A/N: Hey guys. I know, it's been ages. It's completely my fault, really, there's just been so much going on. I doubt you want to hear about it though. Here's a little something I started writing a while back, and decided to finish. I am under the belief that it is awful, but I've been told it was amazing, so you all decide for yourself. I reread it a half a dozen times in the last few weeks, as I tinkled with it, but if there are still errors, I aplologize. And if I sound a bit strange at the moment, sorry. I'm just tired.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Now, moving on...

Dedications: To Angelinadirtytrenchcoat... I think... Because she never stops harrassing me, thank God.

The Art Behind Assumptions

Sirius feels his breath catch in his throat as he watches the boxers, made out of what he guesses to be some cheap, rough cotton, (because Remus never seems to spend more money on clothes than what he really has to, even if he does have the money to afford such things, and yet, even without expensive fabrics and complicated designs, Remus always looks amazing) slide down Remus' long legs, the dark red of them looking all but sinful against Remus' pale skin. They pool on the soft, white carpet of the floor, looking like blood splashing across the pure white feathers of an angel's wings, staining them, tainting them, and Sirius' heart pounds against his ribs as Remus steps out of them, his long, pale toes sinking and then curling into the plush carpet.

"Where do you want me?" Remus asks, his voice quiet and smooth, like a caresses, like silk against hot, sex damp flesh. Sirius feels himself shiver as the images fill his head, vivid pictures of himself and Remus, tumbling down onto dark, soft sheets; smooth, bare skin touching and sliding against each other; breathy moans filling the room with a chorus of sounds that would hold meaning to no one but the two of them. Sirius shakes his head in a feeble attempt at clearing it when he notices the questioning look in Remus' light brown eyes.

"Over there," he rasps out, and his eyes widen slightly when he notices how husky and deep his voice sounds, sending promises of sex throughout the air like toxic gas meant to seduce rather than kill. He feels a blush creep up along his neck to stain his cheeks a soft pink, and he prays that Remus has noticed none of this. He gestures to the dark blue sofa that sits in the middle of the room. It's long, more than long enough to hold the lanky expanse of Remus' slim body, and there are black and white stripped pillows piled on one end, meant for Remus to bury himself amongst. The other end of the sofa is cleared of any sort of clutter, except for that of a dark red sheet, made of a soft Persian silk that Sirius had spent a fortune on. He had seen it and couldn't resist buying it, not with images of the dark material sliding across Remus' pale skin filtering through his mind like damning promises. Now though, Sirius is almost embarrassed by the presence of the sheet in the room. He feels as if it adds an element of sin and all-consuming yearning that is so overwhelming that Remus will turn tail and run. And it only makes it worse since Sirius has been using the sheet for the couple of weeks, feeling the silk slide against his own bare skin and waiting for the time that he could finally convince Remus to pose for him and use it himself.

Remus merely shrugs though, unaware of any of these things, that soft, shy smile that first drew Sirius' eyes to him (and have they only known each other for a month and some days at this point? It seems like it was forever ago that they met, and yet just yesterday as well) curving his thin lips and making them seem almost impossibly pink. They're like a temptation, one that cannot be ignored nor denied, and Sirius imagines that this is how Eve felt when presented with the red lushness of the apple, before she gave up paradise for sin. Remus, with his light brown eyes and his light brown hair and his beautiful face, all sharp, barely defined angles and smooth planes, seems like the kind of man that anyone would willingly fall arse over tit for.

Sirius bites down on his lower lip and stares down at the blank whiteness of his sketch pad so that he doesn't have to watch Remus make his way across the room. It was already bad enough watching Remus step out of his clothing (which he shouldn't have done, not really, but the allure to do so was just too great to resist, and Sirius thinks that, in a way, it might have been worse to watch the floor as Remus' clothes fell onto it, since Sirius has to live with these floors day after day). He's thankful that he has his sketch pad to cover up his lap with, because if he didn't… there would be little doubt that Remus would not notice the effect that he has on Sirius.

He looks up at the sound of a throat clearing, and his breath catches in his own throat as he looks over to the sofa, where Remus is now lying, his broad shoulders and the back of his neck incased by the pillows that Sirius had set out. His legs are splayed along the length of the sofa, or, at least… one is. The other is hanging off the sofa at the knee, the tips of Remus toes just grazing the carpet, and with the way that both legs fall, open and almost wanton, (at least in Sirius' mind, which has gone far out of the artistic zone and has already skittered past the lustful zone) Remus' cock is on display. It's long and slender and beautiful, uncut too, but not at all hard. It's merely resting peacefully between Remus splayed thighs, and Sirius tries not to be overly disappointed by this.

Sirius struggles not to shudder as images of all the ways he can coax Remus into full hardness suddenly fill his head. Now is not the time to think of such things. Perhaps later, when he is alone in his bed, with the red silk of the sheet at Remus' feet against his own skin once more, though this time with the knowledge that those same sheets had touch Remus' skin, and the images of Remus' pale, beautiful body still filling his head like a ghost meant to drive him mad with want and a hollow ache that feels like loneliness.

"Is this how you want me," Remus asks, and Sirius imagines that he hears some dark invitation deep in that soft tone, a beckoning promise that Sirius wants more than anything to respond to, though he cannot.

He blinks, grey eyes hazy with what he hopes isn't so clearly lust (clearly, as in, he hopes that Remus has not taken notice of it) before shaking his head. "It's… it's almost perfect Mister… Remus." He remembers, right before it's too late, that Remus takes insult when Sirius addresses him so formally. It just comes naturally to Sirius though, at times, since his parents had bred manners into him as if he was some kind of obident dog (and isn't that a bit ironic, since he was named after the dog-star?). He takes a deep breath, trying not to dwell on how Remus' name feels so right upon his lips, as it always does, as it never should... "I like the way that you've arranged your legs. It… puts everything on display, for a lack of better terms. If you could just raise the leg that isn't hanging off the sofa, so that your foot is planted firmly on the cushion and your knee is drawn up. Yes, like that," Sirius says, licking suddenly dry lips as he watches Remus' thighs tense with his every movement. "Alright, perfect. Now tilt your head back just a little bit so that the back of it is resting against the top of the pillows, but turn your face more towards me…. Now tilt your chin downward. Ok, yes. Just like that. Now… I want one of your hands resting against your chest on the left side, close to your rib cage, with your fingers curling up towards your nipple. Ok, now bend the fingers a bit, but keep them where they are… yes… just like that." Sirius tries to ignore what Remus' answering smile does to his insides.

"What do I do with my other hand," Remus asks.

Sirius fights done the urge to blush. "I… ummm… just leave it for a moment. I'm not sure just yet."

"Alright," Remus says, his amused tone stating that he didn't quite believe Sirius. "What's this for," Remus asks, shifting the leg still on the sofa so that it is toeing at the red sheet. He lifts it up a bit with his foot.

"Oh, that…" Sirius says, hesitating. He knows what he wants done with it, can picture it clearly in his head. But it seems too… intimate, in a way, too close and too personal. He's not sure that he should add it in; not sure that he should add this part that he is planning on making a part of himself to a piece of art meant for someone else. He already thinks of those sheets as his own. To add them into the picture as a whole, to have them touch Remus will be like saying that Remus is his…. And he is not, even if Sirius wishes that he is.

"Come on now," Remus coaxes, voice compelling. "Don't get shy on me now Sirius. What do you want done with the sheet?"

"I…" Sirius swallows, his throat abruptly feeling much too tight. "I'll have to arrange it myself," he says, putting his sketch pad down on the chair he has been sitting in and stepping forward, willing his erection down so that Remus does not notice it. It doesn't really work, so he can do nothing but hope that Remus remains oblivious. "I don't want you to move out of your position. It's perfect."

"Ok," Remus says quietly, lying back. Sirius is ashamed at the way that his mouth waters a bit as Remus' muscles go lax, allowing him to all but melt into the position that they've arranged him in. He forces himself not to take in Remus' form, not to look at the pale skin and the lean, long limbs and the muscles that so gracefully make up Remus' form. He gathers the sheet up into his hands and merely stands there for a moment, not quite sure how he should do this.

"Sirius," Remus says, his tone questioning. "Is something wrong?"

"No… no, it's just…. if I'm going to put the sheets the way I want them…. It'll mean that I have to get a bit… close."

"You're already quite close," Remus says, teasing him.

"I'll…. have to get closer."

"Alright." Remus' tone is confident, almost uncaring, but there is a hesitant look just beginning to creep into his eyes.

"To your cock."

This startles Remus enough that he chokes on his own spit. "Ummm…" he says, and when Sirius gathers the courage to look up he's almost startled by how bright the blush staining Remus' cheeks is. It's so devastatingly lovely that the man in him is left speechless, while the artist in him is left breathless. And when he looks back down… he sees that Remus' cock isn't as flaccid as it was a moment ago. But that doesn't mean anything, he tells himself firmly, and looks back up to meet Remus' eyes, which seem wider, and darker, though Sirius is sure that he is merely imagining it.

"Is it alright?" Sirius asks, holding up the sheet a bit more, almost like a shield.

Remus nods shakily.

Sirius drops down to his knees, telling himself that it is so that he can get a better look at what he is doing, and not so that he can be closer to Remus and his musky, earth and soap smelling skin. Being this close is intoxicating, and Sirius is tempted to just shut his eyes and breathe in, to press his face against Remus' abdomen, to the prominent curve of his hipbone, and allow himself to revel in the feel of Remus' skin against his own. He doesn't though. He drapes the sheet low over Remus' hipbone, already enjoying the sharp contrast of blood red sheets against pale skin, the artist in him as pleased as the man in him is aroused. He arranges the sheet then so that one side of it flows up the length of Remus' thigh to where his knee is drawn up, falling off the other side of his leg in delicate ripples of fabric, while the other side falls like a water fall down over Remus' hip to pool at the floor next to his foot. There is just one thing wrong with the placement of the sheet. As of right now, it is covering Remus' cock, and Sirius wants it on display for the drawing.

"All right?" Remus asks, looking down at Sirius with eyes that are darker now than they were before.

"Almost," Sirius says, fingers gliding over where the sheet pools in Remus' lap. He tells himself not to think about what is beneath the sheet, just a layer away from being beneath his hand. "I just…. I need the sheet here… the way at it is set now, pooling in your lap… it's nice…"

"But it's not what you want," Remus finishes. "How do you want it then?"

Sirius imagines Remus saying those same words to him, in different situations, one where Sirius can honestly tell the other man what he wants, that he wants Remus' hands on him, his mouth… that Sirius wants to put his own hands and mouth on Remus, and to cover Remus with his body, to feel the heat of Remus' skin against his own, to feel Remus in him or around him… any way he can have him…hard, fast, smooth, teasing….

But he can't say any of those things. He has no right, so instead, he lifts the sheet up where it covers Remus' groin, lifting it up so that Remus' cock is visible to his grey eyes beneath the fabric, still kinda skinny and long but now half hard, which makes something flare up in Sirius' gut, hitting him like a solid punch meant to hurt. He licks his lips, wanting, needing to reach out, to touch, but he resists, and it's one of the hardest things he's ever had to do; he turns his eyes away from Remus' cock to look up and meet Remus' brown eyes instead.

"I… I want…" Sirius says, his voice breaking as he speaks. "I… I want you…" he chokes on his own tongue, seemingly unable to speak. He doesn't understand what's happening, doesn't understand why he's so suddenly awkward and unable to form sentence. Sirius is usually so suave.

Remus raises one eyebrow, all but mocking Sirius' awkwardness. "What is it that you want Sirius?"

Sirius takes the way that Remus is looking at him, the way that he's speaking, as a challenge. He can't not, not with the way he was raised, in a household filled with people who were always, who still are always, trying to one up each other. So instead of stammering out a reply and embarrassing himself farther; or even desperately trying to keep from blurting out that Remus is all that Sirius wants, Sirius reaches down, grasps Remus' cock, which seems to jump and harden in his hand, and pulls it free of the sheet, tucking the red fabric down beneath Remus' balls so that his cock is surrounded by a sea of red, with it rising out of the sheet.

Remus, Sirius notes, is breathing heavily now, his lightly muscled chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. His legs, already spread wide before, seem to be spread even wider now, and Sirius tries not to think of the invitation that lies between those spread legs. Of course, he fails, and after a moment of merely staring at Remus' chest, and at the nipples that are hardening into small pebbles within the patch of light brown hair that covers Remus' chest, he notices that he own fingers, long and slender and shaking just a bit, have wrapped tighter around Remus' rapidly hardening dick, the heat of it searing at his palm.

Sirius gasps, ashamed of himself, and snatches his hand away quickly. "I… fuck, I am so sorry," he manages to say, blushing scarlet. "I don't even fucking know what came over me." Well, that's a lie, of course, but Sirius can't simply say 'Oh, I've been wanting to fuck you senseless since the first moment that I saw you, but of course I can't, because you're about to be married to some bastard whose name I don't even know, and who you never speak of anyways. Oh, and also, I know we haven't known each other all that long, and this may seem a bit odd for me to say but I think you may just be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And I also think I may be a little bit in love with you.'

Remus, who is blushing beneath the array of freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks, bites his bottom lip for a moment, turning it a bright, appetizing red as he releases it. "Sirius," he finally murmurs, his voice husky and thick with what Sirius doesn't want to acknowledge as want. But then Remus brings his arms up, reaching for Sirius, and Sirius feels like his world has come crashing down on him. Because Lord, how he wants this to happen. He doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than he wants this. But he can't… he just can't. He values Remus too much as a person to drag him down into sin this way. Stepping back and then away from Remus, out of reach of the tawny haired man's outstretched arms, end up being one of the hardest things he's ever had to do.

Pain flashes across Remus' face, vulnerable and crestfallen, and Sirius' heart aches with it even more than he aches with his own pain. But even so… he has to ignore it… or try to. And anyways, he's not the one in the wrong here, not really. Remus is.

"I thought you wanted me," Remus says, his voice breaking as he chokes the words out. He takes a deep breath, as if trying to compose himself, and pulls the red sheet around himself so that no amount of skin is left uncovered. "I thought… dammit Sirius, I am not that delusional. I couldn't have gotten this wrong. Not with the way you look at me, or speak to me, or touch me. So if you want me, and I want you, which I definitely fucking do, then why the hell are you turning away from me? Is it something that I've done?"

"Of course it's something that you've done," Sirius shouts, his voice filled with anger and panic alike. "Of course it fucking is Remus! God… what the fuck is wrong with you? You have no right, no fucking right, to string me along like this."

Remus looks confused. "Sirius… what the hell are you talking about?"

"You know bloody well what I'm talking about," Sirius growls. "I'm your friend Remus. The least you can do is be honest with me and treat me fairly."

"Sirius… what….?"

"You're about to be married! You can't have an affair with me when you are about to marry some bloke and probably never speak to me again! Have you even thought about how much that would hurt me?"

Remus blinks at Sirius, and then blinks again, before sitting up, the red sheet still clutched tightly in his fists to ensure that it doesn't fall off of him. "Sirius… I think that you have been misinformed…. I am not getting married."

"Don't lie," Sirius snarls. "There's no point in it."

"I'm not lying, you bloody wanker! Do you think I'd be lying here, completely bare and all but throwing myself at you, if I was? Who the hell do you think I am?"

Sirius flinches slightly. "I don't honestly know," he muttered, pain laced throughout his voice. "I mean… I never actually thought you'd be the type of person to cheat, but it seems as if I was wrong."

"I'm not cheating," Remus shouts, shooting up off of the couch to stand before Sirius. "God, you are such a fucking dickward! I would never lead you on like this if I was engaged!"

Sirius eyes Remus suspiciously. After spending the last half a dozen weeks believing that Remus was unattainable, some forbidden fruit held out of his grasp, he doesn't know if he can see Remus in any other manner. He can't believe that Remus, the beautiful man that is standing before him, can actually be his. It doesn't seem possible. He feels his heart beating sharply against his ribs as he tries to organize the chaos that has become his thoughts. "I… that isn't what I heard."

"Who told you that I was engaged," Remus asks, a dark threat in his voice.

Sirius is almost reluctant to tell Remus, afraid of the wrath he'll set upon this person. "I asked my best mate, James, who you were," Sirius finally says, "the first night I saw you at the town gathering. You were standing in the middle of the room, looking… fuck, you looked so amazingly beautiful that you took my breath away, and you were standing there talking to this attractive bloke and smiling this gorgeous smile and when I asked James who you were, he told me your name, and said that you were gay and that you were just here for the wedding and that… you had a million things to still plan or some shit like that, and… fuck… I tuned out after that. I can't remember what else was said."

Remus, after Sirius finishes rambling, merely stands there gaping at the dark haired man as if he (Sirius) is some kind of idiot. Sirius fidgets under his gaze, uncomfortable, and yelps in shock as Remus reaches out and shoves him, hard.

"God," Remus snarls, sounding livid. "You are such a fucking wanker, do you know that? You are so obliviously stupid and… ugh!" Remus shoves him again.

"What the bloody hell," Sirius asks, shocked.

"I am just here for the wedding!" Remus shouts.

"Then you are getting married!" Sirius shouts back, pain making his heart ache.

"No, you fucking wanker!" Remus shouts, shoving Sirius again. "I am not getting married! My little sister is! I'm here for her wedding, you great git! I came all the way from Ireland to see my sister marry the love of her life!"

"Wait," Sirius says, confusion clouding his voice. "So… you aren't engaged?"

"Fuck no, you great big bloody wanker."

"I'm going to kill James," Sirius mutters, clearly embarrassed.

Remus scoffs quietly. "It's your own fucking fault for jumping to conclusions. Why the bloody hell didn't you say anything in the month we've been speaking?"

"I was afraid to," he admits quietly, his face flushing with shame. "I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you, and I thought I couldn't have you…. I just didn't want to have to acknowledge any of it."

The tawny haired man sighs quietly before stepping forward and taking Sirius' face in his hands. "Sirius… love… you've had me from the moment that I saw you. There's no one else."

Sirius looked at the tawny haired man, grey eyes roaming over a slightly freckled face, and allowed himself to relax against him, unable to do anything but believe him.

A/N: Well, I hope it was ok. And I know, I really need to get back into writing. Life is all but unbearable without it.