Fic: It's Hard to Leave When You Can't Find the Door (Remus/Sirius)
Title: It's Hard to Leave When You Can't Find the Door
Author: victoria p. [victoria @ unfitforsociety.net]
Summary: "Let's go to the Hog's Head and get royally pissed."
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Rowling's, not mine. Sigh.
Archive: Lists, Achromatic.
Feedback: is intoxicating in the best way.
Notes: Originally this was going to be the beginning of "One Foot on the Floor," but that didn't quite work, and then it was going to be part of "In Vino Veritas" Until You Hit the Ground, but it didn't really fit. But I like writing drunk stories, so... Consider this kind of a humorous AU of "In Vino Veritas Until You Hit the Ground. Which I still haven't finally finished writing. Sigh. Title from Joe Walsh. (edited 9/13/05)
Date: May 18, 2005
~*~
It's Hard to Leave When You Can't Find the Door
"Let's go to the Hog's Head," Sirius says, eyes brilliant in the dimly lit hallway, "and get royally pissed."
Sirius stares at him as the silence stretches, and Remus knows he's expecting him to say no, to point out all the ways it's a bad idea, that Gryffindor is in third place in the race for the House Cup, and they've only gone one week out of the last four without detention.
On the other hand, James is off with Lily again, and Peter has his new bird up in the dormitory, so it's not like Remus has anything better to do.
Mostly, though, he enjoys surprising Sirius, which is why he says, "Okay." He jumps up and calls, "Race you," over his shoulder, running for the portrait hole. He has a few seconds' head start because Sirius blinks in shock at his answer, and then they are scrambling down the stairs, heedless of the danger of being caught. When Sirius slams into him from behind, pushing him against the wall, Remus tells himself his heart is racing because of anticipation of mischief and fear of getting caught, and not because of how Sirius feels, all hard, lean muscle, against his back.
With a flick of his wand, Sirius opens the passageway, and they head down to the Hog's Head. Remus's skin prickles and his breath comes fast; he knows the signs. There will be mischief tonight.
***
After the second shot, things start getting a little hazy. Remus half-listens to the barman complain about his wife as a suspicious looking witch with large, mannish hands and a five o'clock shadow chats Sirius up. He hears the low rumble of their voices, but can't make out the words over all the other noise. Then he hears, "No, thank you," from Sirius, definitive but oddly well-mannered, considering how much they've drunk.
When the witch turns to order another drink (Singapore sling, make it a double, her voice a low sandpaper rasp), Remus leans over and whispers, "I think your she is a he."
Sirius snorts and pays for the witch's drink, and for two more shots of firewhisky. He shoves one at Remus, and Remus watches the amber liquid slosh around in the smudged glass, but never actually spill over. He thinks it may be a metaphor, but can't quite work out for what. Sirius taps his forehead with two long, elegant fingers. "Drink up, young Remus, and stop thinking so much. The night is young."
Remus knocks back the shot and instinctively reaches for the bottle of butterbeer to wash it down. It's empty, of course. His whole chest is on fire from the whisky, but he doesn't sputter anymore. He's learned to like the flash and burn of it, setting him alight from the inside.
Sirius takes a long pull on his butterbeer and then, without a word, hands the bottle to Remus, who wraps his mouth around the lip and drinks, imagining he can taste Sirius on the glass, cool-warm and wet. They stare at each other for a moment, Sirius's eyes wide and dark, and then the witch turns and swings wildly at Remus.
Remus ducks and slips away, hands held up in surrender.
"It's all right, Maisie," the barman says, but he's tapping his palm with a wand. "They're not for the likes of you anyway." He turns to Sirius. "Go on back to school now, lads. I don't want Minerva McGonagall down here in the morning screeching at me about corrupting her students."
"One more for the road," Sirius wheedles, and the barman isn't proof against him. Nobody is, Remus least of all, which is why he finds himself in these situations more often now that James and Lily are attached at the hip.
Two more shots of whisky appear, and disappear down their throats, and then they are sharing the bottle of butterbeer again. Remus thinks Sirius must taste of intoxication, and that if Sirius ever kissed him, he wouldn't need alcohol, but sharing that bottle is probably the closest they will ever come to swapping spit.
Sirius nods and they head towards the gents', behind which is the passageway back into Hogwarts. Remus is hoping nobody's noticed that they haven't gone out the front door when he feels Sirius's breath stir his hair. He shivers, even though he can feel the heat of Sirius's body right behind him, so close, but not quite touching. Remus fights the urge to lean back against him, and walks blindly into a blank wall.
They giggle about that for a few moments, and then Sirius slings an arm around his shoulders, guiding him back down the corridor. Sirius's long, elegant fingers graze Remus's clavicle, sparking heat beneath his skin, which pools low in his belly. He's grateful for the dimness, because his face heats and his cock responds to these careless touches, and he doesn't think he could bear Sirius's mockery right now without saying or doing something even more foolish.
They wander down another corridor, which Remus would swear had never been there before, but he knows the combination of firewhisky and magic can produce odd visions -- it's possible the passage has always been there and he's just never been able to see it before. They turn back again, and this time, Remus knows he's mistaken, because it feels like Sirius just grabbed his arse, and Sirius would never--
Sirius stumbles into him and they both go falling through the storeroom door, to land in a heap on the hard stone floor. Over the sound of their collapse, he hears the solid click of the door closing.
The breath has been knocked out of him so he's already feeling lightheaded when Sirius's mouth covers his, tongue sliding over his sweet and hot, stronger even than Ogden's Old, the fire inside Remus kindling again.
"What?" he gasps when Sirius breaks the kiss.
"Maisie wanted me to leave you for her."
"I think she was a he," Remus says, ignoring the implications of what Sirius has just said.
"Well, yeah." Sirius says it in such an offhand way that Remus has to laugh. "But she was jealous of you."
"I don't understand."
"Stop thinking," Sirius orders, "and kiss me."
Remus is only too happy to comply, tangling his fingers in Sirius's hair, soft and sleek under his fingers.
Sirius kisses the way he does everything else he enjoys, with his whole body and every ounce of attention he's capable of concentrated on it -- hard and fast at first, then a slow, leisurely curl of his tongue around Remus's, sending heat shivering down his spine. Remus thrusts up against Sirius's thigh, seeking friction, and Sirius grinds down against him. They move together, point and counterpoint, until nothing else exists but their bodies and the pleasure rising in them.
Sirius breaks first, body arching as he loses the rhythm they've fallen into. He tosses his head back and grunts, "Fuck, Remus," before collapsing into a heap. The sight of Sirius above him sends Remus over the edge, and he comes hard, oblivious to everything but Sirius and his own pleasure.
They lie quietly for a few moments, breathless and sated, and not even the cold hard floor beneath him, or the tiny voice of reason in the back of his head (the one chanting, Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, Sirius is going to hate me now, in rising panic) can induce him to move just yet. He fumbles for his wand and spells them both clean. Sirius squirms on top of him, and Remus waits for the other shoe to drop.
"So damn bony," is what Sirius says, giving up on finding a more comfortable position and pressing his lips to Remus's cheek. "But I like you anyway."
Remus manages a befuddled, "Thanks," before Sirius kisses him again, sloppily this time, more affection and less need in it.
They spend another little while kissing, and then Sirius groans, "Potions first thing tomorrow."
"Not for me," Remus answers with a smirk. Dropping Potions had been the cleverest decision he'd made in years, though he'd been accepted into the N.E.W.T. level class by the skin of his teeth (or, more honestly, on the strength of James's tutoring).
"Bastard."
"Git."
"Minger."
Remus pulls him close for another kiss, thrilled at being allowed to do this, and determined not to worry about what might happen in the morning.
Sirius rises unsteadily, searching for the door, which seems to have disappeared.
"Fuck. I think we're locked in," he announces. Pointing his wand vaguely in the direction where the door had last appeared, he murmurs, "Alohamoony."
Remus snickers. "Aloha, Padfoot," he answers with a sketchy bow and a smile he can't keep from curling across his face.
"Huh?"
"Nothing." He raises his own wand then. "Alohamona. Alohamoira." With a frustrated grunt and an ostentatious flourish of his wand, he says, "Open, sesame!" Nothing happens.
"Oh!" Sirius says, and Remus swears he can see the light bulb going off over Sirius's head, though that's another joke Sirius wouldn't quite get. "Alohomora."
The door swings open, three feet to the left of where they're standing. They share a quick, conspiratorial grin, and scurry out before it changes its mind, though Remus wouldn't mind being locked in with Sirius for a while longer.
They stumble up the passageway, which seems much easier to navigate now than it did before, and stop every few feet to exchange kisses. When Remus lags behind, Sirius turns to walk backwards, hooking fingers his belt-loops and pulling him along, occasionally leaning in to drop kisses on his eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks.
He's almost sober by the time they reach Gryffindor Tower, and starting to worry about the morning after, even though Sirius leaves him with a fierce kiss, hot, wet tongue thrusting into his mouth, tasting of firewhisky, fresh earth and the beginnings of sleep.
***
Remus wakes with a headache and the foul taste of dead things in his dry mouth. He sits up, wincing, just as the bedcurtains are yanked open to reveal James's smiling, evil face.
"Rise and shine, Moonykins," he says in a booming voice that makes Remus cringe.
"Wankstain," Remus mumbles, lying back down and covering his face with his pillow. "Go away."
He hears a bit of tussling, and then Sirius says, "Go ahead, Prongs. I'll take care of this. He just needs some hair of the dog that bit him last night."
The obnoxiously not-hungover James and Peter depart, laughing at Remus's misery.
"Okay, Moony, you can come out now."
Remus freezes for an instant at the double entendre, unsure if it's intentional, and then Sirius is pawing at him, pulling at the pillow the way Padfoot tugs sticks from Remus's hand. Remus lets him have the pillow, and he tosses it to the floor, settling his arse on Remus's groin with a wicked smile.
"Hair of the dog?" Remus asks faintly, still apprehensive.
"Oh yeah," Sirius replies. "And I plan to bite you again."
Remus finds he can't argue with that logic as Sirius leans forward for a kiss.
end
***
Feedback is way better than alcohol, and less damaging to brain cells.
Now to focus on my challenge stories.
Author: victoria p. [victoria @ unfitforsociety.net]
Summary: "Let's go to the Hog's Head and get royally pissed."
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Rowling's, not mine. Sigh.
Archive: Lists, Achromatic.
Feedback: is intoxicating in the best way.
Notes: Originally this was going to be the beginning of "One Foot on the Floor," but that didn't quite work, and then it was going to be part of "In Vino Veritas" Until You Hit the Ground, but it didn't really fit. But I like writing drunk stories, so... Consider this kind of a humorous AU of "In Vino Veritas Until You Hit the Ground. Which I still haven't finally finished writing. Sigh. Title from Joe Walsh. (edited 9/13/05)
Date: May 18, 2005
~*~
It's Hard to Leave When You Can't Find the Door
"Let's go to the Hog's Head," Sirius says, eyes brilliant in the dimly lit hallway, "and get royally pissed."
Sirius stares at him as the silence stretches, and Remus knows he's expecting him to say no, to point out all the ways it's a bad idea, that Gryffindor is in third place in the race for the House Cup, and they've only gone one week out of the last four without detention.
On the other hand, James is off with Lily again, and Peter has his new bird up in the dormitory, so it's not like Remus has anything better to do.
Mostly, though, he enjoys surprising Sirius, which is why he says, "Okay." He jumps up and calls, "Race you," over his shoulder, running for the portrait hole. He has a few seconds' head start because Sirius blinks in shock at his answer, and then they are scrambling down the stairs, heedless of the danger of being caught. When Sirius slams into him from behind, pushing him against the wall, Remus tells himself his heart is racing because of anticipation of mischief and fear of getting caught, and not because of how Sirius feels, all hard, lean muscle, against his back.
With a flick of his wand, Sirius opens the passageway, and they head down to the Hog's Head. Remus's skin prickles and his breath comes fast; he knows the signs. There will be mischief tonight.
***
After the second shot, things start getting a little hazy. Remus half-listens to the barman complain about his wife as a suspicious looking witch with large, mannish hands and a five o'clock shadow chats Sirius up. He hears the low rumble of their voices, but can't make out the words over all the other noise. Then he hears, "No, thank you," from Sirius, definitive but oddly well-mannered, considering how much they've drunk.
When the witch turns to order another drink (Singapore sling, make it a double, her voice a low sandpaper rasp), Remus leans over and whispers, "I think your she is a he."
Sirius snorts and pays for the witch's drink, and for two more shots of firewhisky. He shoves one at Remus, and Remus watches the amber liquid slosh around in the smudged glass, but never actually spill over. He thinks it may be a metaphor, but can't quite work out for what. Sirius taps his forehead with two long, elegant fingers. "Drink up, young Remus, and stop thinking so much. The night is young."
Remus knocks back the shot and instinctively reaches for the bottle of butterbeer to wash it down. It's empty, of course. His whole chest is on fire from the whisky, but he doesn't sputter anymore. He's learned to like the flash and burn of it, setting him alight from the inside.
Sirius takes a long pull on his butterbeer and then, without a word, hands the bottle to Remus, who wraps his mouth around the lip and drinks, imagining he can taste Sirius on the glass, cool-warm and wet. They stare at each other for a moment, Sirius's eyes wide and dark, and then the witch turns and swings wildly at Remus.
Remus ducks and slips away, hands held up in surrender.
"It's all right, Maisie," the barman says, but he's tapping his palm with a wand. "They're not for the likes of you anyway." He turns to Sirius. "Go on back to school now, lads. I don't want Minerva McGonagall down here in the morning screeching at me about corrupting her students."
"One more for the road," Sirius wheedles, and the barman isn't proof against him. Nobody is, Remus least of all, which is why he finds himself in these situations more often now that James and Lily are attached at the hip.
Two more shots of whisky appear, and disappear down their throats, and then they are sharing the bottle of butterbeer again. Remus thinks Sirius must taste of intoxication, and that if Sirius ever kissed him, he wouldn't need alcohol, but sharing that bottle is probably the closest they will ever come to swapping spit.
Sirius nods and they head towards the gents', behind which is the passageway back into Hogwarts. Remus is hoping nobody's noticed that they haven't gone out the front door when he feels Sirius's breath stir his hair. He shivers, even though he can feel the heat of Sirius's body right behind him, so close, but not quite touching. Remus fights the urge to lean back against him, and walks blindly into a blank wall.
They giggle about that for a few moments, and then Sirius slings an arm around his shoulders, guiding him back down the corridor. Sirius's long, elegant fingers graze Remus's clavicle, sparking heat beneath his skin, which pools low in his belly. He's grateful for the dimness, because his face heats and his cock responds to these careless touches, and he doesn't think he could bear Sirius's mockery right now without saying or doing something even more foolish.
They wander down another corridor, which Remus would swear had never been there before, but he knows the combination of firewhisky and magic can produce odd visions -- it's possible the passage has always been there and he's just never been able to see it before. They turn back again, and this time, Remus knows he's mistaken, because it feels like Sirius just grabbed his arse, and Sirius would never--
Sirius stumbles into him and they both go falling through the storeroom door, to land in a heap on the hard stone floor. Over the sound of their collapse, he hears the solid click of the door closing.
The breath has been knocked out of him so he's already feeling lightheaded when Sirius's mouth covers his, tongue sliding over his sweet and hot, stronger even than Ogden's Old, the fire inside Remus kindling again.
"What?" he gasps when Sirius breaks the kiss.
"Maisie wanted me to leave you for her."
"I think she was a he," Remus says, ignoring the implications of what Sirius has just said.
"Well, yeah." Sirius says it in such an offhand way that Remus has to laugh. "But she was jealous of you."
"I don't understand."
"Stop thinking," Sirius orders, "and kiss me."
Remus is only too happy to comply, tangling his fingers in Sirius's hair, soft and sleek under his fingers.
Sirius kisses the way he does everything else he enjoys, with his whole body and every ounce of attention he's capable of concentrated on it -- hard and fast at first, then a slow, leisurely curl of his tongue around Remus's, sending heat shivering down his spine. Remus thrusts up against Sirius's thigh, seeking friction, and Sirius grinds down against him. They move together, point and counterpoint, until nothing else exists but their bodies and the pleasure rising in them.
Sirius breaks first, body arching as he loses the rhythm they've fallen into. He tosses his head back and grunts, "Fuck, Remus," before collapsing into a heap. The sight of Sirius above him sends Remus over the edge, and he comes hard, oblivious to everything but Sirius and his own pleasure.
They lie quietly for a few moments, breathless and sated, and not even the cold hard floor beneath him, or the tiny voice of reason in the back of his head (the one chanting, Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, Sirius is going to hate me now, in rising panic) can induce him to move just yet. He fumbles for his wand and spells them both clean. Sirius squirms on top of him, and Remus waits for the other shoe to drop.
"So damn bony," is what Sirius says, giving up on finding a more comfortable position and pressing his lips to Remus's cheek. "But I like you anyway."
Remus manages a befuddled, "Thanks," before Sirius kisses him again, sloppily this time, more affection and less need in it.
They spend another little while kissing, and then Sirius groans, "Potions first thing tomorrow."
"Not for me," Remus answers with a smirk. Dropping Potions had been the cleverest decision he'd made in years, though he'd been accepted into the N.E.W.T. level class by the skin of his teeth (or, more honestly, on the strength of James's tutoring).
"Bastard."
"Git."
"Minger."
Remus pulls him close for another kiss, thrilled at being allowed to do this, and determined not to worry about what might happen in the morning.
Sirius rises unsteadily, searching for the door, which seems to have disappeared.
"Fuck. I think we're locked in," he announces. Pointing his wand vaguely in the direction where the door had last appeared, he murmurs, "Alohamoony."
Remus snickers. "Aloha, Padfoot," he answers with a sketchy bow and a smile he can't keep from curling across his face.
"Huh?"
"Nothing." He raises his own wand then. "Alohamona. Alohamoira." With a frustrated grunt and an ostentatious flourish of his wand, he says, "Open, sesame!" Nothing happens.
"Oh!" Sirius says, and Remus swears he can see the light bulb going off over Sirius's head, though that's another joke Sirius wouldn't quite get. "Alohomora."
The door swings open, three feet to the left of where they're standing. They share a quick, conspiratorial grin, and scurry out before it changes its mind, though Remus wouldn't mind being locked in with Sirius for a while longer.
They stumble up the passageway, which seems much easier to navigate now than it did before, and stop every few feet to exchange kisses. When Remus lags behind, Sirius turns to walk backwards, hooking fingers his belt-loops and pulling him along, occasionally leaning in to drop kisses on his eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks.
He's almost sober by the time they reach Gryffindor Tower, and starting to worry about the morning after, even though Sirius leaves him with a fierce kiss, hot, wet tongue thrusting into his mouth, tasting of firewhisky, fresh earth and the beginnings of sleep.
***
Remus wakes with a headache and the foul taste of dead things in his dry mouth. He sits up, wincing, just as the bedcurtains are yanked open to reveal James's smiling, evil face.
"Rise and shine, Moonykins," he says in a booming voice that makes Remus cringe.
"Wankstain," Remus mumbles, lying back down and covering his face with his pillow. "Go away."
He hears a bit of tussling, and then Sirius says, "Go ahead, Prongs. I'll take care of this. He just needs some hair of the dog that bit him last night."
The obnoxiously not-hungover James and Peter depart, laughing at Remus's misery.
"Okay, Moony, you can come out now."
Remus freezes for an instant at the double entendre, unsure if it's intentional, and then Sirius is pawing at him, pulling at the pillow the way Padfoot tugs sticks from Remus's hand. Remus lets him have the pillow, and he tosses it to the floor, settling his arse on Remus's groin with a wicked smile.
"Hair of the dog?" Remus asks faintly, still apprehensive.
"Oh yeah," Sirius replies. "And I plan to bite you again."
Remus finds he can't argue with that logic as Sirius leans forward for a kiss.
end
***
Feedback is way better than alcohol, and less damaging to brain cells.
Now to focus on my challenge stories.