils.”

“Hi, hi. What’s up?” She reached and pulled him into a hug—a tight hug. “Come in?”

“Yeah. Hey, are you alright? I haven’t heard from you in a while. You seem…” Remus struggled to find the right word, but ended up settling for, “James is being weird.”

“Well, hello to you, too, Lupin.” James appeared at the bottom of one half of their twisting, grand staircase. He was in what Remus assumed was most of the guys’ uniform on their days off—sweatshirt, sweatpants, and socks. All Lions labeled.

Lily huffed, but smiled a little at James as he came over to wrap an arm around her.

“Isn’t he always being weird?” She leaned up for a quick kiss. “I want ice cream and I want to watch movies. James, shoo, Remus is mine for the day.”

James feigned offense for only a moment before grinning and giving Remus’ shoulder a little shove on his way to the kitchen. “See you in a bit, Loops.”

“Yeah. Hey, I hope your shoulder’s taped under there.”

“Of course it is,” James said, and crossed his fingers behind his retreating back where Remus could see. Remus laughed as he was tugged away by Lily.

Remus eyed her carefully as she looped their arms together, leaning her head on his shoulder and practically dragging him to her and James’ media viewing room. Something still seemed odd with her. The projector was already on and it looked like its last use went to James watching game tape.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Remus said.

Lily just looked at him, wide-eyed from where she was burrowing down in the many blankets on one of the huge couches, and Remus really knew something was up. First James at the dinner, now this.

“I’ll get the ice cream,” he said, half because he thought they’d need it, and half to give Lily a second.

“Yeah,” she said faintly, then groaned and face planted into the pillows.

James was still in the kitchen when Remus got back upstairs, seemingly fixing himself a sandwich for lunch. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Remus said hello.

“Jesus,” Remus laughed, “you just saw me. What’s up with you two?”

James laughed, but it wasn’t his normal one. He ran a hand through his hair, scrubbed it over his face, and then braced both arms on the kitchen island on either side of his sandwich fixings.

“No, sorry. I don’t know, I guess I was lost in thought. Or something.”

“Right.” Remus stooped to get the ice cream out of the refrigerator. He felt like James and Lily’s house was something like his second home, and there was nothing he was more grateful for than meeting Lily at that first pre-season barbecue. Remus had never really had that many fast friends, but him and Lily had talked all night. Remus thought she was part of the reason he was so close with James and all of the guys, unlike so many others on the Lions’ staff.

“Um” James cleared his throat, “so, what movie are you watching?”

“I don’t know yet.” Remus did look at James this time as he scooped chocolate brownie and mint into two bowls. “Pots.”

James looked up from where he was squirting mustard on his bread. James had his glasses on, the round ones that the boys made fun of on road trips. James wore them rarely, mostly when he needed a break from his contacts.

“Are you okay? Both of you, is everything…”

James swallowed a hard swallow and nodded, just a little. “I’m just gonna let Lils talk to you, alright? Don’t worry.”

Remus paused beside him, hand on the silverware drawer, “How am I suppose to not worry when you give me an answer like that?”

James picked up his plate and waved Remus off. “Your ice cream is melting.”

When Remus came back with his two generously portioned bowls, Lily was sitting back up and took one almost greedily.

“So.” Remus said, pushing his shoes off his feet with his toes and crossing his legs to face her, “Your boyfriend is remaining tight-lipped. What’s up?”

Lily just looked down at her ice cream, hair hanging so far over her face that it took Remus a good minute before he realized that her bottom lip was trembling.

“Lils, hey, hey…” His voice was nearly a coo as he took their bowls and set them just within reach on the table and scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “Lils…I’m sorry, I…” but Remus didn’t think it was him. He squeezed her gently, thumb rubbing over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s—” Her voice broke and she sucked in a shaky breath.

Remus’ heart was suddenly in his throat again. Even if James hadn’t said anything, that didn’t mean… “I…Is it—are you and James…”

“No.” Lily gasped, even laughing a little as she wiped at her eyes, “God, no. James is perfect. We’re perfect. Fuck, I feel so stupid for even crying because it’s not actually—actually bad, I’m just—”

Lily looked up at Remus then, green eyes shining and bright. The tear tracks on her face made her many freckles look stark and beautiful. “I’m scared, Re.”

“Scared? What do you mea—” Remus’ breath cut off with his words. He glanced down at Lily’s stomach, noticing now that she had both arms carefully wrapped around it. Remus’ heart picked up and he looked back at Lily, wide-eyed. “You mean…”

“We didn’t—it was an accident, but…but we’re…”

“Happy.” Remus finished for her, feeling a smile start to cross his face.

Lily sniffled and then let out a half-laugh half-sob. “Yeah. Yeah, we are, but…you’re not freaked out? Like, we’re young—Fuck, he’s so focused on the team and he just got back from his concussion last year and he doesn’t need this right now—”

“Lily.”

Lily’s rambling cut off and she blinked at Remus, then groaned and put a large spoon of ice cream in her mouth. “What?”

“What do you want? Not worrying about anyone else. What do you want?”

This was suddenly so close to the conversation he had had with Sirius.

Lily was quiet for a moment. It didn’t seem like she was really thinking about it, exactly, more just taking her time with her words.

“I want this,” she finally said. Then she smiled a little, hand against her stomach, “more than that, I want—I want it with James.”

Remus had only just opened his mouth to respond when there was a sniffle from their right. They both looked, and Lily let out a tearful laugh because James was there, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses, in the doorway.

“‘m not listening, I promise.” James said hoarsely, but he didn’t move.

“Oh, get over here, you idiot.” Lily said thickly, wiping her cheeks.

James smiled a little sheepishly and crouched in front of the couch between them, hand reaching out to take Lily’s and rub over her knuckles. “Feel better now?”

“Mhm.” Lily said, gazing at him.

Remus suddenly felt like a bit of an intruder on an important moment, but then James said, “Finally told your best friend. I told you it’d help. Remus is happy, isn’t he?”

“So. Extremely.” Remus said, arm still around Lily.

Maybe this special moment included him. By what James said, maybe, just maybe, even this little part of what was about to be a monumental part of their lives, was even about him.

“I think it’s a boy.” Lily suddenly gushed, cheeks pink from smiling. She did look like an entire weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

“I think it’s a little soon to tell…or—how long has it been?” Remus asked.

“About four months,” Lily said. “we’ll be able to tell at my next appointment, that’s what the doctor said.”

James made a little noise and rested his cheek on her knee, grinning up at her. She smiled back, running her hand through his ever-messy dark hair.

“Who else knows?”

“Our parents obviously,” James said, “but from the organization, the team…”

“Just you,” Lily smiled at him.

Remus raised his eyebrows, “not even Sirius?”

James laughed, “he’s next. He’s my Remus to tell.”

Remus smiled. He liked that, the notion that Sirius was to James and he was to Lily. It made him feel more apart of the Lions than ever, left his chest warm.

The first road trip of the season was to New York to play the Rangers and Remus never sat down for more than a few minutes before a road trip. For the boys, on the other hand, everything stayed relatively regular paced. They went to practice, took pre-game naps, and played their heart out. Remus sharpened skates, made sure they had a good number of everyone’s sticks, kept track of the token and the pre-game kick around soccer ball. He brought the med-kits and the extra jerseys, the back up skates, and the back up skates for the back up skates. It was exhausting, which is probably why, when he fell into a chair in the Lions lounge with a coffee that evening, he didn’t register he wasn’t alone until he heard hushed tones coming from behind one of the taller chairs, dark leather and plush. Leo had taken to falling asleep in them, much to the delight of James and Kasey’s habit of taking embarrassing pictures and having them printed out to cover various parts of the lounge.

“Oui, maman, ma cheville…c’est bien,” Sirius said, voice low and somber, like every word was being dragged out of him.

Remus didn’t quite speak French, but he had taken a few courses in college, just to be able to talk to some of the French-Canadian guys on his team, and he registered that Sirius was talking about his ankle, saying it was fine. He registered that Sirius was talking to his mother.

Remus should move. He knew he should move.

“Je ne serai pas violent sans raison,” Sirius continued, then, after a pause, a little harsher, “Ce n’est pas une raison.”

Remus swallowed. Sirius’ mom was asking him to play dirty, to hit someone, maybe. God, Remus couldn’t imagine hearing that from a parent—

“Si ce n’était pas un accident…d’accord. Il est bas. Il est ignoble. Je n’est pas.”

Remus heart was in his throat. They had to be talking about Snape, and Sirius was—he was—

If it wasn’t an accident…okay. It’s a low blow, and he is low, ignoble. I am not.

Remus knew Sirius had it rough, but he was glad he could stand up for himself.

“D'accord, la prochaine fois que vous me verrez, vous pourrez me frapper tout ce que vous voudrez.”

Remus sat up then, gasped a little, and Sirius’ head poked out of his chair to see who it was. His eyes widened a little and he whipped his head back around and out of sight.

“I have to go,” he said in English, and then he was standing, facing Remus and sliding his phone in the pocket of his sweats. “Re.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Remus stuttered. “I didn’t really know anyone was in here, I was on my feet all day, I just was going to have my coffee and go—”

Sirius shook his head, shoving both of his hands into his pockets instead. “Re, I’m not mad. It’s fine.”

Remus didn’t know what to say, too focused on the sad tone of gray Sirius’ eyes.

Sirius just shrugged. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Remus’ mouth blurted before he could really think twice about it. “Fuck. Sorry, that’s not my place at all.”

Sirius just shook his head again, head low. “I didn’t say it was okay. I—you know, I see Heather about it.”

Remus nodded. Heather, their sports psychologist. “That’s good, Sirius. A lot of guys wouldn’t do that.”

“Someone’s gotta be the example right?” Sirius pulled his hands free and shook them out, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to roll a weight off of them. “Or at least try to.”

Remus stood, too, took a step forward, because he wanted Sirius to listen to this. “You’re an amazing leader.”

Sirius froze up a little again after that. And it was quiet between them, just in the small space. Remus hadn’t exactly meant to get that close but…now Sirius’ eyes were flicking between his, his lips parted.

“Thank you,” Sirius said softly, then he licked his lips, his chest breathed in like he was going to—

“Boys,” Kasey banged on the doorframe a few times, as if he needed to alert his presence. Then again, Remus thought as he caught himself staring at Sirius’ mouth, maybe that was a good idea. “Coach says wheels up at ten AM sharp tomorrow.”

Sirius looked up. They took a step back at the same time and Remus took a long drink from his coffee.

“Sounds good, Kase, thanks.” Sirius said and pulled out his phone again. Remus went to turn, to go, when, “Need a ride, Remus?”

Sirius smiled at him, a slightly nervous, closed lip thing, “Or…veux-tu dîner?”

“Hungry?” Remus blurted, because it came to him faster than the word dinner and Sirius Black had just asked him if he wanted dinner, potentially with him.

A laugh burst out of Sirius, his eyes crinkled. “Oui.”

Remus loved the way Sirius said oui, loved the way all the French-Canadian guys said it—but especially Sirius. This drawn out sound that was almost twangy. It was lazy, confident, like they were sure of their answer, like they had already known the question before it had even been asked. Sirius sounded mostly Canadian when he spoke English, but it felt like that twang kept up in all of his words at least a bit. Sirius swung a little on his feet, hips dipping back and forth while he waited, hands in his pockets still. He tilted his head, puppyish.

Remus swallowed hard. “Yeah. Oui.” It didn’t sound nearly as good as it did in Sirius’ slight accent.

“Okay.” Sirius nodded, grinning. “We’re getting pizza, don’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not on your diet plan.”

Sirius swung around as he lead Remus out of the room, walking backwards, “Shh!”

“You have your first away game tomorrow night!”

Sirius just put his finger to his lips and beckoned him forward and back to the locker room to grab his stuff. “Meet me at the parking lot,” he said before disappearing inside.

Only, waiting at the door the players used gave Remus time to think. To dwell, really. He knew they’d be going to Sid’s for pizza—anyone in Gryffindor went to Sid’s—but he didn’t know anything after that.

“It’s just Sirius,” he mumbled under his breath to himself, then, “Sirius fucking Black, Sirius.”

“What?”

Remus turned sharply on his heel, “What?”

Sirius was standing there with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He pulled the door open and waving Remus through. “I thought you said my name.”

“No.” Remus shook his head, “No, no. So, none of the guys wanted to come?”

Sirius just sort of shrugged and instead of answering asked, “Where do you want to go?”

They looked at each other as they walked side by side. A hint of a smile started to form of Sirius’ face, and then they both nodded a little.

“Sid’s,” they said, and grinned.

“Of course,” Remus laughed, “where else?”

Sirius chirped his car and Remus climbed in, waiting for Sirius to stow his bag in the backseat. He climbed in and started the engine, turning around to back up, his arm going around the back of Remus’ seat. This close, Remus could see the few dark freckles that dotted his neck and the bit of collar bone revealed by the hem of his worn t-shirt. There was one just on the underside of his jaw, too.

Remus looked away, out the window at the fairly empty lot. “Hopefully we’ll get in.”

“Hopefully I don’t get mobbed, you mean.”

“That, too.” Remus conceded.

Sirius withdrew his hand from the seat but kept only one hand on the wheel, relaxed. “Busy day, huh? Excited for New York?”

“Always,” Remus said. “And that busy day is partly your fault.”

Sirius glanced at him for a second, then back at the road. “My fault?”

“You’re the one who needs your left skate to be sharpened first and from back to front. Sort of breaks up the process when you have to think about it.”

Sirius scoffed, but it took him one glance at Remus to realize he was laughing and he gave Remus a little shove in his passenger seat. “Fuck off.”

Remus felt warm from Sirius’ hand, “Your superstitions are ridiculous.”

Sirius flicked his blinker on with a little more flourish than necessary. “Excuse me, my superstitions work, thank you very much.”

“You mean you work. See, that’s the part I’ve never quite understood.”

“What part?”

Remus looked at Sirius—he might as well get an eyeful in while he had to be focused on the road. “Hockey’s so focused on superstitions. But it’s all you guys. You work hard, I watch you work hard everyday.”

Sirius nodded slowly, seemingly mulling it over in his mind. “Yeah,” he said, “but…it’s a little magic, too, don’t you think? The chemistry…the team chemistry, or the relationship to—I don’t know, luck. Lucky stick, lucky order, lucky way of taping. It’s all it is, really. I just—I’m just looking for a bit of luck. A lucky charm.”

“Nothing can be perfect. Not even honey and butter toast at 5:00 o’clock sharp.”

Sirius smiled, rolling his eyes a little, and Remus watched the way his eyes brightened, how he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe. But it feels nice to have something constant when nothing else is.” He looked over at Remus and held his eye for a second. Remus felt a little bit caught. “You know?”

Remus watched Sirius pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked back to the road, taking the left for Sid’s parking lot. His chest felt tight.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, alright. I’ll buy that.”

“Some guys wait a lifetime for their lucky charm, you know.”

Remus laughed. “Yeah, I’ve seen Leo and his lucky tennis balls. Yours will probably a lucky—I don’t know, brand of peanut butter. Let me know when you find it, alright?”

“Oh, I will.”

Sirius sent him a look as he pulled the car into park. A big smile and then ducked away, out of the car, and Remus was left staring at an empty seat before he got out, too.

Sid’s was crowded, as they expected, but the guy manning the front desks’ eyes went wide when he saw Sirius and they were ushered to a table in the back before too many Gryffindorians could realize who was among them. Remus was grateful for the privacy and the dim lighting. Now, if he made a fool of himself, no one would be around to watch and Sirius wouldn’t be able to quite catch the way his cheeks flamed.

“I could eat three pepperoni pizzas.” Sirius groaned as they sat down, gazing at the menu.

“I don’t really recommend that, but whatever floats your boat.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “That will definitely sink my boat tomorrow.”

Remus shrugged, and picked out a small ham and pineapple pizza for himself. Sirius scoffed when he asked what Remus was getting.

“Dégueu.”

“It’s not gross!” Remus protested. “Have you ever actually tried it?”

Sirius sank guiltily in his seat, eyes innocent.

Remus flicked a straw at him from the canister at the table. He didn’t know what made him do it and he regretted it almost instantly. It felt—well, flirty.

Sirius’ eyes, however, lit up. He threw two back. Of course he did.

Once their pizzas arrived, Sid’s was in full swing and they had to lean in close over their food to hear each other. Sirius did the funny thing where he folded his pizza in half to eat it and he now had a little speck of grease below his lip. Remus was still deciding what to do about it.

“The guys really didn’t want to come?” Remus asked, just for something to say.

Sirius paused for a second, mid-chew, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. The small speck of grease was still there. Remus shifted in his seat.

“I guess not. The game tomorrow, maybe. Besides, sometimes small dinners are nice, eh?”

Remus nodded. “No, yeah. Yeah. This is—This is nice.”

Sirius smiled a little. “Good. I’m glad.”

Remus finally gave in. “Um. You have—” he motioned to Sirius’ mouth.

Sirius’ rolled his eyes a little, playfully at himself, and wiped his mouth. “Better?”

“Not quite.” Remus’ hand itched.

“Now?”

“No, um. It’s just—here, I…” He started to reach forward before he could really think about it.

And Sirius jolted back.

They stared at each other, Remus’ hand slowly lowering back to his lap.

Remus didn’t want to think about that, what all of that might mean, and so he touched his own lip instead and said quietly, “here,” then he nodded and looked down at his pizza, busying himself with tearing a new slice, “yeah, you got it.”

“Remus.”

“Hm?”

When Remus looked up Sirius’ eyes were sad, even a little panicked.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asked, trying his best to sound like he couldn’t fathom that anything from the last minute could have upset either of them. It sat heavy in his stomach.

“Just…pictures.” Sirius said, “Not—It’s just that anything can be taken out of context, and…”

Remus nodded. He knew that already. He knew what it could look like, especially with the scrutiny Sirius was constantly under by the public eye. Especially now, at the start of the season.

“Yeah, all good, Pads.”

But Sirius still looked incredibly guilty, his eyes pleading for something that Remus couldn’t name. That Remus thought it wasn’t really fair of Sirius to ask him to be able to name.

When Sirius just kept looking at him, Remus rolled his eyes. “Sirius, it’s fine. I know what you mean. It isn’t a big deal.”

“It’s not?” Sirius asked. His expression had turned careful, questioning.

Remus shook his head and bit into his pizza slice, mostly so he didn’t have to answer. He wished he had never done anything at all. He shouldn’t even have agreed to come to dinner. Remus had feelings, Sirius didn’t. Remus was gay, there were no openly gay players in the NHL, and that was probably because being the first one would be so difficult. Sirius wasn’t, anyway, but even if he was, Remus had taught himself not to hope for anything a long time ago.

The rest of the dinner was a little weird, stilted, maybe, and Remus was reluctant to get out of Sirius’ car, which had just pulled up at his curb, on such a note. Sirius seemed reluctant to let him, and turned his entire body towards Remus.

“Look. I know I keep bringing it up, but, about the—the thing. It’s not that I have a problem with anything like that. I don’t. I really, really don’t. Whoever loves whoever, I’m for it.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Remus replied, trying to steady his breathing. This was getting a little too close for comfort.

“I wouldn’t want you thinking that about me. I’m not my parents.”

Remus looked back at him. His face was lit blue from the dashboard in the dark. His eyes took on the color and looked strange and earnest. Remus wanted to reach out, but he didn’t know when he’d next have the courage—not for a while. “Sirius, I don’t know your parents. I know you. I know you aren’t like that.”

It was true. But Remus still couldn’t bring himself to say more. To say that he would be Sirius’, if he ever, in some universe, this one or otherwise, wanted that.

The car got silent again, but Remus didn’t look away. If there was anything he could give Sirius, if not himself, it was reassurance and friendship.

Sirius let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

“You’d be stupid if you weren’t jumpy about cameras. It sucks but it’s part of who you chose to be. I get it, really. Please don’t worry.” Remus tried to offer him a little smile. “It wasn’t—It wasn’t even like that anyway, so it’s not like you hurt my feelings or anything.”

It was a lie, straight through his fucking teeth, but it had to be said. But, contrary to what he expected, Remus watched as Sirius’ shoulders stiffened.

There was a hanging moment where Remus held his breath, sure Sirius was about to say something—something—

“Ten tomorrow?” Sirius straightened, chewing on his bottom lip. “Do you need a ride?”

Remus felt like there was no air left for him in the car and he cracked the door, slipping out onto the sidewalk. “Moody’s got me.”

Sirius nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Sirius smiled, tight around the eyes, and Remus had no clue how to fix anything. “Night, Re.”

Sirius drove away slowly, like he was looking back at Remus in his mirror, rather than the road.

“Night,” Remus said to the street.

Remus felt like he was nearly going to fall asleep in the elevator of their New York hotel. It was three in the morning, the Lions had lost 4-0 to the Rangers and Remus had only just finished helping the equipment staff re-load all the Lions gear back into the trucks, ready to be flown out in the morning with the rest of the team. It had been a tough game. They’d had to swap Leo in for Kasey in goal during the first period. It turned out Kasey had hurt his thigh again in practice and he was day-to-day. And Leo, in his first NHL game, had let four goals in while Henrik Lundqvist had gotten a shut out.

Remus had seen Sirius earlier in the locker room talking to him quietly, but tonight was bound to sting for a bit for all of them. After a blinding start to the season, it never felt good to fall so far.

The door dinged, but it took Remus a minute to open his eyes.

“Loops! Asleep in the elevator! Alert! Alert!”

“James—shh! Jesus fucking Christ.”

Remus snapped his eyes open to see James, Kasey, and Sirius standing there, all with what looked like m&ms and potato chips in their hands. James was grinning, Kasey was yawning and favoring his good leg, and Sirius was looking down.

Sirius hadn’t really looked straight at Remus since that night at Sid’s pizza a few days ago.

“What are you guys doing up? It’s three in the fucking morning.”

“Day off tomorrow. Just a plane ride, we can sleep then. Plus…”

James didn’t say it, but Remus nodded, knowing what he meant. It was hard to sleep after a loss. Remus could remember that from college.

“Right, well,” Remus caught the slowly closing door, “get in or take the stairs, I’m exhausted.”

They were all going to the team’s floor and Remus let himself settle against one side of the elevator while the others talked. He looked up and met Sirius’ eyes, who was leaning against the other wall while James and Kasey argued loudly, echoing in the small space. Sirius didn’t look away, but didn’t really smile either. Remus raised an eyebrow, and Sirius tilting his head.

“What?” Remus mouthed silently.

Sirius shrugged one shoulder, then waved one hand, just a little, so the others wouldn’t see.

Remus’ brow furrowed, but he waved back. Then Sirius looked away.

Fuck. Remus just wanted to go to bed.

“Night, boys,” he said when the doors opened and they all stopped at James’ door.

There was a chorus of good nights and Remus was just sliding his key card into the door when there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned into it, and Sirius was there, looming over him.

“I—hi?” Remus said.

“Hi,” Sirius looked back down at the hall where the door to James’ room had just closed behind the others, then back at Remus, “Do you—Do you want company? Or—Or you’re going to bed. You’re going to bed.”

Remus studied Sirius’ face carefully. He had said that, if Sirius needed him, he’d be here, and Remus couldn’t deny that there were few things he wanted more in life than to be there for Sirius, no matter what he had done or assumed. And Sirius obviously needed something, or at least felt like something was unresolved between them. Maybe if Remus let him in, he would finally drop it and they could go back to how it was. A little distant, but friendly. That, at least, was better than this.

Remus motioned him in with a jerk of his chin, “Come on. We’ll watch something, get you wound down. Give me those skittles if I’m going to stay awake.”

Sirius handed them over readily, like they were his ticket inside Remus’ room, and shut the door behind them.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, if you don’t mind,” Remus said, already walking towards the bathroom, “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said faintly.

Remus shot him a smile that he hoped was comforting before shutting the bathroom door. He let out a long breath and started the water before stripping. Having Sirius Black waiting for him on a bed would get him moving quick enough, not that he took very long showers to begin with. This was like some strange fantasy of his come to life—except, well, they wouldn’t be…

Remus huffed and stepped under the spray, grabbing for the shampoo bottle.

He realized only he was towel drying his hair that he hadn’t thought to bring an extra set of clothes into the bathroom with him and froze mid-rub, looking at himself in the mirror, wide-eyed.

“Fuck,” he said quietly, and turned to stare at the door. He could faintly hear the TV.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, making sure it was secure before opening the door. It wasn’t anything Sirius hadn’t seen before. Naked guys, that is, not Remus naked.

“Hey, sorry, forgot to get clothes before…yeah.”

Sirius had kicked his shoes off and was stretched out on the bed. He’d piled the pillows behind him and his shirt was hitched up on one side. Remus could see his flat, toned stomach. Sirius’ eyes found Remus in the dim room. His face was all soft angles in the flickering light from the TV. Sirius licked his lips, and then looked away. “s’okay.”

He still sounded unbearably sad and as Remus turned away he frowned, mentally planning his words instead of focusing on the fact that he was currently about to drop his towel and reveal his bare ass to Sirius Black, captain of the Gryffindor Lions.

He did it quickly, boxers at the ready, and soon he was in his sweatpants and pulling a sweatshirt over his head. He hesitated at the edge of the bed, and Sirius looked up at him.

“What?” Sirius asked. His voice sounded sleepy and content, much better than it had in the hall, tight and strained.

“Nothing,” Remus cleared his throat, then knelt on the bed, “You’re hogging the pillows.” He reached and tugged two out from Sirius’ mass.

It startled a small laugh out of Sirius, “Oh, sorry.”

Remus arranged the pillows to his liking, careful not to get too close to Sirius. “What are you watching?” he asked with a sigh as he flopped onto his back, “Fuck, that feels good.”

Sirius shrugged, “Just turned it on. You okay?”

“Yeah, just lots of loading and unloading today. My back is tired.”

Sirius hummed. “You guys work hard.”

Remus looked over at him. “So do you, just at different times.”

Sirius was flipping his phone idly in his hand. “Just giving you the credit you deserve.”

Remus smiled a little. “Yeah, I know.”

Sirius missed and dropped his phone on his chest with a little oof and it turned into a heavy sigh.

“Okay?” Remus asked quietly. He didn’t want to push too hard, but…

Sirius sighed. “I should be okay.”

“But you aren’t.”

“It’s one game.” Sirius let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s the beginning of the fucking season everything is fine.”

Sirius turned his head. Part of his cheek was smushed against the pillow and his eyes were somber on Remus. “And I shouldn’t even be dumping this on you. You’re tired, and this isn’t even a real problem, and I’m just—I’m being stupid and I can do better.”

“That’s not how it works.”

Sirius closed his eyes and sighed again. “I know that.”

“You have a team, Sirius.” Remus said gently, “It’s not just you.”

“I know.” Sirius’ voice was even softer this time and, looking at him, eyes closed, brow drawn together…

Remus wanted to kiss him. So much.

“I think you need to get some sleep.”

Sirius’ eyes opened tiredly at Remus’ words, his blinks slow, and he nodded. “I’ll just lay there. I hate just laying there, in the dark.”

Remus’ heart pulled as the words brought to mind a much younger Sirius, with no escape from the pressure, laying in a smaller bed staring up into the dark.

Remus picked up the remote and flipped until he found a cooking show. Mindless, comforting.

“Well watch a bit, eh? Take your mind off of some of it. I’m just warning you, I might fall asleep. But…I’ll be here. If you need me. Just wake me up, I don’t care.” I care too much.

Sirius’ eyebrows were still low and worried, but he was looking at Remus with something like disbelief. “Thanks, Loops.”

Remus nodded and kicked back against the pillows, the bed jostling as Sirius did the same. They ended up with their shoulders brushing despite the size of the bed. Remus didn’t know why, but from this distance he could feel Sirius’ warmth. It wasn’t just another weight in the bed, it was a person, close by. It was Sirius’ even breathing, the sound of him fiddling with the draw strings of his sweatshirt.

Remus wasn’t sure when his eyes closed, but with the soft sound of the TV and Sirius beside him, he’d never fallen asleep faster.

#sweater weather #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #hockey!au #hockey player!sirius #the marauders era #sirius/remus #remus/sirius #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #wolfstar fanfiction #lumosinlove #writing #wolfstar fluff #wofstar angst #wolfstar au

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fuckyeslilkim · 7 years ago

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Throwback Interview: The Mask Of Lil’ Kim

In a nondescript warehouse in Manhattan's Chelsea district, the rapper Lil' Kim is being primed for yet another fashion shoot. The theme of the day is baby-doll innocence, and the 4-foot-11 celebrity is appropriately undressed in a sheer blue and pink negligee and high-heeled sandals. With the final touches of turquoise eye shadow, pink lips and, of course, her trademark blond wig and blue contact lenses in place, the picture is complete. Sex symbol. Feminist icon. Freak mama.

Change the circumstances only slightly and you could imagine a porn shoot happening in this warehouse. The final products--the photographs that will sell Kim's raunchy lyrics and persona to the world--often come close to that. A full-page advertisement for her new album, "The Notorious K.I.M.," shows the star in the back seat of a limousine, naked except for black spike-heel boots and a safari-style hat. It's like the kind of pinup men find useful in prison cells and toilets.

But nobody seems bothered by the actual work of this shoot--least of all Kim, who patiently strips down. Quite the contrary: She considers herself a good role model--an empowered, independent woman in the highly misogynistic world of rap. Her fans include many young women who find in her an enviable example of personal strength.

To cash in on the marketing moment, corporate America has come running, showering her with endorsement offers--from Candie's shoes to Viva Glam lipstick. She earns cover treatments from mainstream and edgy magazines alike: The Source, XXXL, Vibe, Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, Jet, Interview (on which she appeared wearing nothing but head-to-toe Louis Vuitton body tattoos). And now, Atlantic Records has provided the 25-year-old with her own label, Queen Bee.

From the moment she was discovered by rapper Christopher Wallace (a k a Notorious B.I.G., a k a Biggie Smalls) as a round-the-way girl roaming the streets of Brooklyn's Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood, Kimberly Jones has set new standards for female rappers. Her 1996 solo debut, "Hardcore," made the highest-ever debut on the Billboard charts for a female rap artist. An unparalleled fusion of hip-hop and pornography, the album opens with a scene in which we hear a fan buy a ticket to a triple-X flick, and then loudly pleasure himself while watching Kim onscreen.

At last year's MTV Music Awards, her outfit spawned a media frenzy fueled by the shocked response of presenter Diana Ross, who reached out and jiggled Kim's exposed breast on national television. (Ross later offered a public apology, noting that she thought Kim "was beautiful and . . . didn't need to dress in that manner.") The incident solidified Kim's image of sexual fearlessness--and her career as a fashion trendsetter.

We've seen so much of her, and yet nothing at all. Who is Lil' Kim, really?

Talking to her, you're taken by any number of contradictions. She considers herself a devoted child of God, for example. "I'm not perfect," she explains. "I mess up. I'm not Miss Sanctified, but I believe in my Father. We have a really good relationship."

She has allowed powerful men to shape and exploit her sexpot image, but touts her own brand of feminism. "If you look at me, no man has really given me anything," she contends. "I got my own money."

She raps about the joys of fellatio, but likens herself to Queen Elizabeth, the so-called Virgin Queen of England. ("I watch that movie over and over again," she says.) Like Elizabeth, she has had an unhappy love life. "I had a lot of guys betray me," Kim says, "and she reminds me of myself because, toward the end, she really wanted a man. She was lonely. She didn't wanna be this strong woman that everybody portrayed her to be, but she had to be."

On one point the star is adamant: Lil' Kim is not Kimberly Jones.

Except: "Most of the things that I talk about [in my lyrics], yeah, they're true." In the song "Hold On," for example, "I talk about the pain of being pregnant and having an abortion."

"I talk about the things that women have gone through that they don't think I've gone through," she says. "Like fightin' with your man or losin' a man to death. Being alone. I talk about just bein' in the streets having no money and having to do illegal things to get the money."

All of which happened, too.

So, after one spends many hours with both Lil' Kim the rapper and Kimberly Jones the woman, the similarities between the two become as apparent as the differences. "We wear the mask that grins and lies," wrote Paul Laurence Dunbar, "with torn and bleeding hearts we smile."

It is not easy to remove the mask of Lil' Kim, which she wears as a brilliant defense against full disclosure. She doesn't want to show us all of the damage that lies underneath. Like many other black women, she has become so good at conjuring the mask--signifying at a moment's notice, for hire--that we no longer know where it ends. Or where Kimberly Jones begins.

In the June issue of Vibe magazine, there is a photograph of young Kim dressed in a neat school uniform: plaid dress, white blouse, knee socks. She is brown-skinned, with brown eyes and nappy hair, neatly pulled into a bun. She sits like a proper schoolgirl with her hands folded in her lap and legs crossed at the ankles, smiling and polite.

But inside, she feels ugly. She thinks of herself as too dark and too short. She has just moved to an all-white neighborhood in suburban New Rochelle, N.Y., where little blond girls tease her and confirm her monstrosity.

Her mother, Ruby Mae Jones, brought her to live there, at age 8, fleeing the ruins of a marriage. But Kim wants to go back to Brooklyn. She wants to go home, to her old neighborhood where little girls look like her. Even if it means going back to the home of her father, Linwood Jones, a former military man who enforced a brutal discipline on wife and children.

"There was a great deal of verbal abuse," she recalls. "And there was times . . . when my mother had black eyes. My father told people she had fallen."

Linwood Jones could not be reached for comment, and there is no record of his having spoken publicly about his daughter's career or her allegations of physical abuse. According to Kim, he did comment privately on her overtly sexual image, asking that she "tone it down."

After her parents' separation in 1983, Kim's life became increasingly unstable. At first she and older brother Christopher stayed with their mother, who relied on the kindness of friends for shelter--including the time spent in New Rochelle. But when options ran out, Ruby Mae Jones granted custody of her children to her husband.

"I was basically living out of the trunk of my car," Kim's mother explains over a posh dinner in a New York restaurant--a contrast made all the more striking by her fur coat and her gold-and-diamond-spangled hands. "And I didn't feel it was appropriate for [the children]. So I let Kim go to live with her father."

When he was away--sometimes for weeks, for reserve duty--the children were deposited with an aunt who was raising several sons of her own. "I grew up around . . . maybe eight guys in my family," says Kim. "I stayed with my cousins when my father went away. They lived in the projects."

"Kim had no sisters," adds Ruby Mae Jones. "She was surrounded by boys all the time. But she had such a strong personality, I never had to worry about her taking care of herself. I knew that she would be able to do that. From when she was like 2."

Despite the frequent absences, father and daughter remained on good terms during Kim's prepubescent years.

"We were very close," she recalls, "until I was about 13." Which is when Kim committed an egregious offense in her father's eyes: She liked a boy and agreed to be his girlfriend. Although the circumstances seemed innocent enough by Kim's account--the boy was 15, a schoolmate--Linwood Jones was outraged. Kim says he called her a bitch and a whore, "just like your mother."

The words had a devastating effect. "If he hadn't said what he said to me," speculates Kim, allowing the idea to play in her head for a moment, "I probably would have stayed a virgin until I was 21. But after that I rebelled."

Fights between father and daughter became more frequent--and violent, she says. On at least one occasion, Kim remembers, her morning wake-up call was a fist crashing into her face. At the age of 14, she packed a bag and hit the streets, wandering in and out of neighbors' homes. Lil' Kim has often described her life during those years as a procession of doing "whatever I had to do to survive."

She peddled drugs for boyfriends. Worked odd jobs in department stores. And had sex with the men who housed and fed her. By the time she met up-and-coming rapper Biggie Smalls at the age of 17, Kim was, by her own admission, desperately in need of protection.

Biggie, who at age 19 was a 6-foot-3, 300-pound drug dealer who had already done nine months in jail, signed on for the job--bringing Kim into the fold of what everyone called the "B.I.G. family." There was Sean "Puffy" Combs, who had been working day and night to launch Biggie on his emerging label, Bad Boy Entertainment; Mary J. Blige, whose success as an R&B artist had also been strongly influenced by Puffy's hand; Damion "D-Roc" Butler, Biggie's friend and security guard; and "the boys"--James "Lil' Caesar" Lloyd, Antoine "Banga" Spain, and Money-L, who would later become members of Junior M.A.F.I.A. (Masters at Finding Intelligent Attitudes), a rap group Biggie hoped to launch on the momentum of his own success.

"She came from the streets," says 22-year-old Spain, who lives today, along with several of the other "boys," in Kim's New Jersey mansion. "I could relate to her 'cause my mom sent me to the city when I was, like, 13."

It was at Wallace's behest that Kimberly Jones assumed the role of Lil' Kim--a vulgar-mouthed emblem of what had been dubbed "porno rap." Following Biggie's lead, the young protege exploded onto the hip-hop scene as the lone female member of Junior M.A.F.I.A. at the age of 20.

Almost immediately, Kim became the showcase of the act. They were like "peanut butter and jelly," says Voletta Wallace, Biggie's mother. "Kim and Christopher were the same voice."

And that voice was determined to push the limits of gangsta rap, a genre whose biggest selling points were unabashed violence and uncensored sex.

By the mid-1990s Biggie Smalls and his crew were at the top of their game. Biggie's second album, "Life After Death," would eventually sell eight times platinum, and with the release of her 1995 solo debut, "Hardcore," Kim arrived in her own right. But the good times were not to last. Kim loved Biggie and hoped to be his wife, but he married and then quickly separated from R&B artist Faith Evans (who would also become the mother of his son, Christopher). There were rumors that Evans had been having an affair with rapper and longtime Biggie rival Tupac Shakur. One Biggie music video co-starred Kim as the defiant and loyal mistress.

Amid the lovers' quarrels and sexual betrayals, tragedy struck in the early hours of March 9, 1997. Following a Soul Train Music Awards party in Los Angeles, a still-unknown killer approached the passenger side of Biggie's GMC Suburban and unloaded seven rounds into the rapper's head and body at close range. Both Lil' Caesar and Damion Butler were unharmed as they ducked down in the back seat. Puffy, who was driving his own Suburban in front of the target vehicle, rushed to Biggie's side reciting psalms. But Christopher Wallace was dead at age 24.

Since the loss of her mentor, Kim's allegiance has remained eerily well preserved. In the immediate aftermath, she and the Junior M.A.F.I.A. boys stayed in Big's New Jersey condominium--where, according to Kim, she shared her slain lover's bedroom with her would-be mother-in-law, Voletta Wallace, and T'yanna, Biggie's daughter from a previous relationship.

In an article for People magazine, a mourning Kim posed for the camera draped in Biggie's shirt, coat and hat. Even today, more than three years after his death, she often refers to her "big poppa" in conversation and lyrics, and even credits the rapper as a posthumous producer on her new album. The bond seems unhealthy, as even Kim's friend Blige noted in an interview: a "kind of co-dependency with someone who just isn't here anymore."

It took Kim four years to release her second album, which had been held up due to conflicts with her label, the theft of material by bootleggers and her own creative process. Meanwhile, Kim's marketing machine hummed along, patiently building her image despite a lack of new releases.

"She's brilliant," says Michael Elliot, president of Source Entertainment. "I mean, here's a woman who [hadn't] had an album out in years and she's a presenter at award shows, and a successful model. She's found a way to market herself and, at the end of the day, she's a businesswoman."

"I think she's a feminist in a funny sort of way," says John Dempsey, president of MAC cosmetics, one of many packagers that hold up the Kim image as a bold new form of sexual expression. "She speaks like a man would speak."

Her fans agree. "She doesn't care what anybody has to say," says 19-year-old Teena Marie Schexnayder, a Los Angeles psychology student and aspiring singer. "She's a bad girl . . . doing whatever she has to do to survive. She's deep. I love the stuff she talks about."

While '80s female rappers like Queen Latifah and MC Lyte embraced "womanist" images, combining ancestral and gender consciousness, Kim provides a very different social commentary for young black women and men. The message behind Lil' Kim is, in fact, heartbreakingly feeble.

Sex, she believes, is a commodity. It is a way for a woman to earn money--and, in her view, respect. She learned that lesson on the streets. As for the women selling their bodies, "I don't see anything wrong with that."

"Money is power," says Kim, and "a lot of women out there are just givin' it away." Kim aims to change that. As she raps in her new single "Diamonds" (sung to the tune of Diana Ross's "I Want Muscle"):

"She says she wants a man / To buy her a Lexus Land/ Well that's all right for her / Still it ain't enough for me / I don't care if he's young or old / Just make him very rich / I want diamonds / This p---- ain't for free."

Is this really feminism?

"I'm a feminist because I love women," she ventures, graciously asking her interviewer to correct her if she misunderstands the term. "And I feel like, in this rapping game, men have been bashing women for years. But some women overemphasize that feminism word. And some of them are very male-bashing. I'm not a male basher."

In her collection of images titled "Women," photographer Annie Leibovitz captures something of the inner sorrow of Kimberly Jones, a black girl who covets blue eyes and blond hair. Juxtaposed with the image of a gloriously dreadlocked Toni Morrison, who is seen looking into a wide expanse of clouds and possibility, Kim appears small and helpless against a wall of color that threatens to engulf her--her nipples visible beneath a trashy net T-shirt. In this image, we see more of Kimberly Jones than Lil' Kim: the real woman who has masked private suffering as public defiance.

"She's just like every little abused girl that I knew growing up," asserts Asha Bandele, a poet, author and critic who is attuned to hip-hop culture. "I do not believe that Kim is in control of her image because there's nothing powerful about it, nothing rounded, nothing human. It's a caricature. Just like when you see a male presenting himself as only a gangsta. . . . We're so much more complicated than that."

But if it is icon status we're shooting for, Kimberly Jones is the real deal. Closer in spirit to Monroe than Madonna, she is a genuine enigma, which is precisely why she intrigues us. The same little girl who remembers jumping into the middle of a fight between her father and older brother (taking a chair across her stomach in the process) became the grown-up Lil' Kim, who prefers "big poppa" lovers because daddies "don't let nothin' happen to their baby girl."

"Kim needs to ask herself what she's selling," says Voletta Wallace in her Jamaican-accented, no-nonsense way. "When my son was here, that's all you would hear: Kim and Christopher [saying], 'Sex sells, sex sells.'

"But . . . when you look at Kim, the strength is there. The beauty is there. The talent is there. And she needs to let [the world] know . . . they need to see a human being. She needs to find her inner self and see what she has to offer."

At the Gazelle Beauty Center and Day Spa in Manhattan, I have requested a private room in which to interview Kim. I am trying to get closer to the real woman, to get behind the mask. But it is a busy day and there are constant interruptions from other clients (who include guests on "The Montel Williams Show"). Nevertheless, Kim and I enjoy a lunch of Caesar salads, as well as joint manicures, pedicures, massages and facials.

We are two sisters drinking herbal tea now, and Kim is relaxed, makeup-less and wearing a cozy white robe and paper slippers.

Unanswered questions have been nagging at me. Kim is like so many other women, it seems to me, who have grown up with trauma. And yet there is no talk of the long-term effects. I decide to put the question of sexual abuse to her plainly. She tells me that yes, something did happen in the home of a relative when she was a girl, but she doesn't want to get into the details. She has never talked about this before. She doesn't want to dwell on the pain. I am saddened by her admission, and the fact that so many years later, she is still so clearly devastated.

And I am saddened that even here, in a place for relaxation and nurturing, she is unable to divest herself, even for a few hours, of the blue contact lenses and blond wig.

"Think about it," she confesses when I ask her to talk about her experience of skin color. "The girls that [men] dated when I was younger were light-skinned and tall. I'm short and brown-skinned. And I always wondered . . . how do I fit in?"

Did she ever overcome the feeling of being ugly?

"I really haven't," she admits. "Honestly, though, I think being Lil' Kim the rapper helped me deal with it better. Because I got to dress up in expensive clothes, and I got to look like a movie star or whatever. I think doing photo shoots and seeing all the people respond to me has helped. [But] I still don't see what they see."

can't help but think of Kim as standing on a precipice, making a great leap toward transformation. In recent years, she has expressed a desire to tone down the raunch and express more of "who I really am." There are rumors that she was wary about spreading her legs for the photo shoot for "Hardcore," and she herself has said she would have rather done four sexual songs instead of seven. "You get tired of certain images," she explains.

So what's stopping Lil' Kim from showing us more of Kimberly Jones? "It's hard," she says. "Because in our world, the rap world, you have this thing called selling out. You don't want people who liked you for doing a certain thing on your first album to not like you for not doing it on the second album. So I have to stay in that realm."

Yes, there are market forces pushing her to stay in the same place, but the market is also a fickle lover and people tire of what is too easy to predict. "Notorious K.I.M." started out at No. 4 on the Billboard album chart, but has slipped to No. 35.

"How much more of her body can she show?" asks Ramon Hervey, manager for R&B artist Kenny "Babyface" Edmonds. "From Madonna to Prince, everybody has to re-create themselves at some point."

"I see the strength in her," Mary J. Blige says of her friend. "All she's gotta do is let go of the fear."

Source: The Washington Post

#A must read #lil kim #lil' kim #rap #rapper #hiphop #hip hop #female rap #female rapper #washington post #queen bee #queen of rap #fashion #real life #interview

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