Disclaimer: Characters from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling. No profit is being made by this work of fanfiction. Except LOVE.

WARNINGS: This story is for MATURE readers. There are sexual situations (I mean SMUT people), coarse language and mentions of child abuse and suicide. No further warnings will be made; read responsibly and in awareness.

Thank you to my brilliant and wonderful Beta MechEngMama who made me love this story more than I did before.

Thanks to her help I will be re-posting the first three chapters all in their edited glory. This was a much needed improvement, for now I feel much better about this story.

People expected to see great art in museums, or inside those giant expensive books on art...

But when you come across a breathtaking, mind blowing, surprising piece of art in your home, there is a voice in the back of your head telling you how talentless you are.

Remus was standing in shock before his flatmate's latest piece. He frankly hadn't seen this coming. Sirius was always sketching away in tattered and poorly cared for sketchbooks. His untrained eye must have missed the talent behind those drawings. Sirius never seemed to focus while moving a charcoal vine or a pencil, or even a ballpoint pen on the paper, seemingly uncaring about the result. Remus never noticed that the man, covered in homemade tattoos, wearing an old leather jacket, chain smoking and drinking cheap beer in back alley pubs, was able to create such a work that required the highest possible concentration and determination.

He felt slightly guilty about not seeing his talent; and it wasn't because he didn't watch him closely. On the contrary; Remus Lupin couldn't keep his eyes off of Sirius Black.

When Sirius had cloistered himself in the attic of 333 Diagon Alley, Remus had thought he wanted to be left alone. When Sirius left to go to the pub earlier that evening leaving the attic door open; almost like an invitation; Remus got curious. Of course, he had to remind himself that he wasn't technically doing anything wrong. The attic was part of their shared flat, so technically it belonged to them both.

So now he was looking at a painting that was placed on the only straight wall in the room. It was surrounded by references for the painting, photographs of a dark haired middle-aged woman in smart attire and a rigid yet noble posture, accompanied by sketches of the same woman from different angles. The woman was essentially beautiful with high cheekbones and shapely lips, but her hair in a perfectly made bun and the stiffness of her neck and spine along with the way her nose seemed to be bit higher than normal reminded him an evil queen archetype. Other photographs were showing a house that looked like it belonged to a Victorian nobleman. These were clearly the main setting for the painting's background. There were also pictures of anatomical hearts, pictures of several female corpses with chests opened up in the autopsy table, and photographs of female bodies lying on the ground in a crime scene.

All these images came together in the painting in the most grotesque, and yet utterly romantic, way. The subject of the painting was the woman in the sketches. She was lying on a carpet with Persian designs and wearing a dark green dress that flowed towards the viewer like gentle movements of lake water; her chest open, showing her dark red heart. The deathly paleness of her face, hand, feet, and the dirty white of her exposed bones were the only surface on the painting that gave this dark masterpiece some light aside from the tiny reflections found in the background. The rest of it was a room painted in great detail, yet covered; almost swallowed; by darkness.

Remus didn't know how long he stood there, watching the painting and discovering every little detail hidden inside the obscurity. He wondered at what made the artist who created this. He didn't hear when the said artist had entered the room until he said:

"Do you like it then?"

Remus turned around and looked at Sirius, who was wearing a white shirt and had a cigarette between his fingers.

"Yes," he said, then added, thinking one word was not enough, "Yeah, I do."

Sirius chuckled and lifted his cigarette to his lips. Remus watched as he inhaled, his cheeks suctioning slightly and attracting his attention to his sharp cheekbones. Sirius Black was a thing of beauty; all masculinity but with a face that can inspire the angels. He was made of the contrast of sharp edges and round turns; pale skin and black hair; grey eyes and pink lips; dark gazes and warm smiles... Remus swallowed the saliva that was starting to collect in his mouth, and returned to the painting; half to hide his flushing cheeks, half to find something concrete to say.

"I've never seen one of your paintings before," he said, still not looking at Sirius. "I'd love to see the others; if you'd allow it."

Sirius laughed lightly.

"You didn't ask permission to see this one," Sirius said. "Why for the rest?"

"The door was open," Remus said without meaning to, and cringed inwardly as he did so. He hated how defensive he sounded.

Sirius laughed a little louder this time and Remus couldn't help but look at him. Sirius gave him a smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes.

"It's really okay, Remus, just joking," he gestured with his hand to the spot where canvases were covered in pieces of cloth. "Just pretend they are old books while touching them, and we'll be fine."

Grinning at the innocent jibe to his love of books, Remus moved towards the covered paintings eagerly. Upon revealing the first painting, he inhaled sharply. The painting was looking at him with the dead eyes of a man that looked like Sirius, only older. High cheekbones, a distinguished nose, shapely eyebrows that curved beautifully over the man's eyes... The resemblance was eerie.

The portrait wore a black suit, and a burgundy waistcoat with his thumb and index finger inside the small pocket. It would have been just another portrait of an aristocrat if not for the pair of thin, skeletal and clearly female hands that was holding his throat, strangling him. Behind the man was a curtain, half covering a window that opened to the night sky. Remus noticed the stars shining brightly, and silhouettes of three birds, possibly ravens, flying. Remus looked at Sirius, who looked perfectly at ease while watching him in silence.

"He's my father," he said when he met with Remus' eyes.

"And the woman-" Remus began to ask.

"Mother, yes."

"So, you killed your parents in your paintings?" he found himself asking, all the while thinking that he probably shouldn't.

"I just, sort of, painted who they are," Sirius said with a shrug.

Remus always knew, even though he tried not to think about it, that Sirius and his parents had a dark history. Not that they ever talked about it. It was the scars.

Shortly after he had moved in, Sirius had been standing in the kitchen without a shirt on, making coffee, when Remus had noticed deep scars on his back. He hadn't known where to look. Sirius was only wearing a pair of grey pyjama bottoms that left so little to Remus' imagination, and he had a tattoo of a symbol at his side that was just disappearing under the waistband. The image, along with the fact that he just knew those scars were private made him run away from the kitchen and hate himself for his own weakness.

Remus had scars too, covering left side of his face and parts of his body from the time that he was attacked by an abused, angry and scared dog when he was just five years old; the scars had grew with him. Never once Sirius looked at them with pity, or disturbing curiosity. He just accepted Remus like he was, like the scars were just a part of him. Never once in his life Remus felt so accepted before meeting Sirius; even his mother couldn't look at him without seeing his scars. Why couldn't he just show the same courtesy towards Sirius?

But of course, Sirius' scars were different, Remus thought. They were not scars that one could have in a fight, or a simple attack. They were the signs of someone that was beaten without having a chance of defending themselves. They were the signifiers of abuse; Remus knew that and it made him hate Sirius' parents. It was obvious in the way that Sirius never mentioned them. His family was as if they didn't exist.

Looking at the paintings and the photographs of Sirius' mother though, Remus thought maybe they did exist in Sirius' life in more than one way. Not only in forms of scars, but in the way that he always opened the doors for women, and pulled out their chairs as if it was the most natural thing to do. When Sirius moved with catlike grace and acted like a gentleman in the most dingy club, it never seemed unnatural or forced. He had thought that it was the way he flirted with women; never reading more into that. But if he were honest with himself he had just ignored the aristocrat in his friend; he had ignored the life Sirius left behind. He had ignored the fact that Sirius had Catullus and Apuleius in Latin in his bookshelves; that he could sing the Bohemian Rhapsody perfectly while he was drunk, and waltz with Lily Potter in the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley after a night of clubbing without a single misstep.

How many more things had he ignored about Sirius Black? How many more layers did he have? And should he continue ignoring what he does to him? Should he also ignore the urge in him that tried to convince him to get closer to Sirius, to get to know him better, know what lay under his skin?

Sirius didn't move when Remus took a step towards him, he just continued to look at him. Remus watched as Sirius' eyes darkened and he knew that his own heartbeat was trying to break a new record. He cradled Sirius' neck with his hand and leaned in.

Sirius didn't push him, like Remus half expected him to. Instead he kissed him back with an unmistakable intent. A second into their kiss and they were grabbing at each other, fighting over dominance, knowing neither of them would back down. Every need for a breath was a gasp, a bite on the neck, a suck on an earlobe and then they would meet with their mouths again. Their bodies were perfectly aligned; Sirius had made sure of that by holding Remus' arse with a firm grip, pulling him towards himself. Remus let out a moan deep from his chest when he felt that Sirius was hard beneath the rough texture of his jeans and put his hands under his t-shirt, feeling his smooth skin and removed his t-shirt. Immediately returning to kissing him, Remus felt Sirius grin under the pressure of his lips and felt as he moved his hands to unbuckle Remus' belt. Remus mimicked his movements and blindly opened the front of Sirius' jeans kissing his neck, his shoulders and then his chest. He bit his nipple playfully, noticing a guttural noise coming from Sirius as a response. Remus couldn't stop his laughter as he continued his downward movement.

"You think it's funny, do you?" Sirius said; his voice teasing and playful.

Remus looked at him, as he knelt in front of him and met Sirius' grinning face.

"I'm going to suck your cock now Sirius," he said.

"Shit" Sirius said as Remus took him into his mouth.

First thing Remus noticed was the taste of Sirius in his mouth. The second thing he noticed was that Sirius loved to talk. Everything Remus did, earned a response. Sirius praised, guided and praised more. Remus felt elevated, self-assured. Sirius Black obviously knew how to make someone feel important while they were on their knees and sucking him off. It didn't take long either; soon Sirius was grunting unintelligibly and coming into his mouth. Remus continued his suction as he swallowed. Freeing his mouth, he gave Sirius a gentle kiss on his thigh.

"Fuck, Remus," Sirius said and pulled his hair so Remus would stand up and kissed him. "I've wanted this for too long."

"Yeah," Remus said. "Me too..."

Sirius suddenly had his playful grin once again:

"I believe I'm going to take you to my room now, Lupin," he said as he palmed Remus' erection.

Giving into how he felt about Sirius Black was the best damn decision of Remus' life.

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Thank you for reading!

Synoir